have been the case, it is certain that he was the object also of
much favour, enjoying privileges seldom if ever granted to the court
buffoon. I have said, in a previous page, that the _plaisant_ could
never lay aside his official costume, nor sleep out of the royal
mansion, nor clap sword on his thigh, except by permission (and that
was rarely given) of his master. With Brusquet the reverse seems to
have been the rule. He did not reside in the palace, although he held
the office of jester to three kings, Henry II., Francis II., and
Charles IX. He was, moreover, a married man, and he filled other posts
besides that of mirth-maker to their Majesties. After being a sort
of gentleman valet to Henry, he was elevated to the responsible and
lucrative situation of “Maître des Postes,” or Posting-master General
of Paris. In this capacity he laid travellers under contribution
without mercy. Very few could undertake a journey without having
recourse to his office, and his fees being fixed by himself, journeying
was found to be a very costly thing, without being in any sense of
the word a luxury. He never had less than a hundred nags in his
stables, ready for hirers, and he used to designate himself, with comic
pomposity, “Brusquet, captain of the hundred light horse.”
As with other jesters, the wit of Brusquet is oftener praised than
cited. Some illustrations of it I will not venture to place before my
readers. They may have excited laughter and applause from princes,
courtiers, and ladies, three centuries ago, but the narration would be
as intolerable now, as if a clergyman were to read to his congregation
one of Mrs. Aphra Behn’s comedies instead of the Gospel. And yet
this buffoon was the especial friend and favourite of the Cardinal
of Lorraine. That princely prelate of the house of Guise, kept a
most brilliant and rather riotous court of his own at his “Hôtel de
Cluny.” It was a locality where the Cardinal loved to assemble round
him philosophers, poets, historians, minstrels, wits, and abundance
of pretty women, with wit or without it. The grossness of Brusquet’s
jokes gave no shadow of offence here. It was a time when not only the
“_gros mots_,” but grossest practical jokes were highly relished; even
when the Cardinal himself was made the object of them. As an instance,
I will only allude to the story told in the Marquis de Bouillé’s great
work, ‘Les Ducs de Guise,’ how the Cardinal’s intention to preach in
the royal chapel, on one particular occasion, was completely frustrated
by some court fools, official or otherwise. The Cardinal had even
reached the pulpit; but on opening the door, he rushed from it in
disgust. The reason for his so doing was long a matter of laughter in
court and city.
Coarse as Brusquet was, he was not an ill-educated man, being well
acquainted with the Spanish and Italian languages as well as his
own; and this accomplishment may have rendered him useful as well as
otherwise agreeable to the Cardinal. It is certain that the jester
accompanied the Cardinal into foreign countries on more than one affair
of State. The two respectively illustrious personages, with other
individuals, more or less noble, were together at Brussels, in April
1559, when the Cardinal negotiated the peace of Cateau-Cambresis, with
Philip II. of Spain. At a banquet in the house of the Duke of Alva,
Brusquet exhibited to the royal and noble guests present a questionable
trick of his calling. At the close of the dessert, he leaped on the
table, laid himself flat, rolled himself up, with plates, spoons,
fruit, etc., in the cloth, and fell off at the other end of the table.
He could scarcely stand for the weight of silver and other table
furniture which he had about him; but, says Brantôme, who tells the
story, “the King, Philip II., ordered that he should be allowed to
leave the room with what he had carried off under the cloth. Philip
laughed so immoderately, and found the joke so exquisite, so humorous,
and so clever, that he wished Brusquet to keep all for himself. It was
a matter of astonishment that the latter did not wound himself with
the knives which were in the cloth with the other articles; but it is
thus that God protects fools and infants.”
It was on the occasion of this political visit to Flanders that
Brusquet met with the Emperor, or ex-Emperor, Charles V., face to
face. The old Emperor was still at the side of the King, his son,
to counsel and guide him. At one of the solemn interviews at court,
Charles recognized the well-known face of the fool among the French
nobles composing the delegation. Charles did not dislike to exchange
smart sayings with any one quick of wit; and after courteous inquiries
touching the health of the fool, the ex-monarch said to him, “Brusquet,
do you remember the day when the constable de Montmorency wanted to
have you hanged?” “Do I remember it?” he replied to the question of
Charles. “Right well do I remember it. It was the day on which your
Majesty purchased those splendid rubies and carbuncles which now adorn
your imperial hand.” He said this in allusion to the inflamed gouty
swellings which paralyzed the Emperor’s fingers.
