|
|
April 8th
Born:
John C. Loudon,
writer on botany, &c., 1783, Cambuslang, Lanarkshire.
Died: Caracalla, Roman
emperor, assassinated, 217, Edessa; Pope Benedict
III, 858; John the Good, King of France, 1364, Savoy
Palace, London; Lorenzo de Medicis, 'the Magnificent,'
1492, Florence; Dr. Thomas Gale, learned divine and
editor, 1702, York.
Feast Day: St.
Dionysius, of Corinth, 2nd century. St. AEdesius,
martyr, 306. St. Perpetuus, bishop of Tours, 491. St.
Walter, abbot of St. Martin's, near Pontoise, 1099. B.
Albert, patriarch of Jerusalem, 1214.
THE
CAPTIVITY OF JOHN, KING
OF FRANCE, AT SOMERTON CASTLE
John I (surnamed 'Le Bon')
mounted the throne of France in 1350, at the age of
thirty. He began his reign most inauspiciously by
beheading the Count d'Eu, an act which alienated the
affections of all his greater nobles from him, and
which he in vain endeavoured to repair by instituting
the order of the 'Star,' in imitation of that of the
'Garter,' founded by the sovereign of England. Next
he was much perplexed by the continued enmity of
Charles d'Evereux, King of Navarre. Finally, the
Black
Prince, invading his realm, ravaged Limousin, Auvergne,
Berri, and Poitou. Incensed by the temerity of his
English assailants, John hastily raised an army of
60,000 men, swearing that he would give battle to the
prince immediately.
The two armies met at
Maupertnis, near
Poitiers, September
19th, 1356, when
the
Black Prince, with only 8,000 men under his
command, succeeded in routing the French army most
completely, and taking the king and his fourth son,
Philip, a brave youth of fifteen, prisoners. The royal
captives were first taken to Bordeaux, and thence
brought to England, where they landed, May 4th, 1357.
During the first year of his captivity, John resided
at the palace of the Savoy in London, where he was
well entertained, enjoying full liberty, and often
receiving visits from King Edward and Queen Philippa.
Towards the close of the year 1358, a series of
restrictions began to be imposed upon the captives,
accompanied by reductions of their suite; but this
change was the result of political caution, not of any
unnecessary severity, and ended in their transfer to
Somerton Castle, near Navenby, in Lincolnshire, August
4th, 1359. William Baron
d'Eyncourt, a noble in whom the
king could place the utmost confidence, was appointed
custodian of the royal prisoners.
Previous to this coming into
Lincolnshire, in accordance with an edict of Edward
III, John had been forced to dismiss forty-two of his
attendants; he still, however, retained about the
same number around his person. Among these were two
chaplains, a secretary, a clerk of the chapel, a
physician, a maitre d'h
�
tel,
three pages, four valets, three wardrobe men, three
furriers, six grooms, two cooks, a fruiterer, a
spiceman, a barber, and a washer, besides some higher
officers, and a person bearing the exalted name of le
roy de menestereulx,' who appears to have been a maker of musical
instruments and clocks as well as a minstrel; and
last, but not least, 'Maitre Jean le fol.' The
Somerton Castle furniture being utterly insufficient
for such a vast increase of inmates, the captive king
added a number of tables, chairs, forms, and trestles,
besides fittings for the stables, and stores of
firewood and turf. He also fitted up his own chamber,
that of the Prince Philip, and of M. Jean le fol,
besides the chapel, with hangings, curtains, cushions,
ornamented coffers, sconces, &c., the furniture of
each of these filling a separate wagon when the king
left Somerton.
Large consignments of good
Bordeaux wines were transmitted from France to the
port of Boston for the captive king's use, as much as
a hundred and forty tuns being sent at one time as a
present, intended partly for his own use and partly as
a means of raising money to keep up his royal state.
One of the costly items in the king's expenditure was
sugar, together with spices bought in London, Lincoln,
and Boston, immense quantities of which we may infer
were used in the form of confectionery; for in the
household books we meet constantly with such items as
eggs to clarify sugar, roses to flavour it with, and
cochineal to colour it. These bon-bons appear to have
cost about three shillings the pound; at least such is
the price of what is termed 'sucre roset vermeil,' and
especial mention is made of a large silver gilt box
made for the king as a 'bonboniere,' or
receptacle for such sweets.
