For Queen And Country

As taken from the journal of Viscount Christopher Francis of Surrey, England on a diplomatic mission to Her Majesty's Ball, as presented by We Make History.

Images used with all thanks and courtesies to Sir Michael.

17th January, The Year Of Our Lord 1709 --

I give praise to GOD for many wonderful things, among them the opportunities to dance with Her Majesty's loyal subjects and friends from afar. As such, I consulted my tailor for a suitable outfit that would capture the elegance and joy of the evening in one fitting. Verily, I say, she succeeded beyond all measure of reasonable expectation, as evidenced in the journey to the ballroom. Another carriage pulled alongside, and its passenger, a roguish sort, did notice my dressings and cocked hat. He conferred to me a low, common, and yet complimentary greeting.

When I passed through the great door of the hall, the Royal Court artist did immediately take note of my peach-coloured satin jacket and breeches trimmed with lace and the festive ribbons protruding from my knees. I dare say I caused a minor stir, for not five minutes after my arrival I found myself suddenly standing before Her Majesty The Queen, in her trademark polonaise of gold and crimson, her smile as wide as the James River.


"Your Majesty!" I saluted, and with great haste I swept off my three-cornered hat, fell back on one foot and bowed deeply to her, labouring to hold my balance and give proper reverence to a beloved and merry Monarch. She, as always, graciously welcomed me.

To her side, a lady bustled with excitement over my choice of attire. "You look so awesome!" she said to me with giddy expectations. I did return the compliment and made affectionate note of her gown, a joyous overflowing stew of yellow and blue.


"I am the court jester," she explained to me. I detected a slight jingle in her steps, so as they say, she truly had arrived with bells on. Foremost on her mind, however, beyond her admiration of style, was her insistence that I give her at least four dances.

"My lady," I explained to her, "I have promised many dances to many ladies!"

I say I did not bear false witness for one moment, for I have a reputation within the Kingdom of seeking out as many different ladies as possible. I consider it my mission, for Queen And Country. Yet I did not turn her down, confident that I would somehow find a way to satisfy her longings. This ball would be an intimate affair, with a small but select group of ladies and gentlemen, including a courier for Royal Court of Spain, a noblewoman of Portugal, Le Comte and La Comtesse of France, and a young masqued boy rumoured to be the Scarlet Pimpernel.


I greeted His Lordship, who gave great praise to my dressings. As we conversed, one of our players observed in jest to our Master of Ceremonies, that this may be the only time he has been outdone in fashion.

I blushed. Outdo His Lordship? Oh, Heavens, no! The mere thought is unfathomable! Still, the Royal Court artists and others did insist on pictures, and at my request, I posed with several ladies of the realm.

Beauty, though, extends deep beyond any fabric, shall we not agree? Thus I was humbled when a newcomer to Her Majesty's Realm, a lady of integrity and purpose, consulted me for advice on the performance of courtly dances, both for herself and her three young and beautiful daughters.


Eager to hone my aspirations as a dancing master, I gave them my most sincere advice to absorb themselves in the joy of each figure and to move with grace, happiness, and humility. I showed them a simple yet elegant curtsy for those times of reverence.

"Uplift your partners," I said to the family. "Give your partner honour in every step."

I demonstrated a graceful turn with one of the young ladies. "Look right into your partner's eyes," I said. "Enjoy the music and your company."

The lady echoed my instructions. "Dignity and respect," she repeated to the young ones.

His Lordship assembled us and presented Her Majesty, The Queen, after which he regaled us with a story from his recent travels to the colonies. An Indian chief, he said, had seen an omen -- a vision of a cardinal swooping down and plucking the feathers from an eagle. A curious vision, indeed. Perhaps the matter was concerning another realm, a conflict far away, or maybe some allusion to a great diversion involving a ball wrapped in leather.


We had little time to ponder it as the grand promenade began. Seeing the Royal Court Jester unaccompanied when so many had escorts, my heart nudged me forward to act with kindness. We took hands and joined the stately parade. As is custom, it wound about and around, ending in a circle where His Lordship called out the various guests of the Realm.


I entertained her again for the first dance, a lively circle entitled "Noel." The gentlemen and ladies skipped around in turn as a chorus, away from and back to each other, then circling some more or or turning their partners as verses.


I note the gentlemen in their enthusiasm would often skip a great distance, leaving the ladies more steps than they expected to catch up with their partners, but all was well as everyone found each other in the end.


The call went out for "Christ Church Bells," one of my favourites, and I spared no moments bowing to a new lady.