“Many thanks for your lesson, Brusquet,” rejoined Charles, laughing
good-humouredly. “I will take care to fence no more with a clever
fellow who knows so well how to parry every thrust made at him.” And
the two, fool and monarch, fell to recounting to each other many a good
story, in the art of doing which the sovereign was quite a match for
the jester.
Philip was even more delighted with the _plaisant_ than Charles;
and, perhaps remembering the old adage, “Asinus asinum fricat,” he
despatched his own fool to France, to learn to be more witty than
he was, by association with Brusquet; and to entertain King Henry,
if he could, half as well as Brusquet had entertained Philip. Henry
constituted the Spanish fool the guest of the Paris posting-master, and
the latter contrived to draw profit from the charge, for the Spaniard
had four horses of his own, and these Brusquet let out every night,
for posting purposes, and for his peculiar profit. The owner of the
steeds became singularly puzzled by the worn and wretched condition
into which his stud gradually fell; and for which Brusquet accounted
by laying it to the water of the Seine, as deleterious to foreign
horses. The Spaniard seems to have been an imbecile; but Brusquet was a
felonious rogue. On the return of the former to Philip, the French King
presented him with a gold chain, as a parting gift. Brusquet exchanged
this, almost under the very nose of the fool, for a similar chain of
brass; and then addressed a letter to Philip, informing him of the
fact, and assuring him that his jester deserved to be flogged by the
kitchen scullions, for being such a wretched dullard as to be deceived
by a trick so common. Common as it was, however, Henry compelled his
buffoon to restore the stolen chain, but gave him its value in money,
as a compensation “for his sacrifice to honesty.”
It is the assertion of Brantôme, that if all the witty sayings, tricks,
and traits had been collected, of which Brusquet was the author, they
would have filled a bulky volume. “There was never his like,” adds the
enthusiastic sketcher of characters. “Never had he his equal among
‘plaisants compagnons,’ since these latter ever existed.... He was the
first man for buffoonery that ever lived or ever will live, whether for
speech, gesture, fun, or originality, in short, for everything; and
all without giving offence or exciting displeasure.” This is a fine
eulogium but what Du Tillot said a hundred years ago, with relation
to France, may be still more correctly stated in our own days, with
relation to England, namely, that “our manners (morals) would not
accommodate themselves with the actions of Brusquet, who enchanted
every court and potentate of his time.” Setting aside the incidents
that ought not, and the turns and plays on words that cannot, be
translated, and which hardly raise a smile even in their original
language, I will add a few illustrations of the humour of a jester who
was said to be the delight of every court and prince of his time.
Brusquet had great dread of the water, and one day, his friend the
Cardinal invited him on a boating expedition. The jester promptly
declined, alleging his cowardice by way of excuse. “You need not be
afraid of any danger,” said his Eminence, “for you will be in the
protecting companionship of the Pope’s best friend.” “Ay, truly,”
replied Brusquet, “I have often heard that his Holiness has unlimited
power in earth, heaven, and purgatory; but I never heard that he had
much influence over the water.” This is certainly wit of the very
mildest sort, and we are little more edified by the trait which tells
of his coveting a gold cup with a lid in precious stones, which he saw
on the table of the Count of Benevento. That good-natured nobleman let
him have what he coveted; but retained the movable lid which, with its
sparkling gems, was exceedingly more valuable than the cup itself.
“Count,” said Brusquet, “we are in a cold country here in France, and
it is hardly wise to let me carry my golden friend here home without
his cap.” The Count was liberal; he either esteemed the lid so little
or the wit so much, that he bade the _plaisant_ do as he would; and
Brusquet triumphantly carried off both the cup and the cover.
He could, however, very tartly satirize men as greedy as himself. When
Frenchmen were discussing as to the General most likely to be able to
take Calais, Brusquet named a judge famous for taking bribes, and he
added, “Why don’t you send him to take Calais? he takes everything
before him.”