In the article of dress John
was most prodigal. In less than five months he ordered
eight complete suits, besides one received as a
present from the Countess of Boulogne, and many
separate articles. One ordered for Easter was of
Brussels manufacture, a marbled violet velvet, trimmed
with miniver; another for Whitsuntide, of rosy
scarlet, lined with blue taffeta. The fur and
trimmings of these robes formed a most costly
additional item, there having been paid to William, a
furrier of Lincoln, �17, 3s. 9d. for 800 miniver
skins, and 850 ditto of 'gris;' also �8, 10s. to
Thornsten, a furrier of London, for 600 additional
miniver skins, and 300 of gris,' all for one set of
robes. Thus 2,550 skins, at a cost of �25,13s. 9d.,
were used in this suit, and the charge for making it
up was �6, 8s. Indeed, so large were the requirements
of the captive king and his household in this
particular, that a regular tailoring establishment was
set up in Lincoln by his order, over which one M.
Tassin presided.
The pastimes he indulged in
were novel-reading, music, chess, and backgammon. He
paid for writing materials in Lincolnshire three
shillings to three shillings and sixpence for one
dozen parchments, sixpence to nine pence for a quire of
paper, one shilling for an envelope with its silk
binder, and four pence for a bottle of ink. The
youthful tastes of the valorous Prince Philip appear
to have been of what we should consider a more debased
order than his royal father's. He had dogs, probably
greyhounds, for coursing on the heath adjoining
Somerton, and falcons, and, I am sorry to add, game
cocks, too; a charge appearing in the royal household
accounts for the purchase of one of these birds,
termed, in language characteristic of the period, 'un
coo a, faire jouster.'
One very marked trait in King
John's character was his love of almsgiving. His
charitable gifts, great and small, public and private,
flowed in a ceaseless stream when a captive in
adversity, no less than when on the throne in
prosperity. Wherever he was he made a small daily
offering to the curate of the parish, besides
presenting larger sums on the festivals of the church.
For instance, he gave to the humble Cure of Boby
(Boothby) a sum equal to twelve shillings, for masses
offered by him at Christmas; eight shillings at the
Epiphany; and four shillings and four pence at
Candlemas. The religious orders also received large
sums at his hands; on each of the four mendicant
societies of Lincoln he bestowed fifteen escuz, or
ten pounds. On his way from London to Somerton, he
offered at Grantham five nobles (�1, 13s. 4d.); gave
five more nobles to the preaching friars of Stamford,
and the same sum to the shrine of St. Albans. In fact,
wherever he went, churches, convents, shrines,
recluses, and the poor and unfortunate, were constant
recipients of his bounty.
On the 21st of March 1360,
King John was removed from Somerton, and lodged in the
Tower of London, the journey occupying seven days. Two
months after (May 19), he was released on signing an
agreement to pay to England 3,000,000 of gold crowns
(or �1,500,000) for his ransom, of which 600,000 were
to be paid within four months of his arrival in
France, and 400,000 a year, till the whole was
liquidated, and also that his son, the Due d'Anjou,
and other noble personages of France, should be sent
over as hostages for the same. The last act of this
unfortunate monarch shows his deep seated love of truth
and honour. On the 6th of December 1363, the Duc
d'Anjou and the other hostages broke their parole, and
returned to Paris. Mortified beyond measure at this
breach of trust, and turning a deaf ear to the
remonstrance of his council, John felt himself bound
in honour to return to the English coast, and
accordingly four days afterwards he crossed the sea
once more, and placed himself at the disposal of
Edward. The palace of the Savoy was appointed as his
residence, where he died after a short illness in the
spring of 1364.
THE
TURNSPIT
A few months ago the writer
happened to be at an auction of what are technically
termed fixtures; in this instance, the last moveable
furnishings of an ancient country-house, about to be
pulled down to make room for a railway station.
