Poor Jeffrey was less fortunate than two other dwarfs, patronized by Henrietta previous to her flight to France. They were a male and female. The former, Richard Gibson, had been in the service of a lady at Mortlake. She had observed in him a talent for drawing, and she kindly placed him with De Cleyn, director of the Mortlake tapestry works. Gibson acquired great reputation as a copier of Sir Peter Lely’s portraits, whose collection his nephew, William Gibson, was rich enough to purchase at Lely’s death. The dwarf artist was ever welcome at court; and when he espoused the dwarf young lady there, the nuptials of the little couple were honoured by the presence of Charles I. and Henrietta Maria. No less a bard than Edmund Waller sang their Epithalamium, or at least verses in commemoration of an event which made the court hilarious, and from which verses the following lines are taken:—
“Design or chance makes others wive,
But nature did this match contrive....
Thrice happy is that humble pair,
Beneath the level of all care!
Over whose heads those arrows fly,
Of sad distrust and jealousy;
Securëd in as high extreme
As if the world had none but them.
To him, the fairest nymphs do show
Like moving mountains topp’d with snow;
And every man a Polypheme
Does to his Galatea seem....”
Thus, although this couple did not belong to the fraternity of official jesters, the sovereigns and their court contrived to extract amusement from the neat little wedded pair, each of whom measured exactly three feet two. Richard Gibson was the King’s page, and his wife served the Queen. When King and Queen had passed away, the dwarf artist found in his pencil a better property than Charles had found, or lost, in his sceptre. He had painted his Royal master’s portrait; and when Oliver Cromwell was in power, he painted the Protector. He was the drawing-master of the Princesses Mary and Anne, and it may be remarked that, about the same period, the Muscovite court fool and dwarf, Sotof, was holding the additional office of writing-master to Peter the Great. The old page of Charles I. was however a superior man. He died at the age of seventy-five, A.D. 1690. His little wife lived till 1709, when she died, in her ninetieth year, at which time the four of their nine children who had attained to the ordinary stature of mankind survived, the issue of a marriage which had been honoured by the presence of royalty and commemorated as a court jest by the banter of Waller.
It is not to be expected that the grave system of the Commonwealth admitted of such an official as a jester. The house or town fool, however, did not go out with his brother at court. A portrait of one of those worthies may be seen at Muncaster Castle, Cumberland. His name was Thomas Skelton; he appears to have resided at the castle during the period of the civil wars, as house fool. Jefferson, in his ‘History of Allerdale Ward, above Derwent,’ says, that “of Skelton’s sayings there are many traditional stories;” but unfortunately he cites none. From his description of the portrait on the staircase at the castle, we obtain a good idea of the fool of this period. Skelton is there represented “in a check gown, blue, yellow, and white; under his arm is an earthen dish, with ears; in his right hand a white wand; in his left, a white hat, bound with pink ribbon, and with blue bows; in front, a paper, on which is written, ‘Mrs. Dorothy Copeland.’” The picture contains an inscription, headed “Thomas Skelton, late fool of Muncaster’s last will and testament.” I cite it, not for its poetical merit, but because it shows that these house and town fools were sometimes invested with mock offices of a certain dignity.
“Be it known to ye, O grave and wise men all,
That I, Tom Fool, am sheriff of the Hall.
I mean the Hall of Haigh, where I command
What neither I nor you do understand.
My under-sheriff is Ralph Wayte, you know;
As wise as I am, and as witty too.
Of Egremond I have borough-serjeant been;
Of Wiggan, bailiff too, as may be seen
By my white staff of office in my hand,
Being carried straight as the badge of my command.
A low high-constable, too, was once my calling,
Which I enjoy’d under King Henry Rawling.
And when the Fates a new sheriff send,
I’m under-sheriff prick’d, world without end.
He who doth question my authority
May see the seal and patent here lie by.
The dish with lugs [ears] which I do carry here
Shows all my living is in good strong beer.
If scurvy lads to me abuses do,
I’ll call ’em scurvy rogues, and rascals too.
Fair Dolly Copeland in my cap is placed;
Monstrous fair is she, and as good as all the rest.
Honest Nick Pennington, honest Tom Turner, both
Will bury me when I this world go forth.
But let me not be carried o’er the brigg,
Lest, falling, I in Duggas river ligg.
Nor let my body by old Charnorth lie,
But by Will Caddy,—for he’ll lie quietly.
And when I’m buried, then my friends may drink;
But each man pay for himself,—that’s best I think.
This is my will; and this I know will be
Perform’d by them, as they have promised me.”
This rhapsodic testament has “Thomas Skelton X his mark” affixed to it, serving to show (as Armstrong’s letter from Madrid does) that this class of jester, if possessed of wit, was not possessed of learning. The lines also intimate that the “fool of Muncaster Castle” was, like most of his profession, fond of drinking. The subscription of his mark is attested by three witnesses; and the rhymed joke had all the forms of a serious document.
After the gravity enforced by the Commonwealth, the silencing of the stage, the suppression of joking, and the introduction of long sermons and loud psalms, there was a sudden reaction, even before the graceless King had got what was facetiously called “his own again.” Monk, who was in some doubt, even as he marched through Gray’s Inn Lane into London, whether he should join hands with the solemn precisians or the gay cavaliers, no sooner felt the direction of the popular wind, than he gave license to jollity. The nearest approach that could be made to the old professional fool, started on to the stage as “The Citizen and Soldier,” “Country Tom and City Dick,” and other “pretty antics,” played in April 1660, before “His Excellency,” when, with the Council of State, he dined at one of the city halls. He dined at nine of them; and after dinner on each occasion, besides satirical plays, were “dancing and singing, many shapes and ghosts, and the like; and all to please his Excellency, the Lord General.”
If it be true that the official fool was not restored with Monarchy, at the accession of Charles II., because the Puritan voice and the religious sentiment of the country generally, were against such officials and their foolery, foolery itself did not go out. See what solemn Evelyn says to it, under the date of January 1, 1661–2:—“1st January. I went to London, invited to the solemn foolery of the Prince de la Grange, at Lincoln’s Inn, where came the King, Duke, etc. It began with a grand masque, and a formal pleading before the mock princes, grandees, nobles, and knights of the Sun. He had his Lord Chancellor, Chamberlain, Treasurer, and other royal officers, gloriously clad and attended. It ended in a magnificent banquet. One Mr. Lort was the young spark who maintained the pageantry.”
A little more than six years later, we meet with an entry in ‘Pepys’ Diary’ which seems to introduce us to an official fool, and which is to this effect:—“1667–8. Feb. 13. 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 jeere anybody, the greatest person, without offence, by the privilege of his place.”—Pepys, vol. iv. p. 353.
Oldys is quite as explicit. In one of his MS. notes to ‘Langbain’s Memoirs of Dramatic Authors,’ he says, under the head of Killigrew: “He was Master of the Revels, and the King’s jester, while Groom of the Bedchamber.” Various writers, when commenting on these passages, have suggested that Killigrew never held a patent of official fool, and that his actual appointment was to the office of Master of the Revels. According, however, to Chalmers, Tom Killigrew succeeded Herbert as Master of the Revels in 1673, and was followed therein, on his death, in 1682–3, by his brother Charles. The office in question was first instituted in 1546, the last year of Henry VIII. (with a salary of £10 per annum), and continued till 1725, when the Lord Chamberlain was empowered to have rule and dominion over the court and public entertainments; and the Master of the Revels being entirely ignored in a new Act of Parliament, was snuffed out, and never heard of again.