During the reign of their lion-hearted successor, we meet with an illustration, showing how fools could be employed in order to support a vicious political system. Richard the First’s Chancellor, William Longchamp, may with propriety be called, the “proud,” for he sealed public acts, says Lord Campbell, “with his own signet seal, instead of the Great Seal of England.” Proud as he was, this Picard prelate (who was Bishop of Ely) was of very mean extraction. To him Richard left, conjointly with the Bishop of Durham, the guardianship of the realm, during the King’s absence in the Holy Land. Longchamp however clapped his colleague into prison, and ruled England by his sole authority. He maintained the state of the most ostentatious of sovereigns, and set such an example of arrogance and want of principle, that his body-guard became terrible for their rapine and licentiousness; and his servants, even when their master lodged for a night in a monastery, devoured in that one night the revenue of several years. The people at large suffered in proportion, and suffering was followed by grumbling, and that was succeeded by wrath. But, says the author of ‘The Lives of the Chancellors,’ (apparently translating a passage from Roger Hoveden in Ricardo I., p. 340,) “to drown the curses of the natives, he brought over from France, at a great expense, singers and jesters, who sang verses in places of public resort, declaring that the Chancellor never had his equal in the world.” The above, it will have been seen, is an example of jesters being employed, not with license to speak bold and droll truths to their master, but with commission to utter sorry jokes and dreary falsehoods, for the purpose of deceiving a nation.
I have previously noticed that Blondel, whom tradition makes the discoverer of his captive master, by means of a song, is called, by Bouchez, “that buffoon of a minstrel.” By others he is styled a “troubadour knight.” However much or little of the character of the jester may have entered into the character of the minstrel Blondel, it would not be easy to say. We may speak with more certainty of another of Richard’s minstrels, Anselme Fayditt, whose poetry the Provençal critics eulogized for its wit and good sense, “poésie à bons mots et de bon sens.” A third minstrel, Fouquet de Marseilles, is also celebrated for his ready wit, which made him the “delight of the court.” There probably was some difference of quality in the latter minstrels, for while Fayditt ultimately travelled about the country, on foot, in search of a livelihood, singing songs, and accompanied by a runaway nun who sang as well as Fayditt himself, Fouquet, in strong contrast with such a vagabond, abandoned minstrelsy, turned monk, and became Bishop of Toulouse.
Of the above quality were the most favoured plaisants at the Court of Richard. The private households had their jesters of a less refined quality, and the following graphic description of one attached to a Saxon master, is probably as faithful a portrait as could be drawn of a Saxon nobleman’s fool in the days of King Richard the First.
“Beside the swineherd was seated, on one of the fallen Druidical monuments, a person about ten years younger in appearance, and whose dress was of a fantastic appearance. His jacket had been stained of a bright purple hue, upon which there had been some attempts to paint grotesque ornaments of different colours. To the jacket he added a short cloak, which scarcely reached halfway down his thigh. It was of crimson cloth, though a good deal soiled, lined with bright yellow; and as he could transfer it from one shoulder to the other, or at his pleasure throw it all around him, its width contrasted with its want of longitude, formed a fantastic piece of drapery. He had thin silver bracelets on his arms; and on his neck a collar of the same metal; bearing the inscription, ‘Wamba, the son of Witless, is the Thrall of Cedric of Rotherwood.’ This personage had sandals, and his legs were encased in a sort of gaiters, of which one was red and the other yellow. He was provided also with a cap having around it more than one bell, about the size of those attached to hawks, which jingled as he turned his head from one side to the other. And, as he seldom remained a minute in the same posture, the sound might be considered as incessant. Around the edge of this cap was a stiff bandeau of leather, cut at the top into open work, resembling a coronet, while a prolonged bag arose from within it, and fell down on one shoulder, like an old-fashioned night-cap or jelly-bag, or the head-gear of a modern hussar. It was to this part of the cap that the bells were attached, which circumstance, as well as the shape of his head-dress, and his own half-crazed, half-cunning, expression of countenance, sufficiently pointed him out as belonging to the race of domestic clowns or jesters maintained in the houses of the wealthy, to help away the tedium of those lingering hours which they were obliged to spend within-doors. He bore a scrip attached to his belt, but had neither horn nor knife, being probably considered as belonging to a class whom it is esteemed dangerous to entrust with edge-tools. In place of these he was equipped with a sword of lath, resembling that with which Harlequin operates his wonders upon the modern stage.”
