From the earliest times history records many an amusing anecdote illustrative of royal wit and humour, and it is related how when Leonidas, King of Sparta, was informed that the Persian arrows were so numerous that they obscured the light of the sun, he replied, “Never mind that, we shall have the advantage of fighting in the shade.” But, coming down to later times, if monarchs have occasionally indulged in wit at the expense of their subjects, they have themselves not infrequently resented a joke when levelled at them, as in the case of Henry I. of England, who, once being ridiculed in a clever lampoon, rejoined by having the author’s eyes put out. But to the credit of royalty, be it said, instances of this kind have been the exception, despite the sharp retorts it has at times experienced from persons of low degree. Thus a smart rejoinder was that of Frederick the Great’s coachman when he had upset the carriage containing his master. Frederick began to swear like a trooper, but the coachman coolly asked, “And you, did you never lose a battle?”—to which the King was forced to reply with a good-natured laugh.{265}

Henry VIII. appointed Sir Thomas More to carry an angry message to Francis I. of France. Sir Thomas told his Majesty that, if he carried a message to so violent a king as Francis, it might cost him his head. “Never fear,” said the King, “if Francis should cut off your head, I would make every Frenchman now in London a head shorter.” “I am obliged to your Majesty,” said Sir Thomas, “but I much fear if any of their heads will fit my shoulders.”

Even Queen Elizabeth could now and then brook a smart rejoinder. It is reported that she once saw in her garden a certain gentleman to whom she had held out hopes of advancement, which he discovered were slow of realisation. Looking out of her window, her Majesty said to him in Italian, “What does a man think of, Sir Edward, when he thinks of nothing?” The answer was, “He thinks, madam, of a woman’s promise.” Whereupon the Queen drew back her head, but she was heard to say, “Well, Sir Edward, I must not argue with you; anger makes dull men witty, but it keeps them poor.”

It would seem, too, that Elizabeth had more than once experienced the folly of sovereigns in allowing persons of more wit than manners the opportunity of exercising their sharp weapons against royalty. A certain jester, Pace, having transgressed in this way, she had forbidden him her presence. One of his patrons, however, undertook to make his peace with her Majesty, and in his name promised that for the future he would{266} behave with more discretion if he were allowed to resume his office. The Queen consented, and, on seeing him, she exclaimed, “Come on, Pace; now we shall hear of our faults!” To which the incorrigible cynic replied, “What is the use of speaking of what all the town is talking about?”

But her Majesty was fond of jests herself, and there is the familiar impromptu couplet she made on the names of the four knights of the county of Nottingham:—
“Gervase the gentle, Stanhope the stout,
Markham the lion, and Sutton the lout.”

And it has generally been supposed that the subjoined rebus on Sir Walter Raleigh’s name was her composition:—
“The bane of the stomach, and the word of disgrace,
Is the name of the gentleman with the bold face.”

James I. was fond of buffoonery, and according to Sir Anthony Weldon was very witty, and had “as many ready jests as any man living, at which he would not smile himself, but deliver them in a grave and serious manner.” A little work entitled “Witty Observations of King James” is preserved in the British Museum, and another one, “The Witty Aphorisms of King James,” has often been quoted as a specimen of his Majesty’s talent in this style of literature. But Walpole was far from complimentary when he wrote of James: “A prince, who thought puns and quibbles the perfection of eloquence, would have been charmed with the{267} monkeys of Hemskirk and the drunken boors of Ostade.”

Asking the Lord-Keeper Bacon one day what he thought of the French ambassador, he answered that he was a tall and proper man. “Ay,” replied James, “but what think you of his headpiece? Is he a proper man for an ambassador?” “Sir,” said Bacon, “tall men are like high houses, wherein commonly the uppermost rooms are worst furnished.”

James, however, did not escape being ridiculed by the wits of the period. A lampoon containing some impudent reflections upon the Court caused him some indignation, but when he came to the two concluding lines he smiled:—
“God bless the King, the Queen, the Prince, the peers,
And grant the author long may wear his ears!”

“By my faith, and so he shall for me,” said his Majesty; “for though he be an impudent, he is a witty and pleasant rogue.” James was fond of retorting on others when occasion offered. When one of the Lumleys, for instance, was boasting of his ancestry, “Stop, man,” he cried, “you need say no more: now I know that Adam’s name was Lumley.”

Again, one day when a certain courtier, on his death-bed, was full of penitent remorse for having cheated his Majesty, “Tell him,” he said, “to be of good courage, for I freely and lovingly forgive him.” And he added, “I wonder much that all my officers do not go mad with the like thoughts,{268} for certainly they have as great cause as this poor man hath.”

