In December, 1641, Evelyn was elected one of the comptrollers of the Middle Temple revellers, the Christmas being kept with great solemnity; but he got excused from serving. The most magnificent entertainment, however, given by the Inns of Court, was on Candlemas Day, 1633—which day was frequently distinguished by a farewell Christmas entertainment, and the rule of the Christmas Prince extended to it—when the two Temples, Lincoln’s Inn and Gray’s Inn, jointly presented Shirley’s ‘Triumph of Peace,’ at an expense to the Societies of more than £20,000. The music, under the superintendence of William Lawes and Simon Ives, cost £1000, and the dresses of the horsemen were valued at £10,000. Whitelocke and Hyde were two of the principal managers, and the former wrote for it his celebrated ‘Coranto.’ The king was so much entertained, that he requested it to be performed again a few days afterwards at Merchant Tailors’ Hall. Whether Gray’s Inn was more or less inclined to play than the other Inns is not very material; but the following order, in the fourth of Charles, may be taken either way, “that all playing at dice, cards, or otherwise, in the hall, buttry, or butler’s chamber, should be thenceforth barred, and forbidden at all times of the year, the twenty days in Christmas only excepted.” The Inner Temple, not to be outdone in propriety, ordered, in 1632, that no play should be continued after twelve at night, not even on Christmas Eve.
New Year’s Gifts were given as in former reigns; even little Jeffery Hudson gave the queen in 1638, ‘The New Year’s Gift,’ written by Microphilus, meaning himself. The Duke of Buckingham, who was regardless of expense, appears to have given £20 to the celebrated Archie, the king’s jester; and £13 6s. 8d. to the king’s fool, meaning his other court fool, probably David Dromon. There is a story told of Archie, who having fooled many was fooled himself; and perhaps by this very nobleman. Archie went to him, or to the nobleman whoever he was, to bid him good morrow on New Year’s Day, and received twenty pieces of gold as his New Year’s Gift; but covetously desiring more, shook them in his hand, and said they were too light. The donor said, “I prithee, Archie, let me see them again, for there is one among them I would be loth to part with.” Archie unsuspectingly returned them, expecting them to be increased; but the nobleman put them in his pocket, with this remark, “I once gave money into a fool’s hand, who had not the wit to keep it.” The story of his having stolen a sheep, and hid it in a cradle, has been mentioned before, but is probably spurious.
This Archie, or Archibald Armstrong, may be considered as the last of the regular or official court fools; for Killigrew, in the succeeding reign, although a licensed wit, was of a higher class, both by birth and education; and Pepys’s account of his having a fee for cap and bells was apparently meant as a joke. The last play, in which the regular fool was introduced, was probably, ‘The Woman Captain,’ by Shadwell, 1680. Tarleton, in the preceding century, was a celebrated performer in these characters.
A strange appendage this officer or attendant was to royal and noble establishments; known even in oriental courts; and continued from the time of the Anglo-Saxons, or perhaps of the ancient Britons, to the time of which we are now writing. They often became such favourites as to gain great influence with their royal and noble masters, and frequently possessed more wit and discretion than the so-called or self-called sages, who endeavoured to make them their laughing stock, but whose attempts frequently flew back, like the boomerang, on their own heads. They differed of course much in merit, from the fellow of infinite jest to the mere practical joker, or the half-witted butt for the gibes of others. Will Somers was a recognised favourite of the capricious Henry the Eighth, and appears to have been a man of good conduct; two or three portraits of him may be still seen among the royal pictures at Hampton Court. It would be out of place to give any anecdotes of these characters here, or we might begin with Goles, the domestic fool of William the Conqueror, when Duke of Normandy, who saved his master’s life by giving timely notice of a conspiracy; then mentioning William Picolf, who held land from King John on performing fool’s service; Martinot of Gascoigne, fool to Edward the First; Robert le Foll, to Edward the Second; Ward, to Richard the Second, who, having some personal resemblance to that king, was induced after his death to personate him, for the purpose of an insurrection; Peche, in the time of Henry the Seventh; Sexton, Somers, and Williams, in the time of Henry the Eighth, the latter having been fool to Cardinal Wolsey, and when recommended by him to the king, after his disgrace, the faithful servant was obliged to be moved from his old master almost by force; Chester, who seems to have been somewhat of an impertinent disposition, in the time of Queen Elizabeth; with others that might be named, down to Archie Armstrong, Davie Dromon, George Stone, and Dicky Pearce; with a few words for Jane the female fool to Queen Mary; female fools, however, being rare. There were also celebrated professional fools in continental courts, as Moret, Bagot, Chichot, who was a man of courage, and accompanied his master to the wars; Triboulet, fool to Francis the First; and Mathurine, a female fool, who was with Henry the Fourth of France when he was stabbed by Jean Chastel, and was the means of the criminal being discovered.
Will Somers’s notion of cramming himself with salt beef, when on a voyage, may be submitted to travellers for consideration. When he was crossing to Boulogne with his master, Henry, the weather was rough, and he was observed to eat salt beef greedily, and on the king asking him the reason why he preferred salt meat when there was plenty of fresh, he replied, “Don’t blame me for filling my stomach with salt meat, because, if we are cast away, I know what a quantity of water I shall have to drink after it.” These personages, however, did not always enjoy their privileges without drawbacks, and were liable to punishment, even to whipping. George Stone, in the time of James the First, had a sound flogging for saying, when the Earl of Nottingham went ambassador to Spain, that there went sixty fools into Spain, besides my lord admiral and his two sons. Archie Armstrong, as is well known, was sentenced to have his coat pulled over his head, discharged the king’s service, and banished the court, for abuse of Archbishop Laud, having given “great praise to God, but little laud to the devil.” It was not, however, of much consequence to him, for he was a careful man, and by this time—
“Archee, by kings and princes grac’d of late,
Jested himself into a fair estate.”
