This sort of sparring between patron and jester was commonly indulged in with considerable satisfaction by both parties. It was safer for More to do so, by way of relaxation, with Patteson, than with the King; whose humour might take a deadly turn against an unwelcome joke, and particularly against an unlicensed joker. The authoress of ‘The Household of Sir Thomas More,’ following the tradition, describes the banter of Sir Thomas and Sir Witless, as never exceeding the bounds of good-humoured pleasantry; “but Patteson,” it is added, “is never without an answer, and although, it may be, each amuses himself now and then with thinking, I’ll put him up with such a question; yet, once begun, the skein runs off the reel without a knot, and shows the excellent nature of both, so free are they alike from malice and over-license.” It is true that the sayings put in the mouth of More’s “Morio” by the authoress whose words I have just quoted, are for the most part as apocryphal as Borde’s compiled jests to which he has prefixed the name of “Scoggin,” to make them sell. The character of the fool is, however, described according to tradition, in the pleasant addition to the Romance of History, in the work last named. There we see Patteson, with a peacock’s feather in his hand, sitting astride on a balustrade, and exchanging sharp question and answer, and lively comment and reflection, on peacocks themselves and their vanity; and on the advantages of not having as many eyes in their heads as they have in their tails, as they are in consequence less vain-glorious, and see not what passes behind their backs. Patteson, according to this authoress, chopped logic with the young daughters of More; touched a little on sentimental matters; could speak feelingly of religion, death, and the equality of the grave; spoke prophetically on political subjects; and jested with them, or rather at them, on their several lovers.
Lord Campbell naturally suggests, that More’s fool ought to have been a great proficient at jesting, since he practised under so great a master. However this may be, when the Lord Chancellor had commenced to decline from power and dignity, he provided for the future well-being of his fool as carefully as he did for that of any greater officer of his household. Wolsey, at his fall, sent Patch as an acceptable gift to the King. More made over Patteson to a less exalted sovereign,—the Lord Mayor of the City of London, “with a stipulation,” says Lord Campbell, “that he should continue to serve the office of fool to the Lord Mayor for the time being.” This rather loosely-worded phrase probably points at the origin of the office of “Lord Mayor’s Fool,” a title which was, however, given to the clubmen in provincial mayoral processions from the year 1444. Whether Patteson was, or was not, the original Lord Mayor’s Fool, by right of nomination to the office, he had as little respect for the dignity of chief magistrate of the city, as any modern merchant prince who, being too lazy or too unpatriotic to perform the onerous duty of the office, affects to despise the dignity which accompanies, and the titles which often follow, a distinguished fulfilment of that duty. So this first official corporation jester flouted his sublime chief. His humour in this respect is well hinted at by the authoress of ‘The Household of Sir Thomas More,’ who depicts Patteson as saying, on one first of April, “I told my Lord Mayor overnight, that if he looked for a fool this morning, he must look in the glass.... I should by rights wear the gold chain, and he the motley; and a proper fool he is, and I shall be glad when his year’s service to me is out. The worst of these Lord Mayors is, that we can’t part with them till their time’s up. Why, now, this present one hath not so much understanding as would foot an old stocking; ’twas but yesterday when, in quality of my Taster, he civilly enough makes over to me a half-eaten plate of gurnet, which I wave aside thus, saying,—I eat no fish of which I cannot affirm, ‘rari sunt boni,’ few are the bones, ... and I protest to you, he knew it not for fool’s Latin.” Patteson himself had a veneration for his old master which he could not entertain for the new, from whose chattering propensity at table, the jester picked out views of politics that foreboded evil to his former and now disgraced patron. “For the love of safety, then, Mistress Meg,” says Patteson, in a passage founded on this stray scrap of history, “bid thy good father e’en take a fool’s advice, and eat humble-pie betimes; for doubt not this proud madame (Anne Boleyn) to be as vindictive as Herodias, and one that, unless he appease her full early, will have his head set before her in a charger. I’ve said my say.”
We may take Patteson at his last word, and, leaving him, proceed to greater names than his on the register of Motley in the service of kings.
* * * * *
We now come to a personage of some celebrity, who seems to have been a court jester, without being exactly a court fool. I allude to John Heywood, of North Mimms, in Hertfordshire, whom Sir Thomas More introduced to the King as Sir William Neville did Scogan, and whose introduction was followed by similar circumstances,—his appointment as “jester” to the sovereign.
More had known Heywood early. The latter was a student at what was then called Broadgate, Oxford, now Pembroke. Heywood’s spirit of fun, his humour, and his readiness at repartee made him a favourite with More, who was fond of spending leisure hours with him,—a man of whom it was said that “he had wit at will, and art was all he missed.” Heywood, moreover, was a good vocalist, and no mean instrumental player. Previous to his introduction to the King, More presented him to the lady (afterwards Queen) Mary, who found his merriment so irresistible “that it moved even her rigid muscles,” says Warton; “and her sullen solemnity was not proof against his songs, his rhymes, and his jests.” Mary, however, was more easily moved to mirth than Warton and those whose opinions were followed by him, suspected. Even in her womanhood, when we are accustomed to think of her as one solemnly severe, she could (albeit moody and melancholy at times) laugh heartily at a mountebank. In 1556, Strype speaks of her as holding a grand military review in Greenwich Park, at which “came a tumbler, and played many pretty feats, the Queen and Cardinal (Pole) looking on; whereat she was observed to laugh heartily.” Long ere she had ascended the throne, she had learned to laugh at, with, or through John Heywood. Of the latter, Warton says that “he was beloved and rewarded by Henry VIII. for his buffooneries;” and, indeed, that monarch was so satisfied with the quips of his daughter’s favourite, that, as previously stated, he named John “King’s Jester.” He seems to have been a favourite also in the mansions and at the tables of the nobility; and a specimen of his wit there is offered us by Puttenham.
“The following happened,” he says, “on a time, at the Duke of Northumberland’s board, where merry John Heywood was allowed to sit at the board’s end. The Duke had a very noble and honourable mind to pay his debts well, and when he lacked money, would not stick to sell the greatest part of his plate. So had he done some few days before.
“Heywood being loath to call for his drink as often as he was dry, turned his eyes towards the cupboard, and said, ‘I find a great miss of your Grace’s standing-cups.’ The Duke, thinking that he had spoken it of some knowledge that his plate was lately sold, said somewhat sharply, ‘Why, Sir, will not these cups serve so good a man as yourself?’ Heywood readily replied, ‘Yes, if it please your Grace, but I would have one of them stand still at my elbow, full of drink, that I might not be driven to trouble your man so often to call for it.’
“This pleasant and speedy reverse of the former words, helped all the matter again, whereby the Duke became very pleasant, and drank a bottle of wine to Heywood, and bade a cup should always be standing by him.”
His boldness with the Queen was quite that of the privileged jester, and he was recompensed for his puns and conceits when men more meritorious were neglected. The following contains good proof of his license. When the Queen once remarked to him that the priests must forego their wives, John exclaimed (and he was a very strict Catholic too), “Then your Grace must allow them lemmans [sweethearts], for the clergy cannot live without sauce.” This epigrammatic turn was very strong upon him; and indeed many of his epigrams, of which he was the author of hundreds, are said to have been versifications of his own jokes. I have already noticed the audacity of his jests with the sovereign, a further instance of which we have in an incident connected with one of his visits to the palace.