Already in Saxon England Christmas was becoming a season of secular merry-making as well as of religious devotion[1413]. Under the post-Conquest kings this tendency was stimulated by the fixed habit of the court. William the Bastard, like Charlemagne before him, chose the solemn day for his coronation; and from his reign Christmas takes rank, with Easter, Whitsuntide, and, at a much later date, St. George’s day, as one of the great courtly festivals of the year. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle is at the pains to record the place of its celebration, twelvemonth after twelvemonth[1414]. Among the many forgotten Christmassings of mediaeval kings, history lays a finger on a few of special note: that at which Richard II, with characteristic extravagance and the consumption of ‘200 tunns of wine and 2,000 oxen with their appurtenances,’ entertained the papal legate in 1398; and that, more truly royal, at which Henry V, besieging Rouen in 1418, ‘refreshed all the poore people with vittels to their great comfort and his high praise[1415].’ The Tudors were not behindhand with any opportunity for pageantry and display, nor does the vogue of Christmas throughout the length and breadth of ‘merrie England’ need demonstration[1416]. The Puritans girded at it, as they did at May games, and the rest of the delightful circumstance of life, until in 1644 an ordinance of the Long Parliament required the festival to give place to a monthly fast with the day fixed for which it happened to coincide[1417].

The entertainment of a mediaeval Christmas was diverse. There was the banquet. The Boy Bishop came to court. Carols were sung. New Year gifts were exchanged. Hastiludia—jousts or tournaments—were popular and splendid. Minstrels and jugglers made music and mirth. A succession of gaieties filled the Twelve nights from the Nativity to the Epiphany, or even the wider space from St. Thomas’s day to Candlemas. It is, however, in the custom of masquing that I find the most direct legacy to Christmas of the Kalends celebrations in their bourgeois forms. Larvae or masks are prominent in the records and prohibitions of the Feast of Fools from the decretal of Innocent III in 1207 to the letter of the Paris theologians in 1445[1418]. I take them as being, like the characteristic hood of the ‘fool,’ sophistications of the capita pecudum, the sacrificial exuviae worn by the rout of worshippers at the Kalendae. Precisely such larvae, under another name, confront us in the detailed records of two fourteenth-century Christmasses. Amongst the documents of the Royal Wardrobe for the reign of Edward III are lists of stuffs issued for the ludi domini regis in 1347-8 and 1348-9[1419]. For the Christmas of 1347, held at Guildford, were required a number of ‘viseres’ in the likeness of men, women, and angels, curiously designed ‘crestes,’ and other costumes representing dragons, peacocks, and swans[1420]. The Christmas of 1348 held at Ottford and the following Epiphany at Merton yield similar entries[1421]. What were these ‘viseres’ used for? The term ludi must not be pressed. It appears to be distinct from hastiludia, which comes frequently in the same documents, although in the hastiludia also ‘viseres’ were used[1422]. But it does not necessarily imply anything dramatic, and the analogies suggest that it is a wide generic term, roughly equivalent to ‘disports,’ or to the ‘revels’ of the Tudor vocabulary[1423]. It recurs in 1388 when the Wardrobe provided linen coifs for twenty-one counterfeit men of the law in the ludus regis[1424]. The sets of costumes supplied for all these ludi would most naturally be used by groups of performers in something of the nature of a dance; and they point to some primitive form of masque, such as Froissart describes in contemporary France[1425], the precursor of the long line of development which, traceable from the end of the following century, culminates in the glories of Ben Jonson. The vernacular name for such a ludus in the fourteenth century was ‘mumming’ or ‘disguising[1426].’ Orders of the city of London in 1334, 1393, and 1405 forbid a practice of going about the streets at Christmas ove visere ne faux visage, and entering the houses of citizens to play at dice therein[1427]. In 1417 ‘mummyng’ is specifically included in a similar prohibition[1428]; and in a proclamation of the following year, ‘mommyng’ is classed with ‘playes’ and ‘enterludes’ as a variety of ‘disgisyng[1429].’ But the disport which they denied to less dignified folk the rulers of the city retained for themselves as the traditional way of paying a visit of compliment to a great personage. A fragmentary chronicle amongst Stowe’s manuscripts describes such a visit paid to Richard II at the Candlemas preceding his accession in 1377. The ‘mummers’ were disguised with ‘vizards’ to represent an emperor and a pope with their cortèges. They rode to Kennington, entered the hall on foot, invited the prince and the lords to dice and discreetly lost, drank and danced with the company, and so departed[1430]. This is the first of several such mummings upon record. Some chroniclers relate that it was at a mumming that the partisans of Richard II attempted to seize Henry IV on Twelfth night in 1400[1431]. In the following year, when the Emperor Manuel of Constantinople spent Christmas with Henry at Eltham, the ‘men of London maden a gret mommyng to hym of xij aldermen and there sons, for whiche they hadde gret thanke[1432].’ In 1414 Sir John Oldcastle and his Lollards were in their turn accused of using a mumming as a cloak of sedition[1433]. Thus the London distrust of false visages had its justification, and it is noteworthy that so late as 1511 an Act of Parliament forbade the visits of mummers disguised with visors to great houses on account of the disorders so caused. Even the sale of visors was made illegal[1434].

