COURT JESTERS AND FOOLS
The fashion of keeping Court and household fools, writes Voltaire in his
_Age de Louis XIV._, was for a time the _grande mode_ of all the Courts
of Europe. Some sovereigns, however, discarded the practice, and when
Charles Louis, Electoral Prince of the Rhine, was asked why he did not
keep a Court fool, he replied: “Well, it is easily accounted for. When I
am inclined to laugh, I send for a couple of professors from college,
set them an argument, and laugh at their folly.”
The Emperor Henry III., surnamed the Black, despised the Court fool--“a
licensed scoundrel,” he said, “who obtained for his nonsense rewards
that had never properly been showered on the benefactors of mankind.”
And Christian I. of Denmark once remarked, that if he were in want of
Court fools he had only to give license to his courtiers, who were
capable of exhibiting themselves as the greatest fools in Europe.
Frederick Barbarossa hated Court fools; and in France, Philip Augustus
and Charles VII. had no sympathy for mirth-makers of this description.
On the other hand, few sovereigns extended greater favour to their fools
than Maximilian I.; and yet, as it has been remarked, “he found as much
peril as profit in his intercourse with them.” On one occasion, when he
was loading a fowling-piece, his house fool coming into his presence
with a lighted candle was about to place it on an open cask of powder;
and at another time his Majesty was playing at snowballs with his fool,
when the latter threw one so violently at his right eye, that the
imperial sight was damaged for a month. His principal fool or jester was
Konrad, popularly styled “The Soldier and Wit of Maximilian,” for, on
more than one occasion, he proved himself wiser in his generation than
some of the political advisers who counselled their imperial master.
Sometimes, however, Konrad’s jokes were of so astounding a nature that
he would scarcely have dared to make them on his own responsibility.
Such an instance occurred at a banquet given in honour of the Venetian
ambassadors, and their Government, who had presented to the Emperor a
costly goblet of the purest crystal; when Konrad, in the midst of the
revelry and mirth, contrived to hook his spur in the tablecloth, and
dancing off to pull with him everything on the table, the crystal goblet
lying in fragments on the ground.
The ambassadors demanded the immediate punishment of Konrad, but
Maximilian refused to gratify them, for he remarked, “the thing was only
of glass, and that glass is very fragile. Had it been of gold, it would
not have broken; and, even if it had, its fragments at least would have
been valuable.” A somewhat similar story is told of the French wit
Brusquet, at a banquet given in the house of the Duke of Alva, when the
Cardinal of Lorraine had negotiated the peace of Cateau-Cambresis with
Philip II. of Spain. Brusquet at the close of the dessert jumped on the
table, and, laying himself flat, rolled himself up in the cloth with
plates, spoons, &c., and fell off at the other end of the table. Philip
II. took the matter in good part, and laughed immoderately, ordering
that Brusquet should be allowed to leave the room with what he had
carried off under the cloth. Although oftentimes Konrad was open to
reproach for his extraordinary conduct, there can be no doubt he loved
his imperial master, and in emergency Maximilian had no truer friend.
One of the many fools of his successor, Charles V., was a Pole,
Corneille de Lithuanie, who distinguished himself at a tournament held
in Brussels in 1545, by carrying off the second prize for general
gallantry. Another of his Court fools was Pedro de San Erbas; and it is
related that, after Charles had abdicated, he held a Court at Valladolid
to receive the farewell compliments of the nobles and ladies of the
vicinity. At the conclusion of the ceremony, Pedro drew near to take
leave of his old patron, whereupon Charles raised his hat, at which
Pedro asked if the act was one of courtesy, or as an indication that he
was no longer Emperor.
“Neither, Pedro,” answered Charles; “I do it to signify that all I can
give you now is this simple token of civility.”
An amusing story is told of Nelle, the fool attached to the Court of
Matthias, who not only attended the celebrated meeting of the States,
held at Ratisbon, but he had the effrontery to present to the Emperor an
exquisitely bound volume, containing, as he said, a record of all that
had been accomplished by the statesmen. On opening the book Matthias
found it all blank paper, and exclaimed, “Why, there is nothing hidden
here.”
