But, for you have not furnitureBeseeming such a guest,I bring his owne, and come myselfe,To see his lodging drest.With that two sumpters were discharged,In which were hangings brave,Silke coverings, curteins, carpets, plate,And all such turn should have.
But, for you have not furnitureBeseeming such a guest,I bring his owne, and come myselfe,To see his lodging drest.With that two sumpters were discharged,In which were hangings brave,Silke coverings, curteins, carpets, plate,And all such turn should have.
But, for you have not furnitureBeseeming such a guest,I bring his owne, and come myselfe,To see his lodging drest.
But, for you have not furniture
Beseeming such a guest,
I bring his owne, and come myselfe,
To see his lodging drest.
With that two sumpters were discharged,In which were hangings brave,Silke coverings, curteins, carpets, plate,And all such turn should have.
With that two sumpters were discharged,
In which were hangings brave,
Silke coverings, curteins, carpets, plate,
And all such turn should have.
But useful as were all these various itinerants, it was at the great yearly wakes or fairs, held in commemoration of the church dedication, that the housekeepers round laid in their greatest store. The term ‘wake’ denotes ‘a watching,’ because of the vigilobserved during the night preceding the festival itself. Indeed ‘wake’ and ‘watch’ were for centuries synonymous words.[298]Wicklyffe translates Mark xii. 37—‘Forsooth, that that I say to you, I say to all, Wake ye.’[299]Thus it is that our ‘Wakemans’ are but memorials of the old village guardian or night watchman, while our ‘Wakes’ can boast a title dating so far back as the time when ‘Hereward the Wake,’ or Watchful, was fighting the last battle of the down-trodden and oppressed Saxon.[300]These fairs were by no means for mere pleasure-seekers, as we might imagine from such a term as ‘church-ale,’ or judging by the aspect of such festivals in the present day. They had an end to answer, and an important end, and in early times they fulfilled it. It was here the farmers round brought their produce, ready to sell their wool for good sound money, or to exchange it for commoditiesof which they stood in need. It was here the foreign trader came to purchase sheep-fells and other skins, soon, by transmission abroad, to be worked up by Flemish hands into good broadcloth, and retransmitted again to London or provincial marts. Edward the Confessor obtained a sum of 70l., an immense amount at such a time as this, from the tollage at a fair held in Bedfordshire. Of many celebrated fairs, those of Smithfield on St. Bartholomew’s Day (which still exists as a kind of perpetual one), York, Winchester, and Ely seem to have been the most frequented. That in the Isle of Ely was kept up on and for some days after the feast of St. Awdrey, or Audrey, the corrupted name of St. Etheldreda, which as a surname our ‘Awdreys’ still preserve. This seems to have become specially noted for its sale of trinkets, toys, and cheap and gay laces—so much so that in course of time ‘tawdry,’ or St.-Awdry, ware became the colloquial and general term for such. Drayton we even find using the word substantively when he says:—
Of which the Naiads and blue Nereids makeThem tawdries for their neck.[301]
Of which the Naiads and blue Nereids makeThem tawdries for their neck.[301]
Of which the Naiads and blue Nereids makeThem tawdries for their neck.[301]
Of which the Naiads and blue Nereids make
Them tawdries for their neck.[301]
Of the still greater one held at Winchester, we find Piers the Plowman speaking:—
To Wye and to WinchesterI went to the fair,With many manner merchandise,As my master me hight:But it had been unsoldThese seven years,So God me help,Had there not goneThe grace of guileAmong my chaffer.
To Wye and to WinchesterI went to the fair,With many manner merchandise,As my master me hight:But it had been unsoldThese seven years,So God me help,Had there not goneThe grace of guileAmong my chaffer.
To Wye and to WinchesterI went to the fair,With many manner merchandise,As my master me hight:But it had been unsoldThese seven years,So God me help,Had there not goneThe grace of guileAmong my chaffer.
To Wye and to Winchester
I went to the fair,
With many manner merchandise,
As my master me hight:
But it had been unsold
These seven years,
So God me help,
Had there not gone
The grace of guile
Among my chaffer.
The ‘Wife of Bath,’ too, has a word to say upon this subject. Says she:—
I governed them so wel after my lawe,That eche of them ful blissful was and faweTo bringen me gay thinges fro the feyre.
