The feminine ‘hoppestere,’ which he also uses, does not sound quite so euphonious. In the ‘Pardoner’s Tale,’ among other of the dissolute folk in Flanders, are mentioned ‘tombesteres’—
And right anon in comen tombesteres
Fetis and smale, and yonge fruitesteres.
These, I doubt not, were female dancers, and performers of such bodily gyrations and flexions as mountebanks are still skilled in. The masculine form is found in such an entry as ‘William le Tumbere,’ whom we should now, so far as his professional tricks were concerned, term a tumbler.
All this time the mirth of music is at its loudest, though it is somewhat hard to separate the tones of the various rival minstrels. There is a trio in one corner by the tavern door there, discoursing sounds which are certainly equal, if not superior, to the Teutonic bands of more modern days. Indeed, with regard to the latter, I am beginning to suspect the conjecture of a friend of mine to be perfectly true—that they are German convicts shipped off, with cracked and second-hand trumpets, by the Commissioners of Police to save their keep. It is, however, right perhaps that the country which sends us the best should also have the option of sending us the worst music in the world. The trio we may see here, at any rate, have one advantage—that of their poetic mediæval costume. The first we may notice is the ‘Fiddler,’ represented by such men as ‘Robert Fyffudlere,’ or ‘John le Fythelere,’ or the Latinized ‘Rulard Vidulator.’ This last reminds us that it is now also written ‘Vidler.’ He of course played on the violin, for I must not say ‘fiddle,’ it is far too Saxon, for modern cultivated days. The Clerk of Oxenforde seems to have been superior to the generality of later university men, for he had—
Liefer have at his beddes head
A twenty bokes, clothed in black or red,
Of Aristotle and his philosophie,
Than robes riche, or fidel, or sautrie.
Certainly time effects wonderful changes. But I doubt whether even he would have found much profit, not to say pleasure, in the study of Aristotle, or any other philosopher, had he been subjected to the daily practice of a well-scraped viol in an adjacent dormitory,[[309]] the author of which could boast but one tune in his repertoire, and was determined that every one should know it. After the Fiddler—Saxon or no Saxon, I’ll stick to it for the nonce—comes the ‘Piper’ with his reedy stop, and next to him the ‘Taborer’ beating his drum with such rare effect as to make him the very idol of the youngsters. Spenser calls him the ‘tabrere,’ which form, as well as ‘Tabrar,’ Tabberer,’ ‘Tabor,’ and ‘Taber,’ still exists in our nomenclature.