“Exactly,” replied Nelle, “because there was nothing done there, and so
my record is truthful.”
Another humorous anecdote relates how one day, at the Court of Ferdinand
II., a silly courtier fancied he could amuse those present by his
frivolities, which prompted Jonas, Ferdinand’s favourite fool, to answer
him according to his folly. But this so enraged the courtier that he
shouted, “Fellow, be silent; I never stoop to talk with a fool.”
“Well, I do,” retorted Jonas, “and therefore be good enough to listen to
me in your turn.”
Maximilian, son of Frederick III., was taken prisoner when a revolt
broke out at Bruges. His jester formed a scheme for his liberation; he
provided horses for flight, and a rope-ladder by which he might descend
from the window of his prison. Then the jester plunged into the canal
which encircled the castle to swim across. But the town kept swans in
the moat, and when these swans saw the man swimming, they rushed at him
with their great flapping wings and beaks, and so beat, pinched, and
frightened the poor fellow, that he made the best of his retreat.
The smaller German Courts, says Dr. Doran,[131] followed the fashion set
by the emperors, and Lips was so great a favourite that he actually sat
in the council-chamber when the Margrave Philip was presiding. As may be
gathered, however, from the following incident, the position of a fool
was not always an enviable one. Thus when the Duke Ludwig of Bavaria was
murdered on the bridge over the Danube at Kehlheim in 1231, the
perpetrators of the crime laid it on the Duke’s fool, Stich, who was
charged with having stabbed his patron with a bread-knife, because he
had exasperated him by his bad jokes. “Ah,” said the unfortunate man, as
he stood at the gallows, “that some one ought to be hanged for murdering
the Duke I can very well comprehend, but that that some one should be me
I do not comprehend at all.”
It would seem that as late as the sixteenth century the fool could be
bought and sold, for when Louis II. of Hungary visited Erlau in 1520, he
found that the governor possessed one of the best-trained hawks and one
of the merriest fools that he had ever seen, both of which he obtained
for between three and four thousand pounds. Another famous fool was
Jenni von Stocken, who was attached to the household of Leopold the
Pious. And of Killian, the fool of Albert of Austria, it is said that,
when he was asked why, being so wise, he should play the fool, he
replied, “The more thoroughly I play the fool, the wiser do men account
me, and there is my son, who thinks himself wise, and whom everybody
knows to be a fool.”
But, as it has been often remarked, although the fool was mostly in
request for his tricks and his waggery, he was frequently employed as a
political adviser; and when the Elector Frederick was threatened with
invasion, he consulted his fool Klaus as to whether he should treat with
the enemy, who said to him, “Give me your best mantle, and I will tell
you.” Whereupon Klaus tore the mantle in two, and presented himself
before his master with one half hanging from his shoulders. The Elector
inquiring what he meant by so strange an act, Klaus replied, “If you
treat with the foe, you will soon look as ridiculous with half your
dominions as I do with half a cloak.”
The unbridled language of the Court fool was oftentimes as amazing as it
was insulting; for when one morning Philip, Landgrave of Baden,
complained of a headache to his fool Peter after a drinking bout, and
asked him his remedy, the latter replied, “Drink again to-day.” “Then I
shall only suffer more to-morrow,” added the Prince. “Then,” rejoined
Peter, “you must drink still more.” “But how would such a remedy end?”
asked the Landgrave. “Why,” said Peter, “in your being a bigger fool
than I am.”
And, as Dr. Doran tells us, the qualifications for a Court fool were
extraordinary, as may be gathered from the following incident. A
cowherd, Conrad Pocher, was once sent afield with a sickly boy to
attend him, when, out of compassion, he hung him to the branch of a
tree. He was tried for murder, but defended himself with such
humour--arguing that he had greatly helped the little cow-boy--that
Philip the Upright, Elector Palatine, made him official jester. Another
cowherd who gained a similar distinction was Clause Hintze, Court fool
to Duke John Frederick of Stettin, who so gained his patron’s favour as
to be made by him lord of the village of Butterdorf. One of his
successors was Hans Miesko, a wretched imbecile, but who was specially
honoured at his death by a funeral sermon being preached over him.
