Part 26

Often by Peter’s side at table, and in his cups, was to be seen an individual addressed as the “Patriarch of Russia,” and sometimes as the “King of Siberia.” He was attired in sacerdotal robes, and covered with loosely-hung gold and silver medals, which sounded musically as he moved. It was a favourite trick with Peter, when he and the Patriarch were equally drunk, to suddenly overturn him, chair and all, and exhibit the reverend gentleman with his heels in the air. There is record of a similar fool in the person of the “King of the Samoieds.” He was a Pole who was boarded, and who received a rouble monthly, for entertaining the Czar and court by the exercise of such small wit as was reckoned at such low worth. This title of “King of the Samoieds” was usually conferred by Peter on what may be styled his occasional fools. Thus, meeting among the patients at the “Water Cure,” at Alonaitz, in 1719, a Portuguese Jew, whose singularities and comic bearing delighted the Czar, the latter first promoted him to the equivocal distinction of “titular count,” and then conferred on him the fool’s royalty in the Kingship of the Samoieds. The most burlesque of coronations was subsequently performed in Peter’s presence. It was to some such rank that the Czar elevated his own old writing-master, Sotoff; and it may be observed that when the Russian priests remonstrated against his distinguishing his fools by the title of “patriarchs,” he changed the rank and addressed them as “priests.”

To the rank of court fool Peter also elevated the head cook of the Czarina. The cook’s wife had, by her conduct, brought dishonour on her husband, but Peter turned this to comic account. He would have the poor official up at his state dinners, and overwhelm him with coarse jests and gestures in presence of the guests. The cook, however, is said to have occasionally answered so smartly, touching the Czar’s own domestic matters, as to make his Majesty wince again. In exchange of gross jokes, it was “like master, like man.” Neither time nor place was ever thought of by Peter when his will or comfort was in question; and even at church, in winter, when he felt cold, he would take off the wig of the man nearest him, and clap it on his own head, returning it after the service.

Thus the Czar made fools of various members of his household, and different officers of his court, but he had one official court fool whom he favoured above all others, and whom he carried abroad with him to foreign courts,--among others to those of England and France. At the latter court the buffoon produced almost as much effect as his master. The period of Peter’s sudden arrival in Paris, was that of the boyhood of Louis XV. He had travelled so swiftly from Holland, that his appearance in the French capital was the first intimation received by the authorities there of his having left the “pays de canaux, canards, et canaille,” as Voltaire flippantly designated the Dutch territory.

Peter was accompanied by the Princes Kourakin and Dolgorouki, by Baron Schaffirofy, and by his ambassador, Tolstoi. But, distinguished above these was Sotoff, the buffoon. He had originally been employed by Peter to instruct him in the art of writing. In one respect, all the followers of the Czar were on an equality, for there was not one of them who had not, in his turn, suffered exile, imprisonment, or the knout. There was no opportunity, therefore, for any one to reproach his fellows.

How Peter looked, and walked, and talked, and danced, and tossed the little King in his arms, and sneered at the Regent Duke of Orleans, and uttered much nonsense, and drank bottles of beer in his box at the opera; all these matters are chronicled by Saint-Simon and Cardinal Dubois, according to the point of view of the individual chronicler. The Cardinal seems to have been more particularly struck with the buffoon. The court of France no longer possessed official jesters, and Sotoff was a marvel and a novelty to the Cardinal. The latter, or the writer who drew up the autobiographical memoirs, from the notes and papers of Dubois, speaks with evident surprise of the presence and duties of Sotoff, who was not only privileged but commanded to give expression to every form of folly, without being in fear of any application of the knout. What jests he uttered were incomprehensible to Dubois and the French court, for Sotoff could only speak his native Russian; and in that language he uttered comments on all around him which raised the hilarity of the Muscovites, and excited the surprise, curiosity, and perhaps the vexation of the French courtiers. Sotoff, too, was singular in his appearance. He was at this time an aged dwarf, with long snowy hair flowing over his shoulders. He was so ugly and so deformed, that, according to the Cardinal, the very sight of him was almost insupportable to the refined and handsome nobles and ladies of the French court. Dubois compares the sound of his voice to the harsh croaking of frogs. In spite of all this, his wit and humour were very much to the taste of Peter, who could listen to a comedy of Molière’s without once smiling, but who could never hear a remark from Sotoff, the court fool, without growing weak from mere excess of laughter.