A laughable story is told of an expedient adopted by Buckingham, and his mother, to divert the royal melancholy at the most dismal part of his reign. A young lady was introduced, carrying in her arms a pig dressed as an infant, which the Countess presented to the King in a rich mantle. One Turpin, robed as a bishop, commenced reading the baptismal service, while an assistant stood by with a silver ewer filled with water. The King, for whom the joke was intended as a pleasing surprise, hearing the pig suddenly squeak, and recognising the face of Buckingham, who personated the godfather, exclaimed, “Away, for shame, what blasphemy is this?” indignant at the trick which had been imposed on him. But it is improbable that Buckingham would have ventured on such a piece of buffoonery had he not been prompted by the success of former occasions.

Charles II., it is said, enjoyed fun as much as any of the youngest of his courtiers. On one of his birthdays a pickpocket, in the garb of a gentleman, obtained admission to the drawing-room, and extracted a gold snuff-box from a gentleman’s pocket, which he was quietly transferring to his own when he suddenly caught the King’s eye. But the fellow was in no way disconcerted, and winked at Charles to hold his tongue. Shortly afterwards his Majesty was much amused by observing the nobleman feeling one pocket after another in search of his box. At last he could{269} resist no longer, and exclaimed, “You need not, my lord, give yourself any more trouble about it; your box is gone, and I own myself an accomplice: I could not help it, I was made a confidant.”

One day this facetious monarch, it is said, asked Dr. Stillingfleet how it happened that he always read his sermons before him, when he was informed that he preached without a book elsewhere. The doctor told the King that the awe of so noble an audience, and particularly the royal presence, made him afraid to trust himself.

“But, in return, will your Majesty give me leave to ask you why you read your speeches when you can have none of the same reasons?”

“Why, truly, doctor,” replied the King, “your question is a very plain one, and so will be my answer. I have asked my subjects so often, and for so much money, that I am ashamed to look them in the face.”

But his Majesty did not always escape himself being made the victim of a joke. He was reputed to be skilled in naval architecture, and visiting Chatham to view a ship which had just been completed, he asked the famous Killigrew “if he did not think he should make an excellent shipwright?” To which Killigrew replied that “he always thought his Majesty would have done better at any trade than his own.” Meeting Shaftesbury, his Majesty one day said to the unprincipled Earl, “I believe thou art the wickedest fellow in my dominions.” “For a subject, sir,” said the other, “I believe I am.” The{270} happy retort of Blood is well known, who, when Charles inquired how he dared to make his bold attempt on the crown jewels, replied, “My father lost a good estate in fighting for the crown, and I considered it no harm to recover it by the crown.”

James II., when Duke of York, made a visit to the poet Milton, and asked him if he did not think the loss of sight was a judgment upon him for what he had written against his father, Charles I. Milton replied, if his Highness thought his loss of sight a judgment upon him, he wished to know what he thought of his father’s losing his head.

Mary II. did not often indulge in badinage or playfulness. But one day she asked her ladies “what was meant by a squeeze of the hand?” They forthwith answered, “Love.” Then said her Majesty, laughing, “Vice-Chamberlain Smith must be in love with me, for he squeezes my hand very hard.”

George I. was humorous, a trait of character of which many anecdotes have been told. When on a visit to Hanover, he stopped at a Dutch village, and, whilst the horses were being got ready, his Majesty asked for two or three eggs, for which he was charged a hundred florins.

“How is this?” inquired the King. “Eggs must be very scarce here.”

“Pardon me,” said the host, “eggs are plentiful enough, but kings are scarce”—a story of which there are several versions.{271}

“This is a very odd country,” King George remarked, speaking of England. “The first morning after my arrival at St. James’s, I looked out of the window and saw a park with walls and a canal, which they told me were mine. The next day Lord Chetwynd, the ranger of my park, sent me a brace of fine carp out of my canal, and I was told I must give five guineas to my Lord Chetwynd’s man for bringing me my own carp out of my own canal in my own park.”

Equally did George I. enjoy listening to those who either exposed their own follies, or retailed those of others. The Duchess of Bolton, for instance, often made him laugh by reason of her ridiculous blunders. Having been present when Colley Cibber’s first dramatic performance, “Love’s Last Shift,” was played, the King asked her the next day what piece she had seen performed, when she answered, with a serious face, “La dernière chemise de l’amour.”

Like George I., his successor, George II., had a certain amount of humour, and his fondness for Hanover occasioned all sorts of rough jokes among his English subjects. He thought there were no manners out of Germany, and on one occasion when her Royal Highness “was whipping one of the roaring royal children,” George, who was standing by, said to Sarah Marlborough, “Ah, you have no good manners in England, because you are not properly brought up when you are young.”

A smart retort was that of his Majesty to the French ambassador. The regiment that princi{272}pally distinguished itself at the battle of Dettingen was the Scots Greys, who repulsed the French gens d’armes with much loss. Some years afterwards, when the King was reviewing some English regiments before the French ambassador, the latter, after admitting that they were fine troops, remarked disparagingly, “But your Majesty has never seen the gens d’armes.” “No,” replied the King, “but I can tell you, and so can they, that my Scotch Greys have.”