And among those who were fools in a non-professional capacity may be
mentioned the celebrated Baron von Gundling at the Court of Frederick
William I., and also David Fassman, who, for losing a key entrusted to
him by Frederick, was condemned to carry a heavy wooden one an ell long
round his neck for several days. Incidents of this kind, as Dr. Doran
observes, makes it difficult to decide which was the greater fool, it
being “inconceivable that reasonable creatures should be guilty of the
absurd follies attributed to them.” One day Frederick II. commissioned
Baron von Poelnitz to procure a pair of turkeys. These he sent with the
message, “Here are the turkeys, sire.” Annoyed at the style of note,
Frederick ordered the leanest ox that could be found to be decked
ridiculously with flowers, and the horns to be gilded, after which the
animal was tied up in front of the Baron’s house, with this inscription:
“Here is the ox, Poelnitz.”
Many of the French kings had their fools, and in the Court accounts for
1404 we find an entry of forty-seven pairs of shoes for Hancelin Coc,
fool of Charles VI. And when the fleet of Philip was destroyed by that
of Edward III., no one except a Court fool had the courage to tell the
King. Going into the royal chamber, he kept muttering “Those cowardly
Englishmen! The chicken-hearted Britons!”
“How so, cousin?” asked Philip, “how so?”
“Why, because they have not courage enough to jump into the sea like
your French sailors, who went headlong over from their ships, leaving
those to the enemy, who did not care to follow them!”--by which artful
means the King learnt his defeat.
Louis XI. took into his service the fool of his deceased brother
Charles, Duke de Guyenne; and amongst the many amusing anecdotes told of
the famous “Le Glorieux,” fool to Charles the Bold, who used to compare
himself with Hannibal, it is related how, after the overthrow at
Granson, as the two were riding in search of safety, Le Glorieux
exclaimed to Charles, “This is the prettiest way of being like Hannibal
that I ever saw.”
With Francis I. are associated two of the most famous fools--Caillette
and Triboulet--to whom all kinds of good stories have been attributed.
Thus one day, when the latter complained to Francis that a nobleman had
threatened his life for some impertinent lie, the King exclaimed, “If he
does I will hang him a quarter of an hour afterwards.”
“Ah, sire!” replied Triboulet, “couldn’t you contrive to hang him a
quarter of an hour previously?”
On the death of the Duke of Orleans, Henry II. raised his fool Thony to
the rank of patented buffoon; and a personage who, without being a
professional fool, was the source of much merriment at Henry’s Court,
was Mendoza. It appears that Henry celebrated the obsequies of his
predecessor in a grand manner, and, when the priest in his funeral
oration asserted that the soul of King Francis had gone to Paradise
without passing through Purgatory, he was accused of heresy. But
Mendoza, then a chief officer of the Court, by a witty speech turned
into a humorous ending what might have been just the reverse, remarking,
“Gentlemen, if you had known the good King Francis as well as I did, you
would better have understood the words of the preacher. Francis was not
a man to tarry long anywhere; and if he did take a turn in Purgatory,
believe me, the devil himself could not persuade him to make anything
like a sojourn”--words which were greeted with general laughter.
