Part 10

To return, however, to the reign of Henry III., the successor of John, I may notice as an incident of the social history of the period, that there were few places where the itinerant jester was more warmly welcomed than at the lonely cells of the Friars. We have an instance of this in a story told by Wood, and quoted by Warton, to this effect. A couple of strangers applied one night at the gates of a cell of Benedictines near Oxford, for admission. The itinerants were taken for jesters, and gained a ready admission under that supposition. Cellarer, sacrist, and the whole of the confraternity looked forward to having a merry night of it with the _gesticulatoriis ludicrisque artibus_ of their guests. But these proved to be grave men of long prayers and short meals; very poor in purse, but rich in saving knowledge; without power or taste to make a joke, but with will and ability to enjoin their hosts to live cleanly and soberly and religiously, to serve God faithfully, honour the King loyally, and to put away from themselves all naughtiness. The Benedictines did not care a fig for such serious persons, or their admonitions. They had admitted the wayfarers, supposing them to be jesters; and illogically concluding, because the supposed jesters were monks, they themselves had been deceived by them, they set upon the poor fellows, thrashed them soundly, and turned them out-of-doors.

Of a _joculator_ at the court of Henry III. we probably obtain a glimpse in the personage of a certain Master Henry, who is called the “versificator,” a term which was sometimes given to the _joculator_. “In one of the Tower Rolls,” says Miss Strickland, “dated, Woodstock, April 30, in the thirty-second year of Henry III.’s reign, that monarch directs his treasurer and chamberlain to pay Master Henry, the poet, whom he affectionately styles, ‘Our beloved Master Henry, the versificator, one hundred shillings, due to him for the arrears of his salary, enjoining them to pay it without delay, though the Exchequer was then shut.”

This Master Henry was, doubtless, Henry of Avranches, who is sometimes designated as poet laureate to the King, and of whose works some specimens yet remain. We must not forget the assertion of Ménage, that court poet and court fool were sometimes one and the same; and that Master Henry was qualified for the latter, we may gather from the description given of him in a satirical poem by an angry Cornish writer, Michael Blaunpayne, who thus depicts the royal versificator, enjoying a salary of a hundred shillings a year: “You have the legs of a goat, the thighs of a sparrow, and the sides of a boar. You have a hare’s mouth, a dog’s nose, the teeth and cheeks of a mule. Your face is a calf’s, your head is a bull’s, and from top to toe you are as swarthy as a Moor.” It must be acknowledged, if this _signalement_ may be accepted, that, in outward appearance, Master Henry was well qualified to enact the buffoon at the court of his royal namesake.

The next King, the crusading Edward I., is known to have had a minstrel, harper, or _joculator_ in constant attendance upon him. This official rendered his master good service on that occasion, at Ptolemais, when an assassin wounded Edward with a poisoned knife. It is said that the faithful fellow, hearing the struggle, rushed in and slew the assassin. We detect more of the professional jester in another account by Ritson, which says that the _citharœda_, as he is called, did not interfere till Edward himself had killed his assailant; and that then the minstrel, or whatever may be his proper designation, snatching up a trivet, tripod, or three-legged stool, began beating the dead man’s brains out. The joke seemed of so unworthy a quality to the King, that he rated the valiant coward soundly. The name of the joculator is not given; but we are more fortunate in the succeeding reign, for there we not only meet with an undoubted court fool, but we learn his name, and are introduced to a member of his family.

First, let me observe that in the ‘Liber Quotidianus,’ the daily wardrobe account of the fourteenth of Edward II. (1320–21), there are entries of rewards to several noblemen’s minstrels, or _joculatores_, who performed before the King in his own chamber. The singing and the jests were probably rude enough, for Edward II. was a roystering fellow, addicted to getting drunk in as roystering company abroad, and accustomed to pay the people who picked him up and saw him safe home. There is an entry in this very account to that effect,--of recompense to persons who thus looked after him, “in itineribus suis noctanter.”