I governed them so wel after my lawe,That eche of them ful blissful was and faweTo bringen me gay thinges fro the feyre.
I governed them so wel after my lawe,That eche of them ful blissful was and faweTo bringen me gay thinges fro the feyre.
I governed them so wel after my lawe,
That eche of them ful blissful was and fawe
To bringen me gay thinges fro the feyre.
What a picture does all this present to our eye. We can see the circular stand of booths belting the rails of the quaint belfried edifice, sometimes, I am afraid, the sacred precincts within.[302]Behind these we may note how busy are our ‘le Stallers’ and ‘le Stallmans,’ now found also as ‘Stalman;’ not to say our ‘Stallards,’ that is, stall-wards, and obsolete ‘le Vendours.’ No infliction too severe can be made upon their readiness to please. Elbowing and chaffering and good-humoured haggling are the order of the day. Here the stupid, happy swain, with his be-ribboned sweetheart tucked under his arm, is buying their little stock wherewith to start life; here the child is made blissful with a trumpet, and the hoary-headed rustic gets a warmer cap for his crown. Here, too, it is that the chapman and other of hisconfrères, as I have already hinted, are buying in their varied commodities. All alike are well catered for. When we talk of ‘packing up our duds,’ few of us, I imagine, are aware that we are using a word of most familiar import in long generations gone by. A ‘dud’ then was a coarse, patched linen gown, gaudy in colour, madeup in fact of variegated pieces of this material. Hence he who sold such cheap, flashy goods at a fair, any old fripperer in truth, was styled a ‘dudder’ up to comparatively recent times, and the booth itself a ‘duddery.’ ‘Duderman’ and ‘Dudder’ (now obsolete), ‘Dudman’ and ‘Dodman,’ are all, I doubt not, but interesting memorials of this once flourishing lower class trade. Such names as ‘Thomas Dudman’ or ‘Ralph Deuderman’ greet us occasionally in the olden rolls. ‘William Fairman,’[303]found in the Parliamentary Writs, would be, I suppose, a more general vendor. He has not a few descendants.
But while bartering and the purchase and sale of these varied household commodities occupied no small amount of attention, such a sober mode of passing the fairtide was very far from being the intention of the younger and gayer portion of the assemblage; nor was there, indeed, any lack of that which could feed or give zest to their relish for amusement, though it was not always of the most innocent nature. Our ‘Champions’ and ‘Campions’ are but relics of the old ‘William le Champion,’[304]or ‘Katerine le Chaumpion,’ a sobriquet which would easily affix itself to some sturdy and swarthy rustic who had thrown his adversary in the wrestling ground. This has ever been a popular sport amid our more rural communities. The Miller, Chaucer says:—
Was a stout carl for the nones,Ful bigge he was of braun, and eke of bones,That proved wel, for over all ther he came,At wrestling he would bear away the ram.
Was a stout carl for the nones,Ful bigge he was of braun, and eke of bones,That proved wel, for over all ther he came,At wrestling he would bear away the ram.
Was a stout carl for the nones,Ful bigge he was of braun, and eke of bones,That proved wel, for over all ther he came,At wrestling he would bear away the ram.
Was a stout carl for the nones,
Ful bigge he was of braun, and eke of bones,
That proved wel, for over all ther he came,
At wrestling he would bear away the ram.
In an old poem I have already quoted, the mother warns her daughter:—
Go not to the wrestling, nor shooting the cock,As it were a strumpet or a giglot.[305]
Go not to the wrestling, nor shooting the cock,As it were a strumpet or a giglot.[305]
Go not to the wrestling, nor shooting the cock,As it were a strumpet or a giglot.[305]
Go not to the wrestling, nor shooting the cock,
As it were a strumpet or a giglot.[305]
Doubtless such a sobriquet as ‘Richard le Fytur,’ that is ‘Fighter,’ would be but representative of the same. The country folks were not slow, too, to copy their masters, and in the friendly joust the former, ‘Thomas le Justere’ or ‘Robert le Justure,’ would brace himself amid the excited ring to unseat his fellow-swain, affording much sport to the on-looking wags.