A jester to three kings--Henry II., Francis II., and Charles IX.--was
Brusquet, originally, as some say, a hard-up lawyer, and, according to
others, a quack doctor. By his wit he managed to gain Court favour,
being made by Henry Posting-Master-General of Paris. When on a visit to
Flanders at the peace of Cateau-Cambresis, Brusquet met the ex-Emperor
Charles V., who, recognising him, said, “Brusquet, do you remember the
day when the Constable de Montmorency wanted to have you hanged?” “Right
well do I remember it,” he replied. “It was the day on which your
Majesty purchased those splendid rubies and carbuncles which now adorn
your imperial hand”--alluding to the inflamed gouty swellings which
disfigured the Emperor’s fingers. Philip II. of Spain was so delighted
with Brusquet that he sent his own fool to France to learn wit from
associating with him; and during this visit Brusquet seems to have used
every opportunity for imposing on and cheating him. But Brusquet in turn
met his match in Strozzi, the son of a Princess de Medicis, his great
antagonist, to whom he probably owed his fall in 1562, when he was
obliged to fly, accused of being a Huguenot, and of suppressing
despatches which contained news unfavourable to the Huguenot cause.
A noted fool of Henri III. was Chicot, who, indeed, was not only his
jester but his friend, and, according to Dumas, his protector. In the
same capacity he entered the service of Henri IV.; and it was his
bravery at the siege of Rouen that cost him his life. It appears that he
made Henri of Lorraine, Count of Chaligny, prisoner, and leading him to
the King, said, “Here I make you a present of the Count, keep what I
took and now give you!” So enraged was the Count at being captured by a
Court fool that he gave Chicot a violent blow on the head with the hilt
of his sword, from the effects of which he died.
Jeanne, Queen of Charles I. of France, maintained a female fool named
Artaude du Puy.
At the Court of Henri IV. there was a Mathurine who held the office of
female fool for the amusement of the Court, and who is said to have
employed her wit in laughing people out of the Huguenot faith into Roman
Catholicism. But this sort of foolery almost cost her her life. It seems
she was present in 1594 when Jean Chastel wounded the King, and almost
shared the fate of the would-be assassin. Henri, well aware of her zeal
for the Roman Catholic Church, and that she only regarded him as half a
Romanist, ordered her arrest as an accomplice, but she proved her
innocence, and was set free.
Much merriment was caused at the Court of Louis XIII. by Maret, who
imitated the Gascon twang of Gascon nobles; and with Louis XIV. we come
to the last of the official jesters, L’Angeli, originally a stable-boy,
and whose memory has been thus immortalised by Boileau:--
“Un poête à la cour fut jadis à la mode,
Mais des Fous aujourd’hui c’est le plus incommode,
Et l’esprit le plus beau, l’auteur le plus poli,
Ne parviendra jamais au sort de l’angeli.”
Although on the death of L’Angeli in 1640 Louis XIV. appointed no
successor, we occasionally meet with amateur fools who kept the Court
amused. Thus Vardis, “after throwing the whole Court and household of
the King into confusion by his audacious gallantries, was exiled to
Provence for nearly thirty years,” and the Duke de Roquelaure figures
in many jest-books as a buffoon at the Court of Louis XIV.
When Don John of Austria accompanied Pimentel to Paris to negotiate the
marriage of Maria Theresa of Spain with the young Louis XIV., he
introduced at Court Capiton, a Spanish _folle_, whose wit and jokes were
much appreciated. Louis enjoyed her fun and merriment, and she was so
popular that no party was thought complete without her.
According to a Spanish decree, “from ancient times it has been lawful
for mimes or jesters to reside in princes’ households, for the execution
of their office is a provocative to gladness. Wherefore, we will and
ordain that in our Court there shall always be five jesters, of which
five two may be trumpeters, and a third our letter-carrier.” Martin of
Aragon had a favourite jester in the famous Borra, who, however, killed
his royal patron by a joke. The story goes that, as the King lay on his
bed groaning from indigestion through eating an entire goose, Borra
rushed into the room laughing. On his inquiring whence he came, Borra
replied, “Out of the next vineyard, where I saw a young deer hanging by
his tail from a tree, as if some one had so punished him for stealing
figs”--a joke which caused the King to die of laughter. And Luis Lopez,
the fool of Alfonso, King of Aragon, lies buried in the cathedral of
Cordova.