We get too, as I have just intimated, at the name of the King’s fool, who was probably often abroad with him on these occasions, by an entry in some accounts, quoted in the ‘Archæologia’ (vol. ii. p. 6); and not only of the fool, but of his mother, by whose surname indeed we arrive at that of the jester. The entry runs thus: “To Dulcian Withastaf, mother of Robert, the King’s fool, coming to the King, at Baldock, of the King’s gift, 10_s._” “_Wit-has-staff_,” or “_Witty-staff_,” or “_With-a-staff_,” sounds very like a sobriquet for Robert himself; and perhaps Dame Dulcian derived the surname from her son’s occupation. At all events, it is pleasant to see Edward acting generously towards the old lady, when she hurried over to the court, at Baldock, to behold her son in all the glory of cap, bells, cock’s-comb, and run of the larder.

I might have included among my “Female Jesters” a nameless _Joculatrix_, or _Ministralissa_, who, if not attached to the household of Edward II., yet played her part before him for the amusement of himself and a noble company. It was on occasion of the festival of Whitsuntide, which the King was celebrating in the great Hall at Westminster, in the year 1316. While the royal host and his illustrious guests were seated at the banquet, this joculatrix rode into the Hall on a closely-clipped horse, and caracolled round about the tables, jesting the while, to the great amusement of the company. The joculatrix terminated her performance by placing a letter in the King’s hand; after which she gracefully rode away, with countless greetings, to the right and left. The letter contained a remonstrance against the unbounded favour exhibited by the King to unworthy persons, while he neglected his faithful knights and trusty servants. Not one of the latter, probably, would have dared to present the remonstrance; but the license allowed to the jester, or mime, ensured free access, and other immunities, to an agent chosen from among the joyous brotherhood, and still more to a sister of the gay profession. The gates of royal houses were always open to them: “Non esse mores,” is the remark quoted by Percy, “domus regiæ histriones ab ingressu quomodolibet prohibere.”

Edward II. not only admired a joculatrix who could ride, but still more a joculator who could not, or who feigned to be unable to keep in the saddle. I have, in a previous page, cited from the roll of expenses of this King, an entry of twenty shillings to a jester who rode before him, who kept continually tumbling off, and who thereby raised an amount of hilarity in the sovereign, that was set down as being worth twenty shillings. Just double the amount, and ten shillings over, were also paid to a jester who, dancing on a table in the King’s presence, caused him to laugh immoderately.

The great Scottish contemporary of Edward--Bruce--could also, like other heroic men, stoop to find amusement in the sallies of an official fool. Of this individual, we know indeed only the name, and are not acquainted with his quality. Mr. Irving, the author of a recently published ‘History of Dumbartonshire,’ informs us that Bruce, in his retirement at Cardross, kept for his solace, or his sport, a fool and a lion. The same author quotes the chamberlain’s book of accounts, in which there is an item containing the record of one shilling and sixpence having been expended for the conveyance of Patrick, the fool, to Tarbut, on Loch Fyne: “In expensis hominum transeuntium cum Patricio stulto veniente de Angliâ usque Le Tarbutt, 18 denarii;” by which it would seem that Bruce’s fool at Cardross was probably an Englishman. He is sometimes called Peter; and this, and the fact of his being in the household of Bruce, constitute all that we know touching this fool to a hero.

Of the minstrels and jesters of Edward III. we know even less than we do of that of Bruce, for we are unacquainted with any of their names. During the long reign of half a century, the chivalrous Edward was either exulting in glory acquired, or mourning at impending or overwhelming calamity. In the mere official jester he took no delight; but there was a peculiar court amusement of his own devising, which pleased others as highly as it pleased himself,--namely, the tournaments, at which he would tilt in disguise, revealing himself to the delighted spectators only when he had achieved victory. In the shape of a good court jest, too, were the appearances of himself and family at tournaments in the City. At these, Edward would appear in the bustling character of Lord Mayor, fulfilling all its functions. Two of his sons, on these occasions, represented the sheriffs, and the other two, with several noblemen, enacted the parts of aldermen. At these festivals, the royal family seemed to have turned into jesters and players, for the entertainment of a public who witnessed the performance with hilarity and admiration.