By the maypole you may see the conjuror, or ‘Wiseman,’ as he was generally termed, battening himself upon the superstitious minds of the assembled hinds. In the Hundred Rolls he figures as ‘Wysman’ and ‘Wyseman.’ A little further on our ‘Players’ would be enacting their mummery. The great crowd there in the corner are watching the showman with his dancing bear, a yearly treat the younger holiday-seekers always appreciated. What a change has come over our English habits with regard to this animal. Dancing was the least cruel of the sports connected with it. Time was when every noble of position had his bears and his bearward, when even royalty could boast a master of the king’s bears, andwhen as a pastime the bear-baiting took an easy pre-eminence in the eyes of all holiday folk. A skit on the Earl of Warwick, banished to the Isle of Man, written 1399, says:—
A bereward found a rag:Of this rag he made a bag:He dude in gode entent.Thorwe the bag the bereward is taken;All his beres have hym forsaken.Thus is the berewarde schent.[306]
A bereward found a rag:Of this rag he made a bag:He dude in gode entent.Thorwe the bag the bereward is taken;All his beres have hym forsaken.Thus is the berewarde schent.[306]
A bereward found a rag:Of this rag he made a bag:He dude in gode entent.Thorwe the bag the bereward is taken;All his beres have hym forsaken.Thus is the berewarde schent.[306]
A bereward found a rag:
Of this rag he made a bag:
He dude in gode entent.
Thorwe the bag the bereward is taken;
All his beres have hym forsaken.
Thus is the berewarde schent.[306]
In one of our earlier rolls I find several names that bear relation to this familiar sport. Of such are ‘Geoffrey Bearbaste’ and ‘Alexander Bearbait.’ More common to us in the present day, however, are the descendants of the more simple ‘Berward’ (‘Michael le Berward,’ H.R.) and ‘Bearman,’ or ‘Berman’ (‘Ralph Bareman,’ H.R.). In ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote’ mention is made of—
Jenkyne Berwarde of Barwyche.
Jenkyne Berwarde of Barwyche.
Jenkyne Berwarde of Barwyche.
Jenkyne Berwarde of Barwyche.
Whether ‘Jenkyne’ was a mythic personage, or whether any of our present ‘Berwards’ are his lineal issue, I cannot pretend to say.[307]Any way, however,the name would be common enough then. Bull as well as bear baiting, I need not say, was a popular pastime with our forefathers. We still talk of bulldogs. Probably our ‘Bullards’ could formerly have told us something about this. Fit rival to these latter, you may see the ‘Cockman,’ or, as he was more generally termed, the ‘Cocker,’ matching his birds in the adjacent pit. The author of the ‘Townley Mysteries’ does not give the cocker a good character—at least he places him in very bad company—
These dysars, and these hullars,These cokkers, and these bullars,And alle purse cuttars,Be welle ware of these men.
These dysars, and these hullars,These cokkers, and these bullars,And alle purse cuttars,Be welle ware of these men.
These dysars, and these hullars,These cokkers, and these bullars,And alle purse cuttars,Be welle ware of these men.
These dysars, and these hullars,
These cokkers, and these bullars,
And alle purse cuttars,
Be welle ware of these men.
Among other instances the Hundred Rolls furnish us with ‘Simon le Cockere’ and ‘William le Koker.’
Professional dancers, I need scarcely say, were seldom absent from the mediæval festival. Tripping it lightly to some Moorish round, we may see such folk as ‘Harvey le Danser’ or ‘Geoffrey le Hoppere,’ inciting the younger villagers to follow their example. The latter name, which occurs frequently at this time, reminds us that our modern slang term ‘hop’ has but restored the ancient use of this word. Our Prayer-Book version of the Psalms still employs the verb in the verse, ‘Why hop ye so, ye high hills?’[308]—and Chaucer, in picturing the merry ’prentice, says—
At every bridale would he sing and hoppe;He loved bet the taverne than the shoppe.
At every bridale would he sing and hoppe;He loved bet the taverne than the shoppe.
At every bridale would he sing and hoppe;He loved bet the taverne than the shoppe.
At every bridale would he sing and hoppe;
He loved bet the taverne than the shoppe.
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 tombesteresFetis and smale, and yonge fruitesteres.
And right anon in comen tombesteresFetis and smale, and yonge fruitesteres.
And right anon in comen tombesteresFetis and smale, and yonge fruitesteres.
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 headA twenty bokes, clothed in black or red,Of Aristotle and his philosophie,Than robes riche, or fidel, or sautrie.