So far there is nothing to point to the use of any dialogue or speeches at mummings. The only detailed account is that of 1377, and the passage which describes how the mummers ‘saluted’ the lords, ‘shewing a pair of dice upon a table to play with the prince,’ reads rather as if the whole performance were in dumb show. This is confirmed by the explanation of the term ‘mummynge’ given in a contemporary glossary[1435]. The development of the mumming in a literary direction may very likely have been due to the multifarious activity of John Lydgate. Amongst his miscellaneous poems are preserved several which are stated by their collector Shirley to have been written for mummings or disguisings either before the king or before the lord mayor of London[1436]. They all seem to belong to the reign of Henry VI and probably to the years 1427-30. And they show pretty clearly the way in which verses got into the disguisings. Two of them are ‘lettres’ introducing mummings presented by the guilds of the mercers and the goldsmiths to lord mayor Eastfield[1437]. They were doubtless read aloud in the hall. A balade sent to Henry and the queen mother at Eltham is of the same type[1438]. Two ‘devyses’ for mummings at London and Windsor were probably recited by a ‘presenter.’ The Windsor one is of the nature of a prologue, describing a ‘myracle’ which the king is ‘to see[1439].’ The London one was meant to accompany the course of the performance, and describes the various personages as they enter[1440]. Still more elaborate is a set of verses used at Hertford. The first part of these is certainly spoken by a presenter who points out the ‘vpplandishe’ complainants to whom he refers. But the reply is in the first person, and apparently put in the mouths of the ‘wyues’ themselves, while the conclusion is a judgement delivered, again probably by the presenter, in the name of the king[1441].

Whether Lydgate was the author of an innovation or not, the introduction of speeches, songs, and dialogues was common enough in the fully-developed mummings. For these we must look to the sumptuous courts of the early Tudors. Lydgate died about 1451, and the Wars of the Roses did not encourage revelry. The Paston Letters tell how the Lady Morley forbade ‘dysguysyngs’ in her house at Christmas after her husband’s death in 1476[1442]. There were ludi in Scotland under James III[1443]. But those of his successor, James IV, although numerous and varied[1444], probably paled before the elaborate ‘plays’ and ‘disguisings’ which the contemporary account-books of Henry VII reveal[1445]. Of only one ‘disguising,’ however, of this period is a full account preserved. It took place in Westminster Hall after the wedding of Prince Arthur with Katharine of Spain on November 18, 1501, and was ‘convayed and showed in pageants proper and subtile.’ There was a castle, bearing singing children and eight disguised ladies, amongst whom was one ‘apparelled like unto the Princesse of Spaine,’ a Ship in which came Hope and Desire as Ambassadors, and a Mount of Love, from which issued eight knights, and assaulted the castle. This allegorical compliment, which was set forth by ‘countenance, speeches, and demeanor,’ ended, the knights and ladies danced together and presently ‘avoided.’ Thereupon the royal party themselves fell to dancing[1446]. ‘Pageants’ are mentioned in connexion with other disguisings of the reign, and on one occasion the disguising was ‘for a moryce[1447].’ Further light is thrown upon the nature of a disguising by the regulations contained in a contemporary book of ‘Orders concerning an Earl’s House.’ A disguising is to be introduced by torch-bearers and accompanied by minstrels. If there are women disguised, they are to dance first, and then the men. Then is to come the morris, ‘if any be ordeynid.’ Finally men and women are to dance together and depart in the ‘towre, or thing devised for theim.’ The whole performance is to be under the control of a ‘maister of the disguisinges’ or ‘revills[1448].’