Amongst the many lots arranged for sale, was a large
wooden wheel enclosed in a kind of circular box, which
gave rise to many speculations respecting the use it
had been put to. At last, an old man, the blacksmith
of the neighbouring village, made his appearance, and
solved the puzzle, by stating that it was a
dog-wheel,'�a machine used to turn a spit by the
labour of a dog; a very common practice down to a not
distant period, though now scarcely within the memory
of living men. Besides the blacksmith, the writer has
met with only one other person who can remember seeing
a turnspit dog employed in its peculiar vocation; but
no better authority can be cited than that of Mr.
Jesse, the well-known writer on rural subjects, who
thus relates his experiences:
How well do I recollect in the
days of my youth watching the operations of a turnspit
at the house of a worthy old Welsh clergyman in
Worcestershire, who taught me to read! He was a good
man, wore a bushy wig, black worsted stockings, and
large plated buckles in his shoes. As he had several
boarders as well as day scholars, his two turnspits
had plenty to do. They were long-bodied, crook-legged,
and ugly dogs, with a suspicious, unhappy look about
them, as if they were weary of the task they had to
do, and expected every moment to be seized upon to
perform it. Cooks in those days, as they are said to
be at present, were very cross; and if the poor
animal, wearied with having a larger joint than usual
to turn, stopped for a moment, the voice of the cook
might be heard rating him in no very gentle terms.
When we consider that a large solid piece of beef
would take at least three hours before it was properly
roasted, we may form some idea of the task a dog had
to perform in turning a wheel during that time. A
pointer has pleasure in finding game, the terrier
worries rats with eagerness and delight, and the
bulldog attacks bulls with the greatest energy,
while the poor turnspit performs his task with
compulsion, like a culprit on a tread-wheel subject
to scolding or beating if he stops a moment to rest
his weary limbs, and is then kicked about the kitchen
when the task is over.'
The services of the turnspit
date from an early period. Doctor Caius, founder of
the college at Cambridge which bears his name, and the
first English writer on dogs, says:
'There is comprehended under
the curs of the coarsest kind a certain dog in kitchen
service excellent. For when any meat is to be roasted,
they go into a wheel, which they turning about with
the weight of their bodies, so diligently look to
their business, that no drudge nor scullion can do the
feat more cunningly, whom the popular sort hereupon
term turnspits.'
The annexed illustration,
taken from Remarks on a Tour to North and South Wales,
published in 1800, clearly exhibits how the dog was
enabled to perform his curious and uncongenial task.
The letterpress in reference to it says:
'Newcastle, near Carmarthen,
is a pleasant village; at a decent inn here a dog is
employed as turnspit; great care is taken that this
animal does not observe the cook approach the larder;
if he does, he immediately hides himself for the
remainder of the day, and the guest must be contented
with more humble fare than intended.'
One dog being insufficient to
do all the roasting for a large establishment, two or
more were kept, working alternately; and each animal
well knowing and noting its regular turn of duty,
great difficulty was experienced in compelling it to
work out of the recognised system of rotation. Buffon
relates that two turnspits were employed in the
kitchen of the Duc de Lianfort at Paris, taking
their
turns every other day to go into the wheel. One of
them, in a fit of laziness, hid itself on a day that
it should have worked, so the other was forced to go
into the wheel instead. When the meat was roasted, the
one that had been compelled to work out of its turn
began to bark and wag its tail till it induced the
scullions to follow it; then leading them to a garret,
and dislodging the skulker from beneath a bed, it
attacked and killed its too lazy fellow worker.
A somewhat similar
circumstance occurred at the Jesuits' College of La Fl�che.
One day, the cook, having prepared the meat for
roasting, looked for the dog whose turn it was to work
the wheel for that day; but not being able to find it,
he attempted to employ the one whose turn it was to be
off duty. The dog resisted, bit the cook, and ran
away. The man, with whom the dog was a particular
favourite, was much astonished at its ferocity; and
the wound being severe and bleeding profusely, he went
to the surgeon of the College to have it dressed. In
the meantime the dog ran into the garden, found the
one whose turn it was to work the spit for that day,
and drove it into the kitchen; where the deserter,
seeing no opportunity of shirking its day's labour,
went into the wheel of its own accord, and began to
work.