Liefer have at his beddes headA twenty bokes, clothed in black or red,Of Aristotle and his philosophie,Than robes riche, or fidel, or sautrie.
Liefer have at his beddes headA twenty bokes, clothed in black or red,Of Aristotle and his philosophie,Than robes riche, or fidel, or sautrie.
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.
I saw a shole of shepherds out go,Before them yode a lusty tabrere,That to the merry hornpipe plaid,Whereto they danced.
I saw a shole of shepherds out go,Before them yode a lusty tabrere,That to the merry hornpipe plaid,Whereto they danced.
I saw a shole of shepherds out go,Before them yode a lusty tabrere,That to the merry hornpipe plaid,Whereto they danced.
I saw a shole of shepherds out go,
Before them yode a lusty tabrere,
That to the merry hornpipe plaid,
Whereto they danced.
Such entries as ‘Arnold le Pyper,’ or ‘Robert le Pipere,’ or ‘William le Tabourer,’ or ‘John le Taburer,’ are of frequent occurrence in mediæval rolls.
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling crowd,
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling crowd,
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling crowd,
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling crowd,
is the order of the gentle author of the ‘Faerie Queen;’ so having disposed of the two former, the ‘Crowder’ with his six-stringed viol duly engages our attention next, though he ought more correctly to have been yoked with the ‘Fiddler.’ ‘Crouth’ was but another form of the same word. An old Saxon Psalter thus renders Psalm cl. 4—
Loves him in crouth and timpane,Loves him in stringes and organe.
Loves him in crouth and timpane,Loves him in stringes and organe.
Loves him in crouth and timpane,Loves him in stringes and organe.
Loves him in crouth and timpane,
Loves him in stringes and organe.
Wicklyffe, too, translates Luke xv. 25 as follows:—‘But his eldre sone was in the feeld, and whaune he cam and neighede to the hous he herde a symfonye and a crowde.’[310]Like our ‘Harpers’ and more northern ‘Bairds,’ the ‘Crowder’ or ‘Crowther’ (for as surnames both forms exist) was oftentimes blind, and thus gained the ear of an audience, if not appreciative, at least sympathetic. Seldom, indeed, did he leave cottage, or hall festival, or fair, without a guerdon, and a kind word to boot; for while customs fade out and die, pity, thank God, knows neither change of season nor chance of time. Mediæval formsof the above may be found in ‘Richard le Cruder’ or ‘Thomas le Crowder.’ But we have yet several more surnames to mention which prove the once great popularity of this latter class of instrument. ‘German le Lutrere’ and ‘John le Leuter’ have left no descendants, I think.[311]The more common term was lutanist, but of this I have found no instance. While the lute had generally ten strings, and was struck by the hand, the viele or viol had six, was of stronger make, and was played with a bow. It seems to have been a favourite instrument in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, for such registrations as ‘Benedict le Viler,’ ‘Nicholas le Vylour,’ ‘Wyot le Vilur,’ or ‘Jacob le Vielur,’ occur with tolerable frequency at that period. Another Norman-introduced word was that of ‘gigue,’ or ‘gig.’ This, however, seems to have differed from the others in being of the very roughest manufacture, and made specially for professional dancers. These ‘giguers’ were extremely popular at rural festivals of any kind. At one and the same instant they would be tripping it round on the ‘light fantastic toe,’ singing some not too select verses, accompanying themselves on their sturdy instrument, and yet would have a hand to spare for a trifle if you should offer it. If you doubted it you had but to try them. It is thus we have got our ‘jig,’ our ‘gigot,’ or leg of mutton, too, being so called from its resemblance thereto. The surnominal form is found in such entries as ‘Walter le Gigur,’ or ‘Alexander le Gygur,’but I doubt whether either is represented now. The last of this class of instrumentalists we may mention is ‘William le Sautreour,’ he who struck the ‘gay sawtrye,’ as Chaucer terms it. The more correct form of the word was ‘psaltery.’ It was specially used as an accompaniment for the voice, hence it is freely used in this sense in the Authorized Version. I do not doubt myself that some of our ‘Salters’ are but a change rung on the mediæval ‘Sawtrer.’ The ‘Fluter,’ I believe, has left no descendants, but in ‘Nicholas le Floutere’ he was to be met with at this date, and, I need not say, would be as familiar as he would be acceptable on such an occasion as this. The lusty young Squire was so musical that—
Singing he was, or floyting alle the day,He was as freshe as is the month of May.