We get at something of the real life of Brusquet when we view him in
connection with his great enemy, Strozzi, the son of a Princess de
Medicis. The two were in continual antagonism. On one occasion, the
Marshal appeared at court, on a gala day, in a splendid velvet mantle,
magnificently embroidered. Brusquet had long coveted this article
of dress; but being unable to obtain it, he resolved, if possible,
to succeed by spoiling it for the owner’s wear. Accordingly, on the
occasion in question, he stood behind the unconscious Marshal, and with
some pieces of fat and a larding-needle, he larded the mantle all over
the back, in serried and regular rows. The mischievous joker must have
had confederates in most of the spectators; however this may have been,
when he had completed his task, he suddenly turned Strozzi with his
back towards the King, and asked the latter if he had ever seen a more
tastefully embroidered mantle in his life. The owner, seeing the greasy
trick of which he had been made the victim, proudly slipped the mantle
from his neck, flung it to the “fou,” but told him that he should pay
dearly for his bargain.
The Marshal kept his word, but not till a sufficiently long period
had elapsed for Brusquet to forget that it had ever been pledged. It
was therefore not without satisfaction that the jester saw himself
visited by the Marshal in company with an individual whom the Marshal
introduced as a foreign prince. His highness, however, was nothing
more than a locksmith, engaged by Strozzi to plunder Brusquet of his
plate, of which he was known to possess a rather rich collection.
The pseudo-prince was armed with a pick-lock, and when Strozzi had
indicated to him the chest in which the treasure lay, the Marshal
proposed a visit to the stables, while his highness, who was fatigued,
rested awhile in Brusquet’s chamber. This arrangement was immediately
effected; and while the Marshal and the _plaisant_ were discussing
the points of horses, the illustrious stranger quickly operated on
the plate, a valuable portion of which he contrived to conceal about
his person. Shortly after, the three again met, and, after a pleasant
gossip, they separated on the best of terms with one another. A
considerable time elapsed before Brusquet discovered his loss, and even
then he had no suspicion as to the plunderer. He proceeded to court,
however, made such a piteous statement of his loss to the King, that
all who heard him felt compassion for him. Among the audience was
Strozzi, who expressed a conviction that the whole, or best part of the
plate might be recovered under promise of reward. Brusquet hurriedly
declared that he could be content to give up one half for the recovery
of the other. Thereupon Strozzi acknowledged the robbery, adding, “I
will only retain a quarter of the whole, namely five hundred golden
crowns’ worth, and that not for myself, but as a recompense for the
handiwork of my princely friend the locksmith.”
The whole story forms a singular social trait of the times. With
the arrangement made by the Marshal, Brusquet was compelled to be
satisfied, and he received with sour gratification the three quarters
of that of which he had been robbed. But he was resolved upon being
revenged, and he found an early opportunity to realize his resolution.
He one day saw Strozzi dismount from a magnificent horse, superbly
caparisoned, in the court-yard of the Louvre. The steed was left in
charge of a groom who walked it about, bridle in hand. To this man
Brusquet went with a feigned message from his master, to obey which he
was obliged to leave the horse in Brusquet’s charge. When the groom
had disappeared, the _fou_ leaped on to the steed’s back and galloped
home. There, he cut off the whole mane and the half of one ear. He then
changed the costly saddle and adornments of the charger, for a common
saddle and beggarly adjuncts. This done, he clapped a heavy trunk on
the crupper, put a still heavier postilion in the saddle, and set him
off, on a flying gallop from Paris to Longjumeau and back. The horse
was then sent to Strozzi, in a pitiable condition. It had been worth,
that morning, more than five hundred golden crowns, and now Brusquet
intimated that he would give fifty for him. The Marshal accepted the
offer, returned the mutilated steed, and declared that he forgave the
trick, though he only intended to take proper compensation for it.
Strozzi set his compensation at a high price, and compelled Brusquet to
pay a whole stud for a single horse. The Marshal obtained possession of
the horses, by ordering them for the King’s service. He took the whole
of them to Compiègne, where, after riding them nearly to death, except
eight which he kept for his own use, he distributed several among the
troopers who wanted remounting, and he actually sold two to a miller,
who employed them as beasts of burden. These last were identified by
one of Brusquet’s postilions, and the enraged proprietor had recourse
to the law. But the law was almost inoperative against a powerful man
like Strozzi, and was altogether so in this case, since Brusquet found
that it would cost him more to ride after justice, than it would to
resign himself to the loss of his “light horse.”
He found, too, that the Marshal was too serious a joker for him to
contend with, and accordingly, confessing himself defeated, he repaired
to Strozzi’s house, where he proposed measures of reconciliation.