At the court of Edward’s grandson and successor, Richard II., the ordinary official joculators were doubtless to be found; but we are unacquainted with the name of any especial or favourite individual. They formed part of a very gay and extravagant household, as long as Richard could maintain such an establishment. The very idea of the outlay of this rollicking court even frightened the Commons into a respectful remonstrance; but the King reminded them that, as long as he did not ask them to pay for his pleasures, their interference was only an impertinence. The epoch was undoubtedly one of vast extravagance. It was the period when ladies in England first wore trains,--a fashion which elicited a biting satire from a merry divine. He entitled his work, ‘Contra caudas dominarum,’ _Against the tails of the ladies_, and it was productive of more mirth at court than a whole year’s wit of a whole household of jesters.

What little gaiety there was at the court of Henry IV. was to be found at Eltham; but even there it was of a very indifferent quality. If kings could not be merry but by the aid of a jester, no monarch more needed a joculator than the once handsome Bolingbroke, whose face became so ugly by eruptions, that even a jester could hardly have looked at it with a smile. Henry, too, was one of those men who are satisfied in their own minds that success in an enterprise is warrant of the approbation of Heaven! He required some of the rough homilies of the court fool to drive him out of a belief which he did not surrender till he ceased to enjoy his usual triumphs. His son kept court apart, and it may fairly be said, that if there was ever Prince or King at whose court we might have expected to meet a more than ordinary number of the licensed mirth-makers to royalty, it was that of Harry of Monmouth, who has been poetically, popularly, and historically represented to us as, from his youth upwards, addicted to associate with dissipated and facetious companions; and who, according to tradition, thought as little of smiting the heart of his father as he did of striking his father’s representative, solemn Judge Gascoyne. But all these matters are proved to have been myths, and the son of Bonligbroke neither drank deep with Falstaff, nor fooled it with the philosophic fool Pistol, nor sang staves with Bardolph, nor bandied nonsense with Poins. The Boar’s Head, Eastcheap, is a picture, but it represents no historical fact. The dying father was not robbed of his crown by his son; and they who look upon the tomb of Gascoyne in Harewood Church, Yorkshire, waste all their sympathy, if they give any there to the sleeping judge, on the ground of his having been insulted by a lawless prince. All this, however, will continue to be believed, for Shakespeare, who has set Mark Antony down to whist, has said it; and Rapin, dull, pompous, and obstinate, has declared that Prince Henry’s court was the receptacle of libertines, debauchees, buffoons, parasites, and the like. Carte, on the other hand, asserts that Henry of Monmouth’s court was crowded by the nobles and great men of the land, when his father’s court was comparatively deserted. But no one has so perfectly sifted the many tales touching the inclination of this prince for buffoons and roysterers as Tyler, in his ‘Life of Henry V.’ This writer, whose patient and painstaking spirit I envy, tells us that if Prince Henry was often in the city, and in Eastcheap in particular, it was not for dissipation, but for serious business. It is from this reverend author we learn, that in March 1410, the father of much-abused Prince Harry signed a deed in which it is said, “Know ye that, by our especial grace, we have granted to our dearest son Henry, Prince of Wales, a certain house or place, called Coldharbour, in our city of London, with its appurtenances, to hold for the term of his life, without any payment to us for the same.” In this right fair and stately house, which was not far from Eastcheap, councils were held, at which the Prince himself presided. Mr. Tyler not only proves that Henry did not resort to what he calls “a