When George II., too, was once expressing his admiration of General Wolfe, some one remarked that the general was mad. “Is he, indeed?” said his Majesty. “Then I wish he would bite some of my other generals.”

Queen Caroline thought she had the foolish talent of playing off people, and, after Sir Paul Methuen had left the Court, she frequently saw him when she dined abroad during the King’s absence at Hanover. On one occasion, when she dined with Lady Walpole at Chelsea, Sir Paul was there as usual. The Queen still harped upon the same string—her constant topic for teasing Sir Paul being his passion for romances—and she addressed him with the remark: “Well, Sir Paul, what romance are you reading now?”

“None madam! I have gone through them all.”

“Well, what are you reading then?”

“I am got into a very foolish study, madam—the history of the kings and queens of England.”

Her Majesty was fond of surrounding herself{273} with men of wit, and her levees, it is said, “were a strange picture of the motley character and manners of a queen and a learned woman. She received company while she was at her toilette; prayers and sometimes a sermon were read; the conversation turned on metaphysical subjects blended with repartees, sallies of mirth, and the tittle-tattle of a drawing-room.”

Many anecdotes have been handed down of George III. and his love of humour. When the “Temple Companies” had defiled before him, writes Earl Stanhope in his “Life of Pitt,” his Majesty inquired of Erskine, who commanded them as lieutenant-colonel, what was the composition of that corps. “They are all lawyers, sire,” said Erskine.

“What, what!” exclaimed the King, “all lawyers, all lawyers? Call them ‘The Devil’s Own’; call them ‘The Devil’s Own.’” And “The Devil’s Own” they were called accordingly.

The Duke of York was one day conversing with his brother, George III., when the latter remarked that he seemed in unusually low spirits. “How can I be otherwise,” said the Duke, “when I am subjected to so many calls from my creditors, without having sixpence to pay them?” The King, it is said, immediately gave him a thousand-pound note, every word of which he read aloud in a tone of mock gravity, and then he marched out of the room singing the first verse of “God Save the King.”

When one day standing between Lord Eldon{274} and the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr. Sutton, his Majesty gravely remarked, “I am now in a position which probably no European king ever occupied,” for, he afterwards explained, “I am standing between the head of the Church and the head of the Law in my kingdom—men who ought to be the patterns of morality, but who have been guilty of the greatest immorality.” On Lord Eldon begging to know to what his Majesty alluded, the King humorously added, “Well, my lords, did you not both run away with your wives?”

When a certain admiral, well known for his gallant spirit, was introduced to William IV., to return thanks for his promotion, the cheerful and affable monarch, looking at his hair, which was almost as white as snow, jocosely remarked, “White at the main, admiral! white at the main!” But his Majesty was a very moderate joker, preferring to hear a good joke from others. It is said that when heir-presumptive he one day said to a secretary of the Admiralty who was at the same dinner table, “C——, when I am King you shall not be Admiralty Secretary! Eh, what do you say to that?”

“All that I have to say to that, in such a case, is,” said C——, “God save the King!”

Dr. Doran quotes an amusing anecdote to the effect that the King never laughed so heartily as when he was told of a certain parvenu lady who, dining at Sir John Copley’s, ventured to express her surprise that “there was no pilfered water on the table.{275}”

In conversation, Queen Victoria appreciated homely wit of a quiet kind, and laughed without restraint when a jest or anecdote appealed to her. Subtlety and indelicacy offended her, and sometimes evoked a scornful censure. Although she naturally expected courtesy of address, she was not conciliated by obsequiousness. “It is useless to ask ——’s opinion,” she would say; “he only tries to echo mine.” Her own conversation had often the charm of na?veté. When told that a very involved piece of modern German music, to which she was listening with impatience, was a drinking song by Rubinstein, she remarked, “Why, you could not drink a cup of tea to that.”[115]

According to Brant?me, Louis XI., wishing one day to have something written, espied an ecclesiastic with an inkstand hanging at his side, from which—having opened at the King’s request—a set of dice fell out.

“What kind of sugar-plums are these?” asked his Majesty.

“Sire,” replied the priest, “they are a remedy for the plague.”

“Well said,” exclaimed the King; “you are a fine paillard; you are the man for me,” and he took him into his service, being fond of bon-mots and sharp wits.

Another amusing anecdote tells how a certain French baron, having lost everything at play, happening to be in the King’s chamber, secreted a small clock ornamented with massive gold up his sleeve.{276} A few minutes afterwards the clock began to strike the hour, much to the consternation of the baron, and the surprise of those present. The King, who, as it chanced, had detected the theft, burst out laughing, and the baron, self-convicted, fell on his knees before the King, saying, “Sire, the pricks of gaming are so p............