Of what quality was the wit of Wamba, may be seen in the romance of ‘Ivanhoe,’ from which, it is hardly necessary to say, the above extract is made. We come now to the successor of Richard, whom we shall find a liberal master to his fool.
King John was a very lugubrious joker himself; but he not only kept a merry jester,—he also knew how to be exceedingly liberal to him. Of the King’s deadly practical joking we have an instance in his conduct to Geoffrey, Archdeacon of Norwich, who had retired from his office in the Exchequer in obedience to the terms of the Papal edict. The King shut him up in prison, and, making him wear a ponderous sacerdotal cope of lead, which covered him from the head to the heels, left him thus helpless, to die of famine. It was after another fashion that John rewarded his fool. The name of this official was William Piculph (or Picol), and he received from the monarch who possessed so little land of his own, a landed estate. This fool by feudal tenure held his territory and its dependencies at Fons Ossane, in Mortain, of John, under an easy quit-rent; namely, that during his life he should act as jester to the King, providing his Grace with as much fun as could make him smile. After the death of Piculph, the domain was to descend to his heirs, on condition of their presenting the sovereign annually with a pair of gilt spurs. A copy of the original deed is to be found in the ‘Monnaies Inconnues des Évêques, des Innocents, et des Fous.’
It is just twenty years ago, since M. Rigollet, under the modest appellation of “M. J. R. D’Amiens,” published in his work on the then hitherto unknown coins and tokens of various Brotherhoods of the olden time who took Folly for their patron, a copy of the document by which our King John may be said to have ennobled his fool. This document has not escaped the acute vision of Mr. W. J. Thoms, who has cited it, in his selections from the L’Estrange papers; but as its singularity is fully equal to its brevity, my readers will, I hope, approve of my venturing to place it before them. It is to this effect:—“Joannes, D. G., etc. Sciatis nos dedisse et presenti chartâ confirmasse Will. Picol, Follo nostro, Fontem Ossane (Menil-Ozenne, pays de Mortain), cum omnibus pertinenciis suis, habend. et tenend. sibi et heredibus suis, faciendo inde nobis annuatim servitium unius Folli quoad vixerit; et post ejus decessum heredes sui eam de nobis tenebunt, et per servitium unius paris calcarium deauratorum nobis annuatim reddendo. Quare volumus et firmiter precipimus quod predict. Piculphus et heredes sui habeant et teneant in perpetuum, bene et in pace, libere et quiete, predictam terram.”
The substance of this document, the original of which was found in the then Royal Library of France, is given in my description of it, above; I will only add, therefore, that ample pains seem to have been taken to settle this estate upon Picol the fool. It may be doubted, however, whether the fools of Edmund Ironside, William the Conqueror and John were the only merry officials who held land. The celebrated Baldwin Lepetteur (in another reign) must have belonged to the profession, and we know that, in return for some royal grace, he was bound on every Christmas-day to execute before his lord the King, at Hemmingston Manor, a saltus, a sufflatus, and a bumbulus. At no time, indeed, do our Kings seem to have been reluctant to pay for mirth. Henry III. once gave a crown to a witty fellow who had caused him to laugh; but we are not told what the jest was that earned so great a guerdon. Edward II. was even more liberal, for he gave four crowns for the same cause. It does not appear that wit was always the provocation to royal laughter, a fool’s trick would do as well. We see as much by an entry in one of the last King’s accounts, cited in the ‘Antiquary’s Repertory.’ “Item—When the King was at Woolmer, to Morris, then clerk of the kitchen, who, when the King was hunting, did ride before the King, and often fall down from his horse, whereat the King laughed greatly: 20s.”
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.”