low and vulgar part of London,” for the purposes of riot and revelry with unworthy and dissolute companions; but he shows how the charge of being guilty of such offence may have arisen. “History,” he says, “records nothing of the Prince derogatory to his princely and Christian character during his residence at Coldharbour: it does indeed charge two of the King’s sons with a riot there; but they are stated by name to have been Thomas and John. Henry’s name does not occur at all in connection with any disturbance or misdoing.” Henry’s father, however, seems to have provided for the good cheer of the Prince of Wales; for in the same year that he gave his son the house at “Coldehabergh,” he also gave him an order on the Collector of the Customs for twenty casks and one pipe of the red wine of Gascony, to be delivered free of duty. This, as Pennant says, was “to stock his cellars;” and it was not likely that, thus provided, he would have resorted to neighbouring taverns at Eastcheap. One might as soon expect to hear of the Prince Consort at the Cider-cellars. If the assertion of the chroniclers, that Henry, on his accession, became altogether a reformed man, seems irreconcilable with his modest bearing when heir-apparent, we must remember, on the other hand, that there is no _contemporary_ record of his having committed any act of wildness, riot, and dishonour, while there are many bearing testimony to his virtues; namely, the records of Parliament, which bear witness to his rectitude, modesty, and steadiness; the despatches of Hotspur; the people of Wales; the gentlemen of various counties; and contemporary chroniclers, generally. Of the extravagant expenditure of his father’s household there are very numerous complaints; but none of that of his own household, either when he was Prince or King. In the latter capacity, Henry V. patronized the sacred minstrels rather than the laughing fools. He loved minstrelsy, psalms, and decent songs; and he made this love, as Mr. Tyler tells us, “contribute to the gratification of himself and the partner of his joys and cares.... Whether in their home at Windsor, or during their happy progress through England, in the halls of York and Chester, or in the tented ground on the banks of the Seine, before Melun, our imagination has solid foundation to build upon, when we picture to ourselves Henry and his beloved Princess passing innocently and happily, in minstrelsy and song, some of the hours spared from the appeals of justice, the exigencies of the State, or the marshalling of the battle-field.” For Henry’s other good qualities, and for his defects also, I must refer my readers to Mr. Tyler’s volumes, resting content with showing here, that Henry was not a patron of court fools. It may indeed be said that the jester and the minstrel were often to be found in the same person, in England, from the time that the Saxons hovered in the land, or since Canute, his _thingmen_, and his bards, all sang joyously together, when they celebrated a conquest, than which that of the Norman was not more wonderful. But it is clear that Henry’s minstrels were of a better character than those alluded to above, and that buffoonery was not encouraged at his court. Warton, in his ‘History of English Poetry,’ supports this assertion by saying, that the number of harpers in Westminster Hall at Henry’s coronation was innumerable. “They undoubtedly accompanied their instruments with heroic rhymes. The King, however,” adds Warton, “was no great encourager of the popular minstrelsy, which seems at this time to have flourished in the highest degree of perfection.” For all secular vanities his disgust was great; and he even forbade his triumph at Agincourt to be chanted by the harpers or others. Lingard indeed says, that “success gave a tinge of arrogance to his character;” and I may add, that although Henry V. loved books more than court fools, he set an example for the now common and detestable practice, of borrowing books and not returning them to their owners; he had better learned wisdom from fools, than committed this miserable sort of petty larceny.