"Do you have any objection to being head couple?" I inquired of her. She did not, as we formed a new set. Although I laboured to dissuade any unease in the lady, I must admit I missed one step as our dancing mistress explained it, leaving me standing about awkwardly and producing a moment of humourous confusion.

"I am sorry," I said, noting the chuckles around me and the ladies who had missed not a step.

My gracious partner faulted me not. The focus of my distraction, I should note, was a lady diagonal from me as I subtly encouraged her to look at my countenance, if not my eyes, as we turned each other around. Indeed, making eye contact is a point of joyous manner I labour for others to learn.


My lessons of grace were not lost on the lady newcomer, whom I chose as my next partner.

"As long as it is not confusing," she said, worried for her skill.

"Do not worry," I said. "I shall make it as unconfusing as possible."

To my great delight, she danced with an elegant and courtly flourish, holding my hand high in those figures where we turned each other. Even through the unfamiliar steps, she remained determined to enjoy the time on the floor and dance on, speaking to me often with inspiring words of encouragement in the proper accent of my homeland.

"Dear sir, dear sir, how are you?"

To be truthful, I should tell you that both of us had moments where we were found ourselves lost, either in the dance or in the figures.

"Thank you, my lady," I praised with a bow upon the conclusion of the number, adding a compliment to her steadfastness and poise.


For many years I have not considered myself worthy enough to dance with Her Majesty, but on this night, I summoned my courage and asked. Of course, the gracious Monarch that she is, she accepted, and together we enjoyed Sellinger's Round. I found opportunity to demonstrate my fancy steps, skipping and hopping with precision and air of a learned gentlemen. One must dance his best for the Queen!

Our players and our dancing mistress proceeded through a list of old favourites: "Soldier's Joy," "The Queen's Jig," and "Jack's Maggot," where I took great delight in dancing with Le Comtesse even though we found the "hey for three" a most challenging figure. The serpentine movements sometimes bewildered us, and we would have surely tried the patience our dancing masters. So I found myself quite honoured and surprised when La Comtesse remarked that she was glad to dance "with someone who knows what he is doing!"

I took advantage of a pause in the celebration for a moment of improvisation, as our players performed a slow-tempo song. Spotting our Court Jester, and knowing of her persistence if I did not engage her in another dance, I bowed to her and took her hand. We invented a minuet on the spot, although I admit I did most of the stepping while she followed along. She thanked me once more.

"The Spaniard" is a lively dance that involves much skipping and hopping. So is our beloved Cookie Dance, where short sets left plenty of opportunities for the lords and ladies to leap about.

But where was our jester? I spotted her to the side, unengaged and quite lonely as another dance was about to begin.

With nary a thought, I dashed all the way across the hall to her. "My lady, I will not have you sitting here alone! Will you dance with me?"

She accepted, of course, and we enjoyed "Haste To The Wedding," just the way a dancing master of Williamsburg taught it to me: turning right and left, circling left and right, passing my partner back to back, clapping twice, turning my partner, back-to-back with my neighbor, clapping twice, turning my neighbor and starting once more.

It is inevitable that when one is consumed by pleasure, the clock should accelerate. The time for the last waltz arrived, much as many us did not wish the evening to end.

"I thought it went until midnight," the Court Jester puzzled.

"Unfortunately, it does not," I lamented to her, "even though I could dance all night."

I invited her to share the waltz with me. Yet this time, instead of a simple two-step, I had the longing and passion to dance another improvised minuet or progression step. My gracious Jester indulged my request.

"Forward," I called softly to her, stepping with a slight dip in three-quarter time, inside hands clasped and raised above us. "Around," I directed, leading her daintily in another direction so that we could resume our forward step without colliding with the other couples. Thus the arrangement continued, I leading her all the way.

Occasionally we would turn to vary the figures -- "Left hand round," "Right hand round," -- before stepping onward gracefully. She was not sure at times what I had planned for her, but the Jester followed my every step, even if I played the fool. Just as I taught the others, I felt she honoured me as I honoured her, and when the waltz concluded, I fell into a low bow.

"God Bless You!" I whispered to her.

The warmth and beauty of the evening lingered within me long after the carriage ride home, as I lie in rest, and as I gave Praise to GOD at Church the following day. Even out of my stockings and breeches and cocked hat, I still found myself saying, "My Lady!" and bowing here and there. Dignity and respect -- and an unquenchable love for all things elegant and courtly.
More of Her Majesty's celebration here.

TO COME: Soldier's Joy!

Pleasures Of The Dance, A Life & Timelines Special Presentation In Five Parts:
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5