It is possible to distinguish a simpler and a more elaborate type of masked entertainment, side by side, throughout the splendid festivities of the court of Henry VIII. For the more or less impromptu ‘mumming,’ the light-hearted and riotous king had a great liking. In the first year of his reign we find him invading the queen’s chamber at Westminster ‘for a gladness to the queen’s grace’ in the guise of Robin Hood, with his men ‘in green coats and hose of Kentish Kendal’ and a Maid Marian[1449]. The queen subsequently got left out, but there were many similar disports throughout the reign. One of these, in which the king and a party disguised as shepherds broke in upon a banquet of Wolsey’s, has been immortalized by Shakespeare[1450]. Such mummings were comparatively simple, and the Wardrobe was as a rule only called upon to provide costumes and masks, although on one occasion a lady in a ‘tryke’ or ‘spell’ wagon was drawn in[1451]. But the more formal ‘disguisings’ of the previous reign were also continued and set forth with great splendour. In 1527 a ‘House of Revel’ called the ‘Long House’ was built for their performance and decorated by Holbein[1452], and there was constant expenditure on the provision of pageants. ‘The Golldyn Arber in the Arche-yerd of Plesyer,’ ‘the Dangerus Fortrees,’ ‘the Ryche Mount,’ ‘the Pavyllon un the Plas Parlos,’ ‘the Gardyn de Esperans,’ ‘the Schatew Vert’[1453] are some of the names given to them, and these well suggest the kind of allegorical spectacular entertainment, diversified with dance and song, which the chroniclers describe.

The ‘mumming’ or ‘disguising,’ then, as it took shape at the beginning of the sixteenth century, was a form of court revel, in which, behind the accretions of literature and pageantry, can be clearly discerned a nucleus of folk-custom in the entry of the band of worshippers, with their sacrificial exuviae, to bring the house good luck. The mummers are masked and disguised folk who come into the hall uninvited and call upon the company gathered there to dice and dance. It is not necessary to lay stress upon the distinction between the two terms, which are used with some indifference. When they first make their appearance together in the London proclamation of 1418 the masked visit is a ‘mumming,’ and is included with the ‘enterlude’ under the generic term of ‘disguising.’ In the Henry VII documents ‘mumming’ does not occur, and in those of Henry VIII ‘mumming’ and ‘disguising’ are practically identical, ‘disguising,’ if anything, being used of the more elaborate shows, while both are properly distinct from ‘interlude.’ But I do not think that ‘disguising’ ever quite lost its earlier and widest sense[1454]. It must now be added that early in Henry VIII’s reign a new term was introduced which ultimately supplanted both the others. The chronicler Hall relates how in 1513 ‘On the daie of the Epiphanie at night, the kyng with a xi other were disguised, after the maner of Italie, called a maske, a thyng not seen afore in Englande, thei were appareled in garmentes long and brode, wrought all with gold, with visers and cappes of gold & after the banket doen, these Maskers came in, with sixe gentlemen disguised in silke bearyng staffe torches, and desired the ladies to daunce, some were content, and some that knewe the fashion of it refused, because it was not a thyng commonly seen. And after thei daunced and commoned together, as the fashion of the Maske is, thei tooke their leaue and departed, and so did the Quene, and all the ladies[1455].’

The good Hall is not particularly lucid in his descriptions, and historians of the mask have doubted what, beyond the name, was the exact modification introduced ‘after the maner of Italie’ in 1512. A recent writer on the subject, Dr. H. A. Evans, thinks that it lay in the fact that the maskers danced with the spectators, as well as amongst themselves[1456]. But the mummers of 1377 already did this, although of course the custom may have grown obsolete before 1513. I am rather inclined to regard it as a matter of costume. The original Revels Account for this year—and Hall’s reports of court revels are so full that he must surely have had access to some such source—mentions provision for ‘12 nobyll personages, inparylled with blew damaske and yelow damaske long gowns and hoods with hats after the maner of maskelyng in Etaly[1457].’ Does not this description suggest that the ‘thing not sene afore in England’ was of the nature of a domino? In any case from 1513 onwards ‘masks,’ ‘maskelers’ or ‘maskelings’ recur frequently in the notices of the revels[1458]. The early masks resembled the simpler type of ‘mumming’ rather than the more elaborate and spectacular ‘disguising,’ but by the end of the reign both of the older terms had become obsolete, and all Elizabethan court performances in which the visor and the dance played the leading parts were indifferently known as masks[1459]. Outside the court, indeed, the nomenclature was more conservative, and to this day the village performers who claim the right to enter your house at Christmas call themselves ‘mummers,’ ‘guisers’ or ‘geese-dancers.’ Sometimes they merely dance, sing and feast with you, but in most places, as a former chapter has shown, they have adopted from another season of the year its characteristic rite, which in course of time has grown from folk-dance into folk-drama[1460].