Sotoff was a man of low birth, but Russia has been especially remarkable for her fools of high degree, among whom Princes have not only been reckoned, but proud to find themselves upon the motley register. The famous Ice Palace, erected by order of the Czarina Anne, is one of those wonders of which most persons have heard. It was erected for the celebration of the marriage of Prince Galitzin. It is not, however, generally known that the Prince, who was between forty and fifty, and already had a son, a lieutenant in the army, was on the register of pages and court fools. This registration was a punishment inflicted on him for having changed his religion, from orthodox Russo-Greek to Roman Catholic. It was at the Czarina’s bidding that the princely fool wedded with a girl of low birth, and it was in obedience to the same high authority that couples from every province in the empire came up to do honour to the nuptial festival. A procession of above three hundred persons started from the imperial palace and traversed the city. The bride and bridegroom were under a canopy, on an elephant; some of the guests followed on camels, and others rode in sledges (for it was midwinter of 1739), and their sledges were in the shape of animals of various species, and were filled with passengers looking as singular as the conveyances themselves. After the ceremony, a banquet was given in honour of the Duke of Courland, where each couple ate their own peculiar provincial dish; and this was followed by a ball. The ball concluded, the married pair were conducted to the Ice Palace, their temporary home. It stood on the banks of the Neva; and was composed of large blocks of ice cemented into one mass by water. In length it was sixty feet, in breadth eighteen feet, and in height twenty-one feet. In front was an ice portico, with ice columns and statues. Behind these were the single floor, divided into two apartments, all of ice, with the doors and windows painted in imitation of green marble. Two ice dolphins spouted forth naphtha flames to light the procession over the threshold; and two ice mortars and three ice cannon fired several volleys of welcome without breaking. The two apartments were divided by a lobby; they were well furnished with elegant ice tables, ice chairs, ice statues, mirrors, candelabra, glass, plate, in short, every possible article that could be thought of, and all of ice. The bedroom had state bed, sheets, curtains, two night-caps, etc., all of ice. About the exterior were ornamental pyramids, a conservatory, with birds on the trees, a bath-house, and other appendages, of the same cold material. The whole was brilliantly illuminated, and into this Temple of Isis the Prince and his bride were solemnly conducted, and a guard-of-honour placed at the gate prevented any intrusion on the married couple, or any attempt of the latter to escape from the cold hospitality provided for them by the Czarina. This joke was so highly approved of, that to build ice palaces, though not to have performed in them the same play, became an imperial weakness. With regard, however, to court fools, it is a singular fact that Russia has not only made such officials out of foreign ambassadors whom she has duped by dint of that mingled piety and mendacity which betray the Tartar blood within her; but she has also commissioned her own envoys to play the rude jester at the courts of Kings whom she would fain bring into contempt,--and could bully with safety.

