Many a night, when the Queen and the ladies were dancing quadrilles and polkas (in which his Majesty, who was enormously stout as well as tall, insisted upon figuring, and in which he was about as graceful as an elephant dancing a hornpipe), Ivanhoe would steal away from the ball, and come and have a night's chat under the moon with his reverend friend.

It pained him to see a man of the King's age and size dancing about with the young folks.

They laughed at his Majesty whilst they flattered him: the pages and maids of honor mimicked the royal mountebank almost to his face; and, if Ivanhoe ever could have laughed, he certainly would one night when the King, in light-blue satin inexpressibles, with his hair in powder, chose to dance the minuet de la cour with the little Queen Berangeria.
Then, after dancing, his Majesty must needs order a guitar, and begin to sing.

He was said to compose his own songs--words and music--but those who have read Lord Campobello's "Lives of the Lord Chancellors" are aware that there was a person by the name of Blondel, who, in fact, did all the musical part of the King's performances; and as for the words, when a king writes verses, we may be sure there will be plenty of people to admire his poetry.

His Majesty would sing you a ballad, of which he had stolen every idea, to an air that was ringing on all the barrel-organs of Christendom, and, turning round to his courtiers, would say, "How do you like that?
I dashed it off this morning." Or, "Blondel, what do you think of this movement in B flat ?" or what not; and the courtiers and Blondel, you may be sure, would applaud with all their might, like hypocrites as they were.
One evening--it was the evening of the 27th March, 1199, indeed--his Majesty, who was in the musical mood, treated the court with a quantity of his so-called composition, until the people were fairly tired of clapping with their hands and laughing in their sleeves.