I now pass from the mask to another point of contact between the Feast of Fools and the Tudor revels. This was the dominus festi. A special officer, told off to superintend the revels, pastimes and disports of the Christmas season, is found both in the English and the Scottish court at the end of the fifteenth century. In Scotland he bore the title of Abbot of Unreason[1461]; in England he was occasionally the Abbot, but more usually the Lord of Misrule. Away from court, other local designations present themselves: but Lord of Misrule or Christmas Lord are the generic titles known to contemporary literature[1462]. The household accounts of Henry VII make mention of a Lord or Abbot of Misrule for nearly every Christmas in the reign[1463]. Under Henry VIII a Lord was annually appointed, with one exception, until 1520[1464]. From that date, the records are not available, but an isolated notice in 1534 gives proof of the continuance of the custom[1465]. In 1521 a Lord of Misrule held sway in the separate household of the Princess Mary[1466], and there is extant a letter from the Princess’s council to Wolsey asking whether it were the royal pleasure that a similar appointment should be made in 1525[1467]. Little information can be gleaned as to the functions of the Lord of Misrule during the first two Tudor reigns. It is clear that he was quite distinct from the officer known as the ‘Master of the Revels,’ in whose hands lay the preparation and oversight of disguisings or masks and similar entertainments. The Master of the Revels also makes his first appearance under Henry VII. Originally he seems to have been appointed only pro hac vice, from among the officials, such as the comptroller of the household, already in attendance at court[1468]. This practice lasted well into the reign of Henry VIII, who was served in this capacity by such distinguished courtiers, amongst others, as Sir Henry Guildford and Sir Anthony Browne[1469]. Under them the preparation of the revels and the custody of the properties were in the hands of a permanent minor official. At first such work was done in the royal Wardrobe, but under Henry VIII it fell to a distinct ‘serjeant’ who was sometimes, but not always, also ‘serjeant’ to the king’s tents. In 1545, however, a permanent Master of the Revels was appointed in the person of Sir Thomas Cawarden, one of the gentlemen of the privy chamber[1470]. Cawarden formed the Revels into a regular office with a clerk comptroller, yeoman, and clerk, and a head quarters, at first in Warwick Inn, and afterwards in the precinct of the dissolved Blackfriars, of which he obtained a grant from the king. This organization of the Revels endured in substance until after the Restoration[1471]. Not unnaturally there were some jealousies and conflicts of authority between the permanent Master of the Revels and the annual Lord of Misrule, and this comes out amusingly enough from some of Cawarden’s correspondence for 1551-3, preserved in the muniment room at Loseley. For the two Christmases during this period the Lordship of Misrule was held by George Ferrers, one of the authors of the Mirrour for Magistrates[1472]; and Cawarden seems to have put every possible difficulty in the way of the discharge of his duties. Ferrers appealed to the lords of the council, and it took half a dozen official letters, signed by the great master of the household, Mr. Secretary Cecil, and a number of other dignitaries, to induce the Master of the Revels to provide the hobby horses and fool’s coat and what not, that were required[1473]. Incidentally this correspondence and the account books kept by Cawarden give some notion of the sort of amusement which the Lord of Misrule was expected to organize. In 1551 he made his entry into court ‘out of the mone.’ He had his fool ‘John Smith’ in a ‘vice’s coote’ and a ‘dissard’s hoode,’ a part apparently played by the famous court fool, Will Somers. He had a ‘brigandyne’; he had his ‘holds, prisons, and places of execuc’on, his cannypie, throne, seate, pillory, gibbet, hedding block, stocks, little ease, and other necessary incydents to his person’; he had his ‘armury’ and his stables with ‘13 hobby horses, whereof one with 3 heads for his person, bought of the carver for his justs and challenge at Greenwich.’ The masks this year were of apes and bagpipes, of cats, of Greek worthies, and of ‘medyoxes’ (‘double visaged, th’ one syde lyke a man, th’ other lyke death’)[1474]. The chief difficulty with Cawarden arose out of a visit to be paid by the Lord to London on January 4. The apparel provided for his ‘viij counsellors’ on that occasion was so ‘insufficient’ that he returned it, and told Cawarden that he had ‘mistaken y^e persons that sholde weere them, as S^r Rob^t Stafford and Thom^s Wyndesor, w^h other gentlemen that stande also upon their reputac̃on, and wold not be seen in London, so torche-berer lyke disgysed, for as moche as they are worthe or hope to be worthe[1475].’ After all it took a letter from the council to get the fresh apparel ready in time. It was ready, for Machyn’s Diary records the advent of the Lord and his ‘consell’ to Tower Wharf, with a ‘mores danse,’ and the ‘proclamasyon’ made of him at the Cross in Cheap, and his visit to the mayor and the lord treasurer, ‘and so to Bysshopgate, and so to Towre warff, and toke barge to Grenwyche[1476].’ Before the following Christmas of 1552 Ferrers was careful to send note of his schemes to Cawarden in good time[1477]. This year he would come in in ‘blewe’ out of ‘vastum vacuum, the great waste.’ The ‘serpente with sevin heddes called hidra’ was to be his arms, his crest a ‘wholme bush’ and his ‘worde’ semper ferians. Mr. Windham was to be his admiral, Sir George Howard his master of the horse, and he required six councillors, ‘a divine, a philosopher, an astronomer, a poet, a phisician, a potecarie, a m^r of requests, a sivilian, a disard, John Smyth, two gentleman ushers, besides jugglers, tomblers, fooles, friers, and suche other.’ Again there was a challenge with hobby horses, and again the Lord of Misrule visited London on January 6, and was met by Sergeant Vauce, Lord of Misrule to ‘master Maynard the Shreyff’ whom he knighted. He then proceeded to dinner with the Lord Mayor[1478]. As he rode his cofferer cast gold and silver abroad, and Cawarden’s accounts show that ‘coynes’ were made for him by a ‘wyer-drawer,’ after the familiar fashion of the Boy Bishops in France[1479]. These accounts also give elaborate details of his dress and that of his retinue, and of a ‘Triumph of Venus and Mars[1480].’ In the following year Edward was dead, and neither Mary nor Elizabeth seems to have revived the appointment of a Lord of Misrule at court[1481].