It is difficult to conclude that the official fool was altogether absent from court in these days, when we remember an incident connected with Henry’s widow, Katherine of Valois. There is some reason to believe that Owen Tudor, when he danced awkwardly before Katherine, and ended by falling into her lap, only played one of those tricks which, by exciting laughter, acquired favour for the performer. The widow of Henry V. resolved to marry the handsome clown; but a deputation was sent to Anglesea to report on the condition of the lady-mother of Owen, and the style of her living. This was a deputation of lords; but they appear to have had the court fool with them, if we may judge from the report they rendered on their return. Such an official was not an uncommon appendage to legations of any sort, and I think he could not have been lacking here. The English envoys found the mother of Owen sitting on a bank in a field, surrounded by her perpendicularly-horned goats, and eating a fried herring, with her knees for a table. What report could be made to a Queen-Dowager resolved upon marrying this same lady’s son? The court wit hit upon one which exactly met the contingency; and when the deputation returned to London, their report was, “that they had found the lady seated in state, surrounded by her javelin men, in a spacious palace, and eating her repast from a table of such great value, that she would not take hundreds of pounds for it!”

In the next reign, that of Henry VI., we find that monarch opening a commission, in 1454, for procuring minstrels for his service, by _force_. A press-gang, as it were, went forth and carried off any likely fellow that suited them, with a good voice, just as the gentleman in the Trench Opera carries off the “Postillon de Longjumeau.” The levy was made _de ministraliis propter solatium Regis providendis_,--for procuring minstrels, even by force, for the solace or entertainment of the King. The commission enjoins that these shall not only be skilled in their art, as minstrels, but also handsome and elegantly shaped. A reference to the matter will be found in the fourth volume of Warton’s ‘History of English Poetry;’ the author of which, perplexed with the different meanings attached to the word _minstrel_, would have been inclined to have taken the persons here designated, as singers only, or singers for the Royal Chapel exclusively, but for the directions as to their good looks and comely shapes. These directions seem to him to point to jesters, “tumblers or posture-masters.” It is certain that about a century later, in the reign of Edward VI., it was lawful, when the Chapel Royal lacked young choristers, to carry off duly qualified children from their homes, wherever they might be found.

There is proof that the household jester, as well as minstrel--the two characters often under one hood--was a very common and a liberally-patronized professor of his respective arts, in the days of Henry VI. Warton, in his first volume, cites the Prior’s accounts of Maxtoke, in Warwickshire (to which I have before alluded), under one of its general heads, “De Joculatoribus et Mimis.” Under this head, and having reference only to various years in the reign of Henry VI., we find several sums expended by the brotherhood for itinerant entertainers who have different names, but whose shades of professional difference it is not so easy to determine. Thus we find, “To a _joculator_, in the Michaelmas week, the sum of fourpence.” Again, “At Christmas, to a _cithariste_ and other joculators, 4_d._” The following entries are further illustrations:--“To the mimes of Solihull, 6_d._” “To the mimes of Coventry, 20_d._” “To Lord Ferrers’ mimes, 6_d._” “To the _lusores_ from Eton, 8_d._” “Ditto, from Coventry, 8_d._” “To those from Daventry, 12_d._” “To the mimes from Coventry, 12_d._” “To Lord Astley’s mimes, 12_d._” “To four of Lord Warwick’s mimes, 10_d._” “To a blind mime, 2_d._” “To six mimes of the household of Lord Clinton.” ... “To two mimes from Rugby, 10_d._” “To a certain cithariste, 6_d._” “To another from Coventry, 6_d._” “To two others from Coventry, 8_d._” “To the mimes of Rugby, 8_d._” “To Lord Buckridge’s mimes, 20_d._” “To the mimes of Lord Stafford, 2_s._” “To the lusores from Coleshill, 8_d._” “It is here to be observed,” says Warton, “that the minstrels,” or jesters, “of the nobility, in whose families they were constantly retained, travelled about the country to the neighbouring monasteries; and that they generally received better gratuities for these occasional performances, than the others.”

After the death of Henry VI., there appears on the stage a court jester who is said to have made half England merry with his jests. I allude to the famous Scogan (or Scoggin, or Scogin), who was attached to the household of Edward IV., and whose name is not forgotten in these later days.

Oriel College, Oxford, counted about a century and a half from the time of its foundation, in the reign of Edward II. (1326), when, if credit may be attached to the story told by merry Andrew Borde, of Pevensey, Scogan became a student in that college. The young student is said to have been of a good family; and tradition, to be more or less trusted as the reader pleaseth, has preserved a few incidents of his life there, and in other localities. We have a hint of his roystering career in the little incident of Falstaff in his salad days, who “broke Scogan’s head at the court gate.” Ben Jonson alludes to him, in the Masque of ‘The Fortunate Isles,’ as--

“A fine gentleman, and a Master of Arts, Of _Henry the Fourth’s time_, who made disguises For the King’s sons, and writ in ballad royal Daintily well.... In rhyme, fine tinkling rhyme, and flowing verse, With now and then some sense; and he was paid for ’t, Regarded and rewarded, which few poets Are, nowadays.”