Amongst the fools that figured at the Italian Court may be mentioned
Fagotto, who was officially associated with Alboin, King of the
Lombards; and Bertoldo, of whom, writes Dr. Doran, little mention has
been made by those who have dealt with the subject of Italian jesters.
He is said to have been “hideously ugly,” with “hair as red as carrots,”
but possessed of no ordinary wit. When asked by the King if he could
contrive to bring him water in a sieve without spilling it, he answered,
“In a hard frost I could bring any quantity.” All manner of questions
were put to him to try his wit, and one day the King thought he had
outwitted him by asking him to demonstrate--as he had asserted--that
daylight was whiter than milk. He accepted the challenge, and having
entered the King’s bedchamber at night, and closed the blinds, he placed
a pail of milk in the middle of the room. Alboin rising in the dark,
overturned the pail, and on calling for light, was answered by Bertoldo,
who triumphantly remarked that “if the milk had been clearer than
daylight, he would have seen the former without the aid of the latter.”
Another well-known fool was Gonella, jester of Borso, Duke of Ferrara,
whose post seems to have been a profitable one, from the fact of his
betting a hundred crowns with his master that there were more doctors in
Ferrara than there were members of any other profession.
“Fool,” said Borso, “there are not half-a-dozen to be found in the ‘City
Directory.’”
“I will bring you a more correct list in three or four days,” replied
Gonella; whereupon he went with his face bound up and sat at the
church-door, and, as the passers-by learnt he had the toothache, they
severally prescribed “an infallible remedy,” Gonella writing down the
name and address of each instead of the prescription. In this way the
fool managed to get a list of 299 names. And, on his appearing before
his master with his head still bound up, he was informed there was no
remedy but extraction, at which he added his name to the list of Ferrara
doctors, which now numbered 300. But Gonella’s jokes cost him his life.
Having offended his master, he resolved to punish him by fright, and
sentenced him to be put to death. After the usual formalities had been
enacted, Gonella placed his head on the block, and the executioner
stepping forward let fall from a phial a single drop of water on his
neck, which had all the effect of the sharpest instrument, for it was
soon discovered that he was dead, which caused the spectators to
exclaim, “A shocking bad joke, indeed!”
It was a practical joke that almost killed Menicucci, the jester of the
Grand Duke Ferdinand I. One of his follies was conceit, and, to show his
superiority, he once had his dinner served on the top of a high closet
in the stone hall of the palace. But, while engaged in his repast, the
ladder by which he had mounted was removed, and the floor covered with
damp straw, which, being lighted, would have suffocated the terrified
fool but for the timely assistance of the Archduke, who ordered his
immediate release. And when Vincentius, Duke of Mantua, entertained
Frederick, Duke of Wurtemberg, in 1600, he arranged a contest between
his fool and a young wild boar, deprived of its tusks and upper teeth. A
strange mode of diversion, which apparently gave much satisfaction.
But some of the most extraordinary scenes in connection with Court fools
were those witnessed in Russia, where the position of jester was no
sinecure. Thus, when Ivan IV. was depressed, his professional fools were
summoned to amuse him, and they must have had a lively time, for a bad
joke was sure to be strangled in the throat of the utterer. On one
occasion he threw over Prince Gorsdorf, who had failed to be witty, a
tureen of scalding-hot soup, and as the Prince endeavoured to escape the
Czar plunged a knife into his side. The unhappy noble fell dead, and
Ivan, remarking that he had carried the joke far enough, bade his
physician attend to him.
“It is only God and your Majesty,” replied the medical man, “that can
restore the Prince to life. He is quite gone!”
The Czar, somewhat disconcerted, took, writes Dr. Doran,[132] “a
pleasant way of forgetting it. It chanced that a favourite noble came at
this moment, whereupon his Majesty took hold of him by the ear, and,
using his knife, he cut it off and flung it into the face of his old
friend.” And “the noble received the same with many acknowledgments of
his master’s condescension.”