But the reign of the Lord of Misrule extended far beyond the verge of the royal palace. He was especially in vogue at those homes of learning, the Universities and the Inns of Court, where Christmas, though a season of feasting and ludi, had not yet become an occasion for general ‘going down.’ Anthony à Wood records him in several Oxford colleges, especially in Merton and St. John’s, and ascribes his downfall, justly, no doubt, in part, to the Puritans[1482]. At Merton he bore the title of Rex fabarum or Rex regni fabarum[1483]. He was a fellow of the college, was elected on November 19, and held office until Candlemas, when the winter festivities closed with the Ignis Regentium in the hall. The names of various Reges fabarum between 1487 and 1557 are preserved in the college registers, and the last holder of the office elected in the latter year was Joseph Heywood, the uncle of John Donne, in his day a famous recusant[1484]. At St. John’s College a ‘Christmas Lord, or Prince of the Revells,’ was chosen up to 1577. Thirty years later, in 1607, the practice was for one year revived, and a detailed account of this experiment was committed to manuscript by one Griffin Higgs[1485]. The Prince, who was chosen on All Saints’ day, was Thomas Tucker. He was installed on November 5, and immediately made a levy upon past and present members of the college to meet the necessary expenses. Amongst the subscribers was ‘Mr. Laude.’ On St. Andrew’s day, the Prince was publicly installed with a dramatic ‘deuise’ or ‘showe’ called Ara Fortunae. The hall was a great deal too full, a canopy fell down, and the ‘fool’ broke his staff. On St. Thomas’s day, proclamation was made of the style and title of the Prince and of the officers who formed his household[1486]. He also ratified the ‘Decrees and Statutes’ promulgated in 1577 by his predecessor and added some rather pretty satire on the behaviour of spectators at college and other revels. On Christmas day the Prince was attended to prayers, and took the vice-president’s chair in hall, where a boar’s head was brought in, and a carol sung. After supper was an interlude, called Saturnalia. On St. John’s day ‘some of the Prince’s honest neighbours of St. Giles’s presented him with a maske or morris’; and the ‘twelve daies’ were brought in with appropriate speeches. On December 29 was a Latin tragedy of Philomela, and the Prince, who played Tereus, accidentally fell. On New Year’s day were the Prince’s triumphs, introduced by a ‘shew’ called Time’s Complaint; and the honest chronicler records that this performance ‘in the sight of the whole University’ was ‘a messe of absurdityes,’ and that ‘two or three cold plaudites’ much discouraged the revellers. However, they went on with their undertaking. On January 10 were two shews, one called Somnium Fundatoris, and the other The Seven Days of the Weeke. The dearth in the city caused by a six weeks’ frost made the President inclined to stop the revels, as in a time of ‘generall wo and calamity’; but happily a thaw came, and on January 15 the college retrieved its reputation by a most successful public performance of a comedy Philomathes. The Seven Days of the Weeke, too, though acted in private, had been so good that the vice-chancellor was invited to see a repetition of it, and thus Sunday, January 17, was ‘spent in great mirth.’ On the Thursday following there was a little contretemps. The canons of Christ Church invited the Prince to a comedy called Yuletide, and in this ‘many things were either ill ment by them, or ill taken by vs.’ The play in fact was full of satire of ‘Christmas Lords,’ and it is not surprising that an apology from the dean, who was vice-chancellor that year, was required to soothe the Prince’s offended feelings. Term had now begun, but the revels were renewed about Candlemas. On that day was a Vigilate or all-night sitting, with cards, dice, dancing, and a mask. At supper a quarrel arose. A man stabbed his fellow, and the Prince’s stocks were requisitioned in deadly earnest. After supper the Prince was entertained in the president’s lodging with ‘a wassall called the five bells of Magdalen church.’ On February 6, ‘beeing egge Satterday,’ some gentlemen scholars of the town brought a mask of Penelope’s Wooers to the Prince, which, however, fell through; and finally, on Shrove Tuesday, after a shew called Ira seu Tumulus Fortunae, the Prince was conducted to his private chamber in a mourning procession, and his reign ended. Even yet the store of entertainment provided was not exhausted. On the following Saturday, though it was Lent, an English tragedy of Periander was given, the press of spectators being so great that ‘4 or 500’ who could not get in caused a tumult. And still there remained ‘many other thinges entended,’ but unperformed. There was the mask of Penelope’s Wooers, with the State of Telemachus and a Controversy of Irus and his Ragged Company. There were an Embassage from Lubberland, a Creation of White Knights of the Order of Aristotle’s Well, a Triumph of all the Founders of Colleges in Oxford, not to speak of a lottery ‘for matters of mirth and witt’ and a court leet and baron to be held by the Prince. So much energy and invention in one small college is astonishing, and it was hard that Mr. Griffin Higgs should have to complain of the treatment meted out to its entertainers by the University at large. ‘Wee found ourselves,’ he says, ‘(wee will say justly) taxed for any the least errour (though ingenious spirits would have pardoned many things, where all things were entended for their owne pleasure) but most vnjustly censured, and envied for that which was done (wee daresay) indifferently well.’