Such an agent as this, Russia found in the representative Repuin, whom she retained at the court of the last King of Poland, Stanislaus Poniatowsky. The arrogance of the Muscovite ambassador was extremely offensive, but his power of joking was quite as frequently employed, when he had a political end in view. One day he bullied or supported the King; at another time he rendered him contemptible by sarcasms uttered against him, in his hearing. Lord Malmesbury, in the first volume of his Diaries and Correspondence, dated from Warsaw, in 1767, gives several instances of unseemly liberties taken by Repuin with the King, such as Scogan himself would have hesitated to take with the royal Edward, who allowed him privilege of speech and action. One sample from the measure piled up by Lord Malmesbury will suffice:--“At the Primate’s, it was a question of some of the ancient Polish monarchs who, being driven from their own kingdom, were obliged, by way of support, to exercise some trade,--one particularly who, for awhile, was a goldsmith at Florence. The present King, discoursing on this topic, said, he should be extremely embarrassed, if he was to be put to the trial, as he knew no way of getting his livelihood. ‘Pardon me. Sire,’ said the Ambassador, ‘your Majesty still knows how to dance well.’ What should we think,” asks Lord Malmesbury, “if we heard an ambassador tell our King, ‘If all trades fail, your Majesty may turn dancing-master’?” There is no fear, however, of such a polite observation being made at our court by any Russian joculator in an ambassador’s dress. These arrogant agents know how to be submissive; and, in presence of a monarch to be respected, can sink to the ground, like a cowardly boy who avoids a blow from a bold adversary, or a Russian fleet in presence of a resolute enemy.

The Czar Paul had around him a number of that class of jesters who found favour with Peter; and he was further delighted to be made merry by the comic French actors who visited his capital. It was not always safe for these, however, to jest with him too roughly; as may be seen in the case of Fougère, the actor, who taking the jester’s privilege to speak freely to Paul once at supper, and to mock at his vaunted abilities, was punished for it by being dragged from his bed, in the night, tossed into a van which did not admit the light of day, and carried off, as he was politely informed, to his extreme horror, to Siberia. After several weeks had been spent in the journey, Fougère reached his destination, and on his eyes being unbandaged, he found himself in presence of Paul and a joyous number of _convives_, all of whom laughed heartily at the capital jest, whereby Fougère had been made to believe that he was being conveyed to Siberia, when he was only being drawn round and round St. Petersburg, for whole weeks.

Nicholas, who may be said to have swam to his throne in the blood of his subjects in the capital, and to have been washed from it by the same sanguinary deluge at Sebastopol, had, like his father Paul, his frolicsome humours and facetious whims. Of course he did not keep court fools; but he would sometimes catch a fool and compel him to exhibit for the amusement of his court. He once captured an individual of this species in the person of Save Saveitch Yakovloff. The young gentleman with this cacophonous appellation had been an officer in the Guards, and had been commissioned to purchase horses for his regiment. As, however, he had not cheated the vendors, and brought back steeds worth double the money which had been entrusted to him wherewith to buy them, his condition in his regiment was rendered intolerable, and he was forced out of it by a series of small but wearying nuisances. He applied for permission to travel, but was refused. In disgrace and involuntary idleness, all state employment denied him, Save was puzzled for a time as to what occupation he could turn to. After consideration, he resolved to set up in the capital as the glass of fashion, and he appeared in public in the most exaggerated costumes, founded on French and English books of fashion. He one day presented himself on the Nevski Prospect in the following guise. On his head was a little peaked hat like a flowerpot reversed; his beard was _à la Henri Quatre_; his cravat was a thick scarf tied in a gigantic bow; his cloak was a little _Almaviva_; in one hand he carried a knotted cudgel, with the other he held a small glass to his eye, and between his legs, or at his side, waddled the most ugly and costly of bulldogs. He was thus airing himself when the Imperial carriage passed; Nicholas sat therein; his eye rested for a moment on the “exquisite,” and then the Czar beckoned to the “fool,” who hurried up, thinking that his fortune was re-established.

A dialogue ensued, which I give on the authority of Michelsen, who may be safely trusted. “Pray,” said Nicholas, eyeing him with humorous curiosity, “in the name of all the saints, who are you, and where do you come from?”

“May it please your Majesty, I have the honour to be your Majesty’s faithful subject, Save Saveitch Yakovloff.”

“Indeed!” replied the Emperor, with much gravity, “we are enchanted to have the opportunity of making your acquaintance, Save Saveitch. Oblige us by just stepping up, and take a seat beside us.”