Singing he was, or floyting alle the day,He was as freshe as is the month of May.
Singing he was, or floyting alle the day,He was as freshe as is the month of May.
Singing he was, or floyting alle the day,
He was as freshe as is the month of May.
There is one name I must mention here, that of ‘Peter le Organer,’[312]perhaps connected with ‘Orger’ of the same date. The owner of this more modern-looking term may either have been organist at some monastery or abbey-church, or he may have played upon the portable regal, in which latter case he too might possibly have been seen here. But ‘organ’ was a very general term. In the old psalters it seems to have been used for nearly every species of instrument. We should scarcely speak now of ‘hanging up our “organs” upon the willows,’ but so an old version of the Psalms has it. Did we not know they were a modern invention we might have been inclined to suspect ‘le Organer’ to have been but a strollingperformer upon the ‘hurdy-gurdy.’ That, however, was an infliction mercifully spared to our forefathers. In concluding this brief survey of mediæval music, I cannot, I think, do better than quote, as I have done partially once before, Robert de Brunne’s account of the coronation of King Arthur, wherein we shall find many, if not most, of the professional characters I have been mentioning familiarly spoken of. He says—
Jogelours weren there enowThat their quaintise forthe drew:Minstrels many with divers glew (glee)Sounds of bemes (trumps) that men blew,Harpes, pipes, and tabours,Fithols (fiddles), citolles (cymbals), sautreours,Belles, chimès and synfanOther enow and some I cannot name.Songsters that merry sung,Sound of glee over all rung;Disours enow telled fables:And some played with dice at tables.
Jogelours weren there enowThat their quaintise forthe drew:Minstrels many with divers glew (glee)Sounds of bemes (trumps) that men blew,Harpes, pipes, and tabours,Fithols (fiddles), citolles (cymbals), sautreours,Belles, chimès and synfanOther enow and some I cannot name.Songsters that merry sung,Sound of glee over all rung;Disours enow telled fables:And some played with dice at tables.
Jogelours weren there enowThat their quaintise forthe drew:Minstrels many with divers glew (glee)Sounds of bemes (trumps) that men blew,Harpes, pipes, and tabours,Fithols (fiddles), citolles (cymbals), sautreours,Belles, chimès and synfanOther enow and some I cannot name.Songsters that merry sung,Sound of glee over all rung;Disours enow telled fables:And some played with dice at tables.
Jogelours weren there enow
That their quaintise forthe drew:
Minstrels many with divers glew (glee)
Sounds of bemes (trumps) that men blew,
Harpes, pipes, and tabours,
Fithols (fiddles), citolles (cymbals), sautreours,
Belles, chimès and synfan
Other enow and some I cannot name.
Songsters that merry sung,
Sound of glee over all rung;
Disours enow telled fables:
And some played with dice at tables.
But we are not without traces of the troubadour. The simple vocalist, a strolling professionalist, too, in many instances, remains hale and hearty in our ‘Glemans,’ ‘Gleemans,’ and ‘Glemmans,’ not to mention our ‘Sangsters.’ Amid such lulls as might intervene, we should hear them at the popular festivals bidding for favour with their old-fashioned stories of ‘hawk and hound,’ and ‘my ladyes bower,’ set, no doubt, to airs equallyà la mode. A contemporary poet tells us their song
Hath been sung at festivalsOn ember eves, and holy-ales.
Hath been sung at festivalsOn ember eves, and holy-ales.
Hath been sung at festivalsOn ember eves, and holy-ales.
Hath been sung at festivals
On ember eves, and holy-ales.
The recitation of these stories seems to have been apeculiarly popular profession. Our ‘Rhymers’ oftentimes showed their skill in the art of rhythmical narration by weaving the exploits they described into extempore verse.[313]The ‘Juggler’ or ‘Joculator,’ originally a minstrel or ‘jester,’ something akin to the clown of later days, became by-and-by more celebrated for his skill in legerdemain than loquacity, and now little else is understood by the word. Almost every baron, and even the king himself, had his favourite jester; but it was an art put to the most corrupt purposes, and ‘Jagge the Jogelour’ is set in very low company by Piers Plowman. Certainly his jokes were of the lewdest description, even for the rough times in which he lived. His voice, too, was sufficiently elevated, if we may trust the account given in the ‘Romance of Alexander,’ for—
No scholde mon have herd the thondur,For the noise of the taboures,And the trumpours, and the jangelours.