Amongst other colleges in which the Lord of Misrule was regularly or occasionally chosen, Anthony à Wood names, with somewhat vague references, New College and Magdalen[1487]. To these may certainly be added Trinity, where the Princeps Natalicius is mentioned in an audit-book of 1559[1488]. But the most singular of all the Oxford documents bearing on the subject cannot be identified with any particular college. It consists of a series of three Latin letters[1489]. The first is addressed by Gloria in excelsis to all mortals sub Natalicia ditione degentibus. They are bidden keep peace during the festal season and wished pleasant headaches in the mornings. The vicegerent of Gloria in excelsis upon earth is an annually constituted praelatia, that so a longer term of office may not beget tyranny. The letter goes on to confirm the election to the kingly dignity of Robertus Grosteste[1490], and enjoins obedience to him secundum Natalicias leges. It is datum in aere luminoso supra Bethlemeticam regionem ubi nostra magnificentia fuit pastoribus promulgata. The second letter is addressed to R[obert] Regi Natalicio and his proceres by Discretio virtutum omnium parens pariter ac regina. It is a long discourse on the value of moderation, and concludes with a declaration that a moderate laetitia shall rule until Candlemas, and then give way to a moderate clerimonia. The third is more topical and less didactic in its tone. It parodies a papal letter to a royal sovereign. Transaetherius, pater patrum ac totius ecclesiasticae monarchiae pontifex et minister complains, R. Regi Natalicio, of certain abuses of his rule. His stolidus senescallus, madidus marescallus and parliamenti grandiloquus sed nugatorius prolocutor have ut plura possent inferre stipendia assaulted and imprisoned on the very night of the Nativity, Iohannem Curtibiensem episcopum. In defence of these proceedings the Rex has pleaded quasdam antiquas regni tui, non dico consuetudines, sed potius corruptelas. Transaetherius gives the peccant officials three hours in which to make submission. If they fail, they shall be excommunicated, and Iohannes de Norwico, the warden of Jericho, will have orders to debar them from that place and confine them to their rooms. The letter is datum in vertice Montis Cancari, pontificatus nostri anni non fluxibili sed aeterno. I think it is clear that these letters are not a mere political skit, but refer to some actual Christmas revels. The waylaying of Iohannes Curtibiensis episcopus to make him ‘pay his footing’ is exactly the sort of thing that happened at the Feast of Fools, and the non consuetudines, sed potius corruptelas is the very language of the decretal of 1207[1491]. But surely they are not twelfth-or early thirteenth-century revels, as they must be if ‘Robertus Grosteste’ is taken literally as the famous bishop of Lincoln[1492]. There was no parliamenti prolocutor, for instance, in his day. They are fourteenth-, fifteenth-, or even sixteenth-century fooling, in connexion with some Rex Natalicius who adopted, to season his jest, the name of the great mediaeval legislator against all such ludi.

At Cambridge an order of the Visitors of Edward VI in 1549 forbade the appointment of a dominus ludorum in any college[1493]. But the prohibition did not endure, and more than one unsuccessful Puritan endeavour to put down Lords of Misrule is recorded by Fuller[1494]. Little, however, is known of the Cambridge Lords; their bare existence at St. John’s[1495] and Christ’s Colleges[1496]; and at Trinity the fact that they were called imperatores, a name on the invention of which one of the original fellows of the college, the astronomer John Dee, plumes himself[1497]. At schools such as Winchester and Eton, the functions of Lord of Misrule were naturally supplied by the Boy Bishop. At Westminster there was a paedonomus, and Bryan Duppa held the office early in the seventeenth century[1498].