Yakovloff slyly dropped the cudgel, and, not without some misgiving, took his seat.

“But stop,” said the Emperor, when they had driven on a little way, “where is your stick, Save Saveitch?”

“Never mind the stick, your Majesty.”

“But I do mind it, Save Saveitch Yakovloff.” The carriage was turned back, the cudgel picked up, and orders were given to drive on straight to the Winter Palace. When there, the Emperor alighted and made a signal to his alarmed fellow-traveller to follow. “O Save Saveitch,” said he sarcastically, “pray do not take off your cloak! we must have you--hat, stick, cloak and all.” The Emperor led the way to the apartments of the Empress.

“Pray, my dear,” inquired he, “do you know this animal?”

“No,” replied the Empress, unable to repress a laugh at the strange figure before her.

“Then allow me to inform you this is our faithful subject Save Saveitch Yakovloff. What do you think of him?” said Nicholas, turning him round, “is not he a pretty fellow?”

The unfortunate Save Saveitch, whose feelings may be imagined, after having afforded the royal couple much diversion, was dismissed, half-dead with terror and confusion; but before he departed, he received a salutary hint that the Czar did not always punish the foolery of his subjects so leniently.--In short, Nicholas, after using poor Save as a court fool, was mean enough to dismiss him without a court fool’s wages.

Thus much to illustrate my subject with regard to Russia. There is not much to be added in reference to the other Northern courts. In the autobiography of Christina, Queen of Sweden, which forms part of the ponderous memoirs of that sovereign by Archenholz, she tells the world that when in her youth the Regency of Sweden had determined to provide her with apartments separate from those of the Queen-Mother, the latter opposed it with vehement anger and sorrow, while Christina herself, with all her tender respect for the widow of Gustavus Adolphus, approved of the measure with as vehement delight. “I was afraid,” says the lively Queen, “that she would be a grand obstacle in the way of my studies and exercises, which annoyed me much, for I had an extreme desire to learn.” Besides, adds Christina, “the Queen-Mother took delight in maintaining a number of buffoons and dwarfs in her apartments, which were always full of them, after the German fashion. Such a fashion was insupportable to me, for I have a natural aversion against that wretched class of beings.”

Flögel traces the Scandinavian jesters back to the period of the Scalds (the Skial, or wise men), who were also called Spekinge (from _speke_, wisdom), from which, he says, is derived our word _speak_, which, however, is not always in connection with wisdom. The Sapphic verses of the Scalds often conveyed a double meaning, and perhaps this species of wit caused the idea of the bards being a species of jesters. That they were magnificently rewarded there is no doubt, seeing that Hiarne, the Scald, wrote an epitaph on Frotho I. of Denmark, which so delighted the people that they elected the poet to the vacant throne. The people must have been poor judges of poetry, for the epitaph is but an indifferent production. And then the story is doubtful, belonging to the period anterior to that of Harald in the ninth century, all the details of which are mythic and contradictory. One fact, nevertheless, connects the Scald with the jester; both were licensed to sing or speak with impunity. The former might make his harp ring to the intoning of the royal faults, just as the fool might raise the laughter of a court by sarcastic allusion to kingly foibles. And, moreover, there were several Scandinavian Kings who were their own Scalds, as we have seen several princes who were their own fools. The parallel may, perhaps, be allowed to pass; the more, that the wit of the Scald was generally as incomprehensible and cumbersome as that of some of the early court jesters. Fancy the verse which literally runs:--“I hang the round hammered yawning serpent at the tongue of the falcon-bridge, by the gallows of the shield of Odin,” to mean nothing more than, “I put the ring on the finger of the hand, near the arm!” Here was euphonistic folly! And the words, too, were mixed up unconnectedly, having no meaning at all as they originally stood; and through what a circumlocution-office of construing and interpreting had the student to go before he reached the thing signified! The _falcon-bridge_ was the hand on which the falconer carried his bird. The _tongue_ of the bridge was the little finger; and the _gallows of the shield of Odin_, was the arm on which the warrior’s shield was wont to be suspended!

