and the queen to give him a linen robe; the prefect of the palace is privileged to sit near him on festivals and to hand him his harp.  Canute seems to have treated his scalds with less ceremony, for he threatened to put one of them to death because he recounted his exploits in too short a poem, but the man escaped by producing thirty strophes on the subject next day.  The Saxon gleemen were generally of humble origin and not only performed music, but exhibited tricks.  So also among the Normans we find the barons originally amusing one another with “gabs,” i.e. boastful and exaggerated accounts of their achievements.  But soon a greater amount of leisure and luxury led them to pay for amusement; professed musicians and story-tellers were introduced, and were classed with the ministri or servants, whence came the name minstrel, which was soon confined to them alone.  We find Talliefer going before William the Conqueror at the battle of Hastings chanting the brave deeds of Charlemagne and making a display of skill in tossing and catching his sword and spear.  This union of tricks and music became so common that the words minstrel and jougleur were soon synonymous, though there was originally a distinction between them.  The word jougleur, sometimes by mistake written jongleur, is derived from the latin joculator.  This class of people were conjurers, as their name suggests, and often went about the country with performing animals, especially bears and monkeys.  They gradually added songs to their accomplishments, which more assimilated them to the minstrels, and they became connected with, and were sometimes called “troubadours.”  In these minstrels or jougleurs, though sometimes strolling independently, being often attached to great households, we find an element of the domestic, or as he is called, court fool, and we find another in their performances being of that primitive character, which appeals chiefly to the perception of the senses.  For although the “jocular” part, originally subordinate, had been increased, it took so rude a form that the ludicrous was not always easily distinguished from the humorous.  The Fool was a strange mixture of both, varying from a mere idiot and butt to a man of genius, far superior to his masters.  He made shrewd remarks, and performed senseless antics, the city fool, on Lord Mayor’s day, was to jump clothes and all into a large bowl of custard.  To a certain extent he generally corresponded with his name in having some mental weakness or eccentricity, and it was a recommendation if he were dwarfish or deformed.  He wore a “motley” suit of discordant colours to make him ridiculous, and correspond with the incongruity of his mind and actions—­a dress similar to the hundred patched paniculus centunculus of the Roman mimes.  Sometimes he wore a petticoat or calf-skin to resemble an idiot.  Finally, he had his head shaved and wore a cowl to make him like a monk, as his buffooneries would thus have a stranger