The revels of the Inns of Court come into notice in 1422, when the Black Book of Lincoln’s Inn opens with the announcement Ceux sont les nouns de ceux qe fuerunt assignes de continuer yci le nowel[1499]. They are mentioned in the Paston Letters in 1451[1500], and in Sir Fortescue’s De laudibus Legum Angliae about 1463[1501]. Space compels me to be very brief in summarizing the further records for each Inn.

Lincoln’s Inn had in 1430 its four revels on All Hallows’ day, St. Erkenwold’s (April 30), Candlemas and Midsummer day, under a ‘Master of the Revels.’ In 1455 appears a ‘marshal,’ who was a Bencher charged to keep order and prevent waste from the last week of Michaelmas to the first of Hilary term. Under him were the Master of the Revels, a butler and steward for Christmas, a constable-marshal, server, and cup-bearer. In the sixteenth century the ‘grand Christmassings’ were additional to the four revels, and those of Candlemas were called the ‘post revels.’ Christmas had its ‘king.’ In 1519 it was ordered that the ‘king’ should sit on Christmas day, that on Innocents’ day the ‘King of Cokneys’[1502] should ‘sytt and haue due seruice,’ and that the marshal should himself sit as king on New Year’s day. In 1517 some doors had been broken by reason of ‘Jake Stray,’ apparently a popular anti-king or pretender, and the order concludes, ‘Item, that Jack Strawe and all his adherentes be from hensforth uttrely banyshed and no more to be used in Lincolles Inne.’ In 1520 the Bench determine ‘that the order of Christmas shall be broken up’; and from that date a ‘solemn Christmas’ was only occasionally kept, by agreement with the Temples. Both Lincoln’s Inn and the Middle Temple had a ‘Prince,’ for instance, in 1599. In 1616 the choice of a ‘Lieutenant’ at Christmas was forbidden by the Bench as ‘not accordinge to the auncyant Orders and usages of the House.’ In 1624 the Christmas vacation ceased to be kept. There were still ‘revels’ under ‘Masters of the Revels’ in Michaelmas and Hilary terms, and there are notices of disorder at Christmas in 1660 and 1662. But the last ‘Prince’ of Lincoln’s Inn, was probably the Prince de la Grange of 1661, who had the honour of entertaining Charles II[1503].

The Inner Temple held ‘grand Christmasses’ as well as ‘revels’ on All Saints’, Candlemas, and Ascension days. The details of the Christmas ceremonies have been put together from old account books by Dugdale. They began on St. Thomas’s day and ended on Twelfth night. On Christmas day came in the boar’s head. On St. Stephen’s day a cat and a fox were hunted with nine or ten couple of hounds round the hall[1504]. In the first few days of January a banquet with a play and mask was given to the other Inns of Court and Chancery. The Christmas officers included a steward, marshal, butler, constable-marshal, master of the game, lieutenant of the tower, and one or more masters of the revels. The constable-marshal was the Lord of Misrule. He held a fantastic court on St. Stephen’s day[1505], and came into hall ‘on his mule’ to devise sport on the banquetting night. In 1523 the Bench agreed not to keep Christmas, but to allow minstrels to those who chose to stay. Soon after 1554 the Masters of Revels cease to be elected[1506]. Nevertheless there was a notable revel in 1561 at which Lord Robert Dudley, afterwards earl of Leicester, was constable-marshal. He took the title of ‘Palaphilos, prince of Sophie,’ and instituted an order of knights of Pegasus in the name of his mistress Pallas[1507]. In 1594 the Inner Temple had an emperor, who sent an ambassador to the revels of Gray’s Inn[1508]. In 1627 the appointment of a Lord of Misrule led to a disturbance between the ‘Temple Sparks’ and the city authorities. The ‘lieutenant’ claimed to levy a ‘droit’ upon dwellers in Ram Alley and Fleet Street. The lord mayor intervened, an action which led to blows and the committal of the lieutenant to the counter, whence he escaped only by obtaining the mediation of the attorney-general, and making submission[1509]. A set of orders for Christmas issued by the Bench in 1632 forbade ‘any going abroad out of the Circuit of this House, or without any of the Gates, by any Lord or other Gentleman, to break open any House, or Chamber; or to take anything in the name of Rent, or a distress[1510].’