They were mighty fellows, those Scalds, in the days of heathenism, but as Christianity dawned and rose, their power decreased. They became court poets, which, according to Ménage, was the same as court fool, and they sank into ordinary minstrels, who sang, as their historians say, with more truth than refinement, simply to “fill their bellies.”

Like the Italian fools, the Scandinavian jesters seem to have been mere practical jokers. Of one, who was not clever enough to transmit his name to posterity, we are told that a King of Denmark once accepted his invitation to repair to an old castle, and there drink ale-soup with him; and that the fool, conducting his Majesty to the sea-+side, remarked, “There is the soup; when you have finished that you shall have the ale.” At a much later period the fool is to be found in another capacity; thus, at the triumphal entry of Admiral Bagge, there figured in the procession “the court fool Hercules,” whose duty it was to play on the fiddle. Nothing however is said of his proficiency.

In Scandinavia, as elsewhere, the fool is sometimes seen in the light of excellent counsellor and acute statesman. This was the case with the jester of Frederick II. of Denmark, about 1580, when that monarch happened to be in much perplexity touching a bargain he had made, or half made, with some English merchants at Copenhagen. He had been induced to accept their offer to purchase the island of Huen, in the Sound, at the cost of as much English scarlet cloth as would reach all round the island, and a piece of gold for every fold of the cloth. The perplexity of Frederick arose from the fact that he had bethought himself, if the English possessed Huen they might fortify it, and with their fleets blockade the Sound itself. He was sorely puzzled, for he wished to break the bargain without seeming to break his word. He looked in utter helplessness at his fool; and the fool, smiling at the supposed difficulty, came to the King’s relief. “You have only to tell the English merchants,” said the descendant of Yorick, “that in standing to your contract, it is understood that as soon as they pay the price of the purchase, they must remove the article purchased; for it is not to be imagined that you sell such an unwieldy article, to let it stick at your door, or to let them stick on it in your very jaws.” The King was delighted; he wriggled out of his bargain, by the fool’s good aid, and the popular voice added the name of the Scarlet Isle to that of Huen, or Venusia.

These brief notices will perhaps suffice to show the quality of the joculator in the Northern Courts. The next chapter will as briefly illustrate the Motley of Spain.

THE SPANISH JESTERS.

In one of the letters addressed by the anxious Chesterfield to his son, the discerning Peer remarks: “There is at all courts a chain which connects the Prince or the Minister with the page of the backstairs or the chambermaid. The King’s wife or mistress has an influence over him; a lover has an influence over her; the chambermaid or _valet de chambre_ has an influence over both; and so _ad infinitum_. You must therefore,” adds the estimable trainer of his child, “not break a link of that chain, by which you hope to climb up to the prince.”

With a little modification, such as “fool” for _valet de chambre_, this counsel would not have been without value to any young Spaniard about to push his fortunes at any one of the royal courts once scattered over the length and breadth of now united Spain. At these courts, the jester was paramount in influence. The introduction of the merry official is said to date from the entry of the Troubadours from the south of France. This joyous company brought with them many methods of entertaining royal and noble listeners, but they gradually degenerated, as the minstrels did in other countries, into buffoons,--and probably found the latter the more profitable profession of the two.

James II., King of Majorca, provided for the merry professors in the royal household, by establishing them there, under the protection of the law. “From ancient times,” as tradition tells us, so runs the decree, “it has been lawful for Mimes or Jesters to reside in princes’ households; for the execution of their office is a provocative to gladness. Wherefore, we will and ordain, that in our court there shall always be five jesters, of which five, two may be trumpeters, and a third our letter-carrier (_tabellarius_).” This arrangement left the other two in close attendance upon their royal patron.