Turnspits frequently figure in
the old collections of anecdotes. For instance, it is
said that the captain of a ship of war, stationed in
the port of Bristol for its protection in the last
century, found that, on account of some political
bias, the inhabitants did not receive him with their
accustomed hospitality. So, to punish them, he sent
his men ashore one night, with orders to steal all the
turnspit dogs they could lay their hands upon. The
dogs being conveyed on board the ship, and snugly
stowed away in the hold, consternation reigned in the
kitchens and dining rooms of the Bristol merchants;
and roast meat rose to a premium during the few days
the dogs were confined in their floating prison. The
release of the turnspits was duly celebrated by many
dinners to the captain and his officers.
In an exceedingly rare
collection of poems, entitled
Norfolk Drollery, there
are the following lines
Upon a clog called Fuddle,
turnspit
at the Popinjay, in Norwich.
'Fuddle, why so? Some
fuddle-cap sure came
Into the room, and gave him his
own name;
How should he catch a fox? he'll turn his
back
Upon tobacco, beer, French wine, or sack.
A hone
his jewel is; and he does scorn,
With AEsop's cock, to
wish a barley-corn.
There's not a soberer dog, I know,
in Norwich,
What would ye have him drunk with porridge?
This I confess, he goes
around, around,
A hundred times, and never
touches ground;
And in the middle circle of the air
He draws a circle like a
conjuror.
With eagerness he still does
forward tend,
Like Sisyphus, whose journey has no end.
He is the soul (if wood has such a thing?)
And living
posy of a wooden ring.
He is advanced above his
fellows, yet
He does not for it the least envy get.
He does above the Isle of Dogs
commence,
And wheels the inferior spit by influence.
This, though, befalls his more laborious lot,
He is
the Dog-star, and his days are hot.
Yet with this comfort there's
no fear of burning,
'Cause all the while the
industrious wretch is turning.
Then no more Fuddle say; give
him no spurns,
But wreak your spleen on one that never
turns,
And call him, if a proper name he lack,
A
four-foot hustler, or a living Jack.'
The poets not infrequently
used the poor turnspit as an illustration or simile.
Thus Pitt, in his Art of Preaching, alluding to an
orator who speaks much, but little to the purpose, says:
His arguments in silly circles
run,
Still round and round, and end
where they begun.
So the poor turnspit, as the wheel
runs round,
The more he gains, the more he loses
ground.'
A curious political satire,
published in 1705, and entitled
The Dog in the Wheel, shews, under the
figure of a turnspit dog, how a noisy
demagogue can become a very quiet placeman. The poem
commences thus:
'Once in a certain family,
Where idleness was disesteemed;
For ancient hospitality,
Great plenty and frugality,
'Bove others famous deemed.
No useless thing was kept for
show,
Unless a paroquet or so;
Some poor relation in an age,
The chaplain, or my lady's page:
All creatures else
about the house
Were put to some convenient use.
Nay, ev'n the cook had learned
the knack
With cur to save the charge of jack;
So
trained 'em to her purpose fit,
And made them earn
each bit they ate.
Her ready servants knew the wheel,
Or stood in awe of whip and bell;
Each had its task,
and did it well.'
The poem as it proceeds
describes the dogs in office lying by the kitchen
fire, and discussing some savoury bones, the
well earned rewards of the day's exertions. The
demagogic cur, entering, calls them mean, paltry
wretches, to submit to such shameful servitude;
unpatriotic vermin to chew the bitter bones of
tyranny. For his part, he would rather starve a
thousand times over than do so. Woe be to the tyrannic
hand that would attempt to make him a slave, while he
had teeth to defend his lawful liberty�and so forth.
At this instant, however, the cook happens to enter:
And seeing him (the demagogue)
among the rest,
She called him very gently to her,
And
stroked the smooth, submissive cur:
Who soon was
hushed, forgot to rail,
He licked his lips, and wagged
his tail,
Was overjoyed he should prevail
Such favour to obtain.
Among the rest he went to
play,
Was put into the wheel next day,
He turned and
ate as well as they,
And never speeched again.'
April 9th
|
|
BACK TO TOP
>
|
|
|
|
|
|