In after years, when Mary assumed the burden of regal dignity, she was exposed to the malevolent misinterpretation of a Court to which she was almost as much a stranger as was her husband himself. She was considered too fond of the frivolous gaieties from which in truth she shrank, and she writes: “The world who cannot see the heart ... began to take notice of the change that was in my life, and comparing my way of living in Holland to that here, were much scandalised to see me grown so remiss.” But this kind of criticism, which was unjust, did not prevent her pursuing the course she considered right; and although on the King’s birthday in 1689 a ball was given at her desire, she tells us:--
“I really thought it no proper time, when war was round about, and my father himself engaged against us.... Yet such is the depravation of this age and place where I live, none seems to think of such things, and so, ill-custom prevailing, there was a ball, but by my writings may be seen how I endeavoured to spend that day as also the next, which was Gunpowder Treason, God be praised for it.”
The following particulars of a grand ball given at Marli in July 1705, at which the royal exiles of St. Germains were present, is a proof of the respectful consideration with which they were treated by Louis XIV. At the upper end of the saloon in which the ball took place were placed three fauteuils for the King of France, the widowed Queen of England, and her son--Mary Beatrice, as in the lifetime of her royal consort, occupying the centre seat. The titular King of England opened the ball with his sister, the King of France standing all the time they were dancing. This mark of respect, it is said, he would have done every time the young royal pair danced together, had not Mary Beatrice induced him to be seated; and even then it was not till he had paid them this token of regard twice or thrice that he would consent to sit down.
The introduction in the Russian Court of foreign dances coincided with the adoption of foreign dress and other customs; hence in the time of Peter the Great ignorance of the minuet, or of Polish and English dances, was looked upon as a serious defect in education. During the latter part of her life the Empress Anne was fond of listening to the jests of her buffoons. At the conclusion of these exhibitions her maids of honour would sing to her, and occasionally she would watch them dance. One day, according to the “Memoirs of the Princess Daschkov,” she commanded four of the principal beauties of St. Petersburg to perform a Russian dance before her. But they became so nervous at the stern glance of the Empress that, losing all presence of mind, they forgot the figure of the dance, and amidst the general confusion were electrified by the approach of her Majesty, who, advancing towards them in a fit of rage, gave each a sound box on the ear, and ordered them instantly to begin over again, which they did, half dead with fear.[47] The Empress Elizabeth was an accomplished dancer, and in order to see the minuet danced to perfection it was commonly said one should go to the Russian Court. Catherine II. was very fond of the ballet, and gave it every possible encouragement, taking an active pleasure in most kinds of pantomimic ballet. Amongst some of the many anecdotes told of this sovereign, it is related how she treated her maids of honour almost as if they were her own daughters. Noticing one day that Freiline Potocka, who had lately come to the Court, had no pearls, she immediately seized the opportunity of a fancy dress ball, to which the girl came in the disguise of a milkmaid, in order to slip a superb necklace into the pail that she had put down whilst dancing. “It is you, madame, ... it is your Majesty,” she stammered on discovering the present. “No!” replied the Empress, “the milk has curdled.”[48]