No scholde mon have herd the thondur,For the noise of the taboures,And the trumpours, and the jangelours.
No scholde mon have herd the thondur,For the noise of the taboures,And the trumpours, and the jangelours.
No scholde mon have herd the thondur,
For the noise of the taboures,
And the trumpours, and the jangelours.
The ‘Dissour,’ the old Norman ‘diseur,’ similar in character to the rhymer and the juggler, seems to have left no memorial, saving it be in our ‘Dissers;’[314]neither can I trace ‘le Tregetour’ later than the fifteenth century. Every footprint of his professional existence, indeed, is now faded from our view. And yet there was the day when none could be more familiar than he. The Hundred Rolls record not merely ‘Symon le Tregetor,’ but ‘William le Tregetur’ also, while ‘Maister John Rykele’ is spoken of by Lydgate as ‘sometime Tregitour of noble Henrie, King of Engleland.’ Chaucer, too, mentions sciences
By which men maken divers apparences,Such as these subtil tregetoures play.For oft at feasts have I wel heard sayThat tragetoures, within an halle largeHave made come in a water and a bargeAnd in the halle rowen up and down:
By which men maken divers apparences,Such as these subtil tregetoures play.For oft at feasts have I wel heard sayThat tragetoures, within an halle largeHave made come in a water and a bargeAnd in the halle rowen up and down:
By which men maken divers apparences,Such as these subtil tregetoures play.For oft at feasts have I wel heard sayThat tragetoures, within an halle largeHave made come in a water and a bargeAnd in the halle rowen up and down:
By which men maken divers apparences,
Such as these subtil tregetoures play.
For oft at feasts have I wel heard say
That tragetoures, within an halle large
Have made come in a water and a barge
And in the halle rowen up and down:
while in another place he speaks of seeing
Coll TragetourUpon a table of sicamourPlay an uncouth thing to tell;I saw him carry a wind-millUnder a walnut-shell;
Coll TragetourUpon a table of sicamourPlay an uncouth thing to tell;I saw him carry a wind-millUnder a walnut-shell;
Coll TragetourUpon a table of sicamourPlay an uncouth thing to tell;I saw him carry a wind-millUnder a walnut-shell;
Coll Tragetour
Upon a table of sicamour
Play an uncouth thing to tell;
I saw him carry a wind-mill
Under a walnut-shell;
with other equally marvellous feats. Thus we see that the art of legerdemain was not neglected at this time.
I doubt whether any relics we possess so completely convey to our minds the radical changes which have swept across the face of our English Commonwealth as do these lingering surnames. They remind us of the invention of printing, of the spread of literature, and of the slow decay thereby of the professions they represented. They tell us of a changed society, they tell us of a day of rougher cast and looser trammels;they tell us of a life around which the lapse of intervening years has thrown a halo of so quaint aspect that we all but long, in our more sentimental moods, to be thrown back upon it again. Placing these tell-tale names by the life of the present, we see what a change has passed over all. Let us hope this change denotes progress. In some respects it assuredly does: progress in the settlement of our common rights and duties, progress in civilization and order, progress in mental culture, progress in decorum. Still we may yet ask, with all this has there been any true progress? The juggler, ’tis true, with his licentious story, and the dissolute tragetour, both are gone—they would be handcuffed now, and put in gaol. This speaks something for a higher cultivation. But, after all, may not this be a mere outside refinement—a refinement to meet the requirements of an age in which the head is educated more than the heart—a refinement which may be had in our shops—the refinement, in fact, of the lowest of God’s endowed creatures, that of the exquisite? This is, indeed, an artificial age, and it warns us to see to it whether we are hypocrites or no; whether our life is entirely external or the reverse; whether it is all shell and no kernel, all the outside cup and platter, and within naught save extortion and excess. That mortal shall have attained the highest wisdom who, in the light of the world to come, shall have seen to the cleansing of that which is within, and if that, if the heart be cleansed, then the external life will as naturally, as it will of necessity, be pure.