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.”
The specimens we have of Scogan’s poetry do not warrant the praise
above given; and we know, from some of his rhymes, that he held the
University graduates in very absolute contempt. What he said of the
M.A.’s, is not to be repeated. The substance was, that they were mere
dolts, beyond the schools; and Scogan did not rank the B.A.’s much
higher, as may be seen in the succeeding couplet, which says,--
“A B.A. is not worth a straw,
Except he be among fools.”
The joyous Suffolk student--for Scogan, it is believed, came from
Bury--became, in time, a very merry and not very scrupulous tutor.
Every sage has his maxim, and Scogan’s was, that “A merry heart doeth
good, like a medicine.” With such a lecturer, the pupils must have
conferred on Oriel a reputation something resembling that which Merton
once derived from its students; of which college an old warden used to
say, that there could be little doubt of the learning it possessed,
seeing that every pupil brought a little with him, and took none away.
But even Oriel, in Scogan’s time, had its solemn seasons; and when
the plague of 1471 broke out at Oxford, which ultimately caused more
devastation in England than the fifteen years of war through which the
country had recently passed, Scogan followed the University fugitives
who took refuge, and found safety, in the rural hospital of St.
Bartholomew.
If the season of trial rendered other men serious, it had no such
effect upon Scogan. His irregularities were numerous, and not the least
offensive of them was the irreligious spirit, combined with avarice,
which induced him to help an unworthy candidate into the priesthood,
for the bribe of a horse, presented to him by the candidate’s father.
Even Oxford grew at last weary of Scogan’s want of decorum; and under
compulsion, or following his inclination, the merry Suffolk Punch
withdrew from the University, but did not long lack employment. He
presented himself to Sir William Neville, a country gentleman, and
requested to be engaged by him as his household fool. This negotiation
was happily carried out; and some time after, Sir William introduced
Scogan to Edward IV. The knight took his jester to court, probably
out of vanity; for it was not every household fool that had the wit,
talent, and education of this gentleman-joculator. The King was so
pleased with his gossip that there was nothing left for the loyal
knight, but to offer to make over his joyous retainer to a royal
patron. Henceforward, Scogan became the court buffoon of Edward; but,
as far as I can judge from the sorry or dirty five dozen of “jests”
of which Andrew Borde makes him the hero, he assumed the office of
buffoon and dropped that of wit. The choicest story told of him, is
that wherein he is described as standing, for a long period, beneath a
water-spout, under heavy rain, for a reward, (or for a wager, by which
he may not have profited in the same degree,) of twenty pounds,--a
large sum in those days, but not too large for the fool who thus risked
his life.
It was the characteristic of our English kings, to be liberal to their
buffoons,--more liberal, indeed, than they were to more valuable
servants,--as I shall more especially show, presently. Edward was so
well satisfied with Scogan, that he conferred upon him a town-house
in Cheapside, and, still greater mark of the Royal consideration, a
country mansion at Bury. At the latter place, he and the princely
Abbot were on the most intimate terms, and those of a very joyous
complexion:--
“They’d haunch and ham; they’d cheek and chine;
They’d cream and custard, peach and pine.
And they gurgled their throats with right good wine,
Till the Abbot his nose grew red.
No _De Profundis_ there they sang,
But a roystering catch to the rafters rang;
And the bell for matins, it went ‘ting tang,’
Ere the last of them rolled to bed.”
Scogan, it would seem, was married at this period; and it would also
appear that his wife was a fine lady in her way, who, among other
matters connected with the fine-ladyism of her times, was very desirous
of having a page who might precede her, as she went humbly, in state,
to church. In fact, she intimated that it would be impossible for
her to find her way to church, without a page. “Poor lass!” said the
jester, one Saturday night, “you shall have a guide to church, before
the bells ring tomorrow morning.” Accordingly, on the Sunday morning,
Scogan arose early, and chalked the road which lay between his house
and the church-door; he either strewed the chalk, or drew lines with
it. When church-time came, he led his wife to the thresh-hold of their
dwelling, to see her new page. When the extremely fastidious lady
beheld the practical trick played her by her husband, she waxed so
wroth that all his wit could hardly pacify her.
Among the practical jokes of this court fool I recognize many that
really belong to a much earlier period, and which must have been
current as “stories” at the time they are narrated as having been
performed by Scogan himself. The following, however, is said to be
properly assigned to him. He had borrowed a large sum of money of
the King. Some stories say the Queen, and Flögel even names _Queen
Elizabeth_ as the patroness of this jester! The sum is set down at
£500, which is extremely doubtful. Be this as it may, a day for payment
had been named; and when that day had arrived, Scogan was not prepared
to pay the debt. After ranch thought upon the matter, he fell sick
and died, and requested his friends to bury him in such a way that the
Sovereign should encounter the funeral. They entered into the joke
with great alacrity, put on the trappings of mitigated affliction,
and in due time carried Scogan forth on a comfortably-arranged bier,
when they contrived, as directed, to encounter Edward. When Louis XV.
saw the funeral of his old favourite, Madame de Pompadour, he had the
bad taste to cut a sorry joke. When Edward met the funeral procession
of Scogan, he regretted the loss of his merry follower; and among
other kind things to which he gave utterance, remarked, that he freely
forgave Scogan and his representatives the sum for which the jester was
indebted to him. The buffoon, who had expected this act of release,
immediately jumped up, thanked his illustrious creditor, and prudently
called all present to bear witness to the Royal act of grace: “It is so
revivifying,” said Scogan, “that it has called me to life again.” If
this incident be true, we may also believe, as we are requested to do,
that great mirth followed thereupon.
Perhaps Scogan presumed upon the liberties allowed him by the King;
for we are told that his pranks at court became so boisterously
intolerable, that he was at last exiled, and forbidden to return on
English soil, upon pain of death. He went to France, thence came back
with his shoes full of the soil of Picardy, and he claimed impunity, on
the ground that he was not standing on English land. This sort of story
is told of so many jesters, that I leave its acceptance or rejection to
the decision of my readers. We come again to facts, when we encounter
Scogan dwelling for awhile at Jesus College, Cambridge; and there is,
probably, foundation for the story which represents him travelling in
Normandy.
In the collection of ‘Scogan’s Jests,’ to which I have before alluded,
as being collected by merry Andrew Borde, of Pevensey--that learned
and mirthful doctor who Latinized his name into “Perforatus,” we are
informed,--“How Scogan made the country-people of Normandy offer their
money to a dead man’s head.”