Peter the Great maintained any number of fools, composed of imbeciles
and those who, having been convicted of some grave offence, feigned
madness, and were treated as such. Another class of fools consisted of
those who, having committed some act of folly, were condemned to wear
the dress of a fool. Oftentimes by the side of Peter the Great at table,
and in his cups, was to be seen a personage addressed as the “Patriarch
of Russia,” and sometimes as the “King of Siberia.” He was attired in
sacerdotal robes, covered with loosely hung gold and silver medals. It
was a favourite trick with Peter, when he and the Patriarch were equally
drunk, “to suddenly overturn him, chair and all, and exhibit the
reverend gentleman with his heels in the air.” But there was one
official fool he favoured above all others, and he was Sotoff, a dwarf.
He is said to have been ugly and deformed, the sound of his voice having
been likened to the harsh croakings of frogs. But, although his
appearance was not prepossessing, Peter admired his wit and humour, and
would often grow weak from mere excess of laughter. And the title of
“King of the Samoieds” was generally conferred by Peter on his
occasional fools, as in the case of a Portuguese Jew, whom he saw among
the patients at the “water cure” at Alonaitz in 1719, and whose
“singularities and comic bearing” amused him much.
Like Peter the Great, the Czar Paul was fond of jesters; but on one
occasion, when Fougère the actor abused his privilege by speaking too
freely at supper, he was dragged from his bed at night, placed in a dark
van, and was informed that his destination was Siberia. After
travelling for several weeks he reached his destination, and on quitting
the van found himself in the presence of Paul, who laughed heartily at
the joke, whereby Fougère had believed that he was being conveyed to
Siberia, when he was only being drawn round and round St. Petersburg.
English Court fools seem in many cases to have had a lively time,
besides making themselves occasionally of valuable service in times of
emergency. Thus, going back to early times, it is recorded how Gollet
aroused William the Conqueror when a conspiracy was formed against his
life; and tradition tells how Blondel, “that buffoon of a minstrel,”
discovers his captive master, Richard I., by means of a song. King John
appears to have recompensed his fool in an unusual and a liberal fashion
by giving him a landed estate; and Edward I. kept a joculator in
constant attendance upon him, one of whom is said to have slain an
assassin at Ptolemais, that wounded his patron with a poisoned knife. A
female jester amused the Court of Edward II., and when this monarch was
keeping Whitsuntide at Westminster Hall, “this joculatrix rode into the
hall on a closely clipped horse, and caracolled round about the tables,
to the great amusement of the company.” A noted jester was Scogan, who
was attached to the Court of Edward IV.; and, of the many amusing
stories told respecting him, it is said that he borrowed a sum of money
from the King, which, when he was unable to pay back, he fell sick and
died, requesting his friends to take care that the King encountered the
funeral. His Majesty did so, and, regretting the loss of his merry
follower, he freely forgave Scogan his debt, upon hearing which, to the
astonishment of Edward, he jumped up, exclaiming, “It is so revivifying
that it has called me to life again.”
Patch, fool to Henry VIII., once besought the King to permit him to
exact an egg from every husband who was dissatisfied with his wife. The
King granted him a warrant, the ink of which was scarcely dry when the
jester, with mock gravity, demanded the first egg from the King,
remarking, “Your Grace belongs to the class of husbands on whom I am
entitled to make levy.”
Will Sommers, whose alleged portrait at Hampton Court is familiar to
most persons, was another jester at the Court of Henry VIII., and Will
Saxton, the first Court fool to wear a wig, amused the King up to the
last, and held office under Edward VI.
Many laughable anecdotes are told of John Heywood, named by Henry VIII.
“King’s Jester,” whose wit and humour moved, writes Warton, Mary’s
“rigid muscles” and “her sullen solemnity was not proof against his
songs, his rhymes, and his jests.” Once when the Queen remarked that the
priests must forego their wives, he replied, “Then your Grace must allow
them _lemmans_ (sweethearts), for the clergy cannot live without sauce.”