By-gones, he said, should be by-gones; and in future, he suggested,
that all costly and injurious jests should cease between them, and
only harmless trickery be allowed. The Marshal not only accepted the
terms, but congratulated Brusquet and himself on their reconciliation,
to celebrate which, he consented to be the guest of the “fou,” and
dine at the latter’s house. Brusquet promised to entertain him and a
number of courtiers, altogether a dozen, in princely style. At the
appointed time, the guests appeared, and the host ushered them to
table with a world of ceremony. He did not himself presume to sit down
with them, but he displayed unwearied zeal in seeing them gallantly
entertained. As they took their places at table, thirty postilions
in their best dresses, entered the room and blew a post-horn _galop_
as an invitation to begin. The dishes consisted entirely of pies,
but the odour of these was so appetizing, that the courteous guests
abstained from making any remarks on the singularity of this first
course. Brusquet wished them good appetite and happy digestions, and
then left the room, ostensibly to prepare the second course. But with
his dagger in his girdle, and his cap saucily cocked on his head, he
hurried to the palace, and entered the presence of the King, laughing
immoderately. To the inquiries of his patron, the _plaisant_ replied
that he had a dozen noble friends at dinner at his house, and that he
had set them down to a first course of pies, under the pastry of which
there was, in one dish, an assortment of rusty spurs; in another, a
few brass-mounted bits; in a third, stewed stirrup-leathers; in a
fourth, slices of old saddle, and so on. The relation amused the court
much more than the fact itself did the invited courtiers. These, on
discovery of the trick played them, were doubly enraged, for they
were hungry as well as deluded; and they withdrew after overrunning
Brusquet’s house, like hostile soldiers in search of plunder, and
threatening vengeance for the trick put upon them. The vengeance is
said to have been accomplished by the Marshal, not exactly according
to agreement, by which the respective parties were bound to abstain
from actual mutual injury. Strozzi stole one of Brusquet’s mules, which
was converted into several venison pasties, and these, in a circuitous
manner, were sent to the “plaisant,” as a present from a duly-named
friend. The “fou” ate plentifully, and was not informed of the trick
till he had nearly eaten all. _Then_ the Marshal showed him the head
of the mule, informed him that he had devoured the hind quarters, and
inquired how he liked his fare. Brusquet, who was more of an epicure
than a glutton, was so disgusted as to remain ill and almost fasting
for several days; but he did not remain without his _revanche_.
He happened to hear that the Marshal had ridden incognito into Paris,
one Easter Sunday, being desirous of passing the festival quietly in
his own house, and to avoid being summoned to court. A few minutes
after Brusquet had learned the fact, he repaired to a neighbouring
convent of Franciscans, where he required two of the holy brotherhood
to follow him for a particular purpose.
“The fact is,” said the jester, “I come from the family of a nobleman
in the Faubourg St. Germain. He is possessed by an evil spirit; will
hear nothing of God; fears as little touching the devil; scorns to
celebrate the religious festival of Easter, and holds the entire
brotherhood of priestly men in utter detestation.”
Brusquet then crossed the palm of each brother with a crown-piece,
which so inspired the two Franciscans, that they declared if the
patient were possessed by a legion of devils, they would undertake to
drive them all out of him. Therewith the three departed for Strozzi’s
house, where their appearance excited some surprise in the Marshal’s
personal attendant. The latter, however, gave way when Brusquet, after
taking him aside, had informed him that his master had particularly
important business to transact with the two spiritual gentlemen, and
that they might enter the Marshal’s chamber without being announced.
The servant bowed and withdrew; Brusquet showed the Franciscans into
Strozzi’s bedroom, the door of which he immediately closed upon them,
and remained standing on watch outside.
The monks found the Marshal lying on his bed reading. To his stare of
surprise they meekly replied by inquiring how he found himself in soul
and body. “So well, both in strength and spirit,” said Strozzi, “that
if you do not immediately decamp, I will fling the couple of you out of
window.” They concluded that he was very powerfully “possessed” indeed;
and straightway with loud prayer, and some inharmonious singing, they
proceeded to sprinkle him from head to foot with holy water. He
really hissed with rage, as if he had been red-hot. Then, leaping from
his bed, he grasped at his dagger, and flew at the monks. A fearful
struggle ensued, and howling, and stamping, and showers of oaths on one
side, and holy water on the other. When the uproar brought the servants
of the Marshal to his assistance, they found him speechless with rage,
and in the sudden temporary lull, Brusquet beckoned them from the room,
and locked the door upon Strozzi and his attendants. He then paid and
dismissed the Franciscans, and, fresh from this new exploit, he ran