The Middle Temple held its ‘solemn revels’ and ‘post revels’ on All Saints and Candlemas days, and on the Saturdays between these dates; likewise its ‘solemn Christmasses[1511].’ An account of the Christmas of 1599 was written by Sir Benjamin Rudyerd under the title of Noctes Templariae: or, A Briefe Chronicle of the Dark Reigne of the Bright Prince of Burning Love. ‘Sur Martino’ was the Prince, and one ‘Milorsius Stradilax’ served as butt and buffoon to the company. A masque and barriers at court, other masques and comedies, a progress, a mock trial, a ‘Sacrifice of Love,’ visits to the Lord Mayor and to and from Lincoln’s Inn, made up the entertainment[1512]. In 1631 orders for Christmas government were made by the Bench[1513]. In 1635 a Cornish gentleman, Francis Vivian, sat as Prince d’Amour. It cost him £2,000, but after his deposition he was knighted at Whitehall. His great day was February 24, when he entertained the Princes Palatine, Charles, and Rupert, with Davenant’s masque of the Triumphs of the Prince d’Amour[1514].

There is no very early mention of revels at Gray’s Inn, but they were held on Saturdays between All Saints and Candlemas about 1529, and by 1550 the solemn observation of Christmas was occasionally used. In 1585 the Bench forbade that any one should ‘in time of Christmas, or any other time, take upon him, or use the name, place, or commandment of Lord, or any such other like[1515].’ Nevertheless in 1594 one of the most famous of all the legal ‘solemn Christmasses’ was held at this Inn. Mr. Henry Helmes, of Norfolk, was ‘Prince of Purpoole[1516],’ and he had the honour of presenting a mask before Elizabeth. This was written by Francis Davison, and Francis Bacon also contributed to the speeches at the revels. But the great glory of this Christmas came to it by accident. On Innocents’ day there had been much confusion, and the invited Templarians had retired in dudgeon. To retrieve the evening ‘a company of base and common fellows’ was brought in and performed ‘a Comedy of Errors, like to Plautus his Menaechmus[1517].’ In 1617 there was again a Prince of Purpoole, on this occasion for the entertainment of Bacon himself as Lord Chancellor[1518]. Orders of 1609 and 1628 mention respectively the ‘twelve’ and the ‘twenty’ days of Christmas as days of license, when caps may be doffed and cards or dice played in the hall[1519]: and the duration of the Gray’s Inn revels is marked by notices of Masters of the Revels as late as 1682 and even 1734[1520].

Nobles and even private gentlemen would set up a Lord of Misrule in their houses. The household regulations of the fifth earl of Northumberland include in a list of rewards usually paid about 1522, one of twenty shillings if he had an ‘Abbot of Miserewll’ at Christmas, and this officer, like his fellow at court, was distinct from the ‘Master of the Revells’ for whom provision is also made[1521]. In 1556 the marquis of Winchester, then lord treasurer, had a ‘lord of mysrulle’ in London, who came to bid my lord mayor to dinner with ‘a grett mene of musysyonars and dyssegyssyd’ amongst whom ‘a dullvyll shuting of fyre’ and one ‘lyke Deth with a dart in hand[1522].’ In 1634 Richard Evelyn of Wotton, high sheriff of Surrey and Sussex, issued ‘Articles’ appointing Owen Flood his trumpeter ‘Lord of Misrule of all good Orders during the twelve dayes[1523].’ The custom was imitated by more than one municipal ape of gentility. The lord mayor and sheriffs of London had their Lords of Misrule until the court of common council put down the expense in 1554[1524]. Henry Rogers, mayor of Coventry, in 1517, and Richard Dutton, mayor of Chester, in 1567, entertained similar officers[1525].

I have regarded the Lord of Misrule, amongst the courtly and wealthy classes of English society, as a direct offshoot from the vanished Feast of Fools. The ecclesiastical suggestion in the alternative title, more than once found, of ‘Abbot of Misrule,’ seems to justify this way of looking at the matter. But I do not wish to press it too closely. For after all the Lord of Misrule, like the Bishop of Fools himself, is only a variant of the winter ‘king’ known to the folk. In some instances it is difficult to say whether it is the folk custom or the courtly custom with which you have to do. Such is the ‘kyng of Crestemesse’ of Norwich in 1443[1526]. Such are the Lords of Misrule whom Machyn records as riding to the city from Westminster in 1557 and Whitechapel in 1561[1527]. And there is evidence that the term was freely extended to folk ‘kings’ set up, not at Christmas only, but at other times in the year[1528]. It was a folk and a Christmas Lord whose attempted suppression by Sir Thomas Corthrop, the reforming curate of Harwich, got him into trouble with the government of Henry VIII in 1535[1529]. And it was folk rather than courtly Lords which, when the reformers got their own way, were hardest hit by the inhibitions contained in the visitation articles of archbishop Grindal and others[1530]. So this discussion, per ambages atque aequora vectus, comes round to the point at which it began. It is a far cry from Tertullian to Bishop Grosseteste and a far cry from Bishop Grosseteste to Archbishop Grindal, but each alike voices for his own day the relentless hostility of the austerer clergy during all ages to the ineradicable ludi of the pagan inheritance.

END OF VOL. I