On another occasion, when Mary asked, “What wind has blown you to
Court?” he familiarly answered, “One that I might see your Majesty, and
the other that your Majesty might see me.” On the death of Mary in 1558
he withdrew to Mechlin, where he passed the closing years of his life.
Queen Elizabeth had her jesters, and a notable personage was Clod, who
occasionally exercised his wit at her expense. Thus, one day when she
reproached him with neglecting his duties, he asked, “How so, in what
have I failed?”
“In this,” answered the Queen, “you are ready enough to point your sharp
satire at the faults of other people, but you never say a word of mine.”
“Ah,” exclaimed Clod, “why should I remind your Majesty of your faults,
seeing that these are in everybody’s mouth, and you may hear of them
hourly?”
Then there was Tarleton, who, writes Fuller, “when Queen Elizabeth was
serious, I dare not say sullen, and out of good humour, he could
undumpish her at his pleasure.” Tarleton wore his fool’s attire when the
Queen dined, and when she dined abroad he attended her “in his clown’s
apparel; being all dinner-while in the presence with her, to make her
merry.” And so great was his popularity, that “the year of Tarleton’s
death” was as common a saying as “the year of the Armada.”
At the Court of James I. both King and Queen maintained a fool; and we
find the latter paying thirteen shillings a week “for the diet and
lodging of Tom Derry,” who seems to have been held of some importance,
since a gallery at Somerset House where he used to loiter and make
jokes was named after him. We find Sir Thomas Jermyn, Sir Ralph Sheldon,
and Thomas Badger mentioned as “fools or buffoons,” and on Sir Edward
Zouch, Sir George Goring, and Sir John Finett was bestowed the honour of
being “the chief and master fools.” Archie Armstrong was a special
favourite of James, and seems to have been on familiar terms with him,
and Howell thus writes of him: “Our cousin Archie hath more privilege
than any; for he often goes with his fool’s coat when the Infanta is
with her _meninas_ and ladies of honour, and keeps a blowing and a
blustering among them, and flirts out what he lists.” After the death of
James he passed into the service of Charles, but his fall came through
his insulting Laud--whom he hated--by saying the following grace in his
presence: “Great praise be to God, and little _laud_ to the devil.”
For this offence Archie was taken before the King, and despite his
pleading his privilege of jester, he was punished, as the following
order, dated March 11, 1637. will show:--
“It is this day ordered by his Majesty that Archibald Armstrong, the
King’s fool, for certain scandalous words of a high nature, spoken by
him against the Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, his Grace, and proved to
be uttered by him by two witnesses, shall have his coat pulled over his
head, and be discharged of the King’s service, and banished the Court,
for which the Lord Chamberlain of the King’s household is prayed and
required to give order to be executed.” And immediately the same was
put into force, the King himself being present when Archie’s coat was
stripped from him.
At the Court of Charles II., Tom Killigrew, whom Pepys styles “a merry
droll, but a gentleman of great esteem with the King,” seems to have
been in much requisition as a jester; and under February 13, 1667-68,
the diarist makes this entry: “Mr. Brisband tells me, in discourse, that
Tom Killigrew hath a fee out of the wardrobe for cap and bells, under
the title of the King’s Foole or Jester, and may revile or jeer anybody,
the greatest person without offence, by the privilege of his place.” For
a time he is said to have been the most conspicuous man at Court, and to
have kept up the traditions of his class by his eccentric pranks. One
day he appeared before Charles in the disguise of a pilgrim, whereupon
his Majesty inquired, “Whither away?”
“I am going to hell,” replied Killigrew, “to ask the devil to send back
Oliver Cromwell to take charge of the affairs of England; for, as to his
successor, he is always employed in other business.”
The patronage bestowed by Queen Anne on Tom d’Urfey, the song-writer of
her era, resembled that extended by the sister queens, Mary and
Elizabeth, to their dramatic buffoons, Heywood and Tarleton. After
dinner D’Urfey took his stand by the sideboard at the time of dessert,
to repeat political gibes or doggerel ballads, so framed as to flatter
some of the well-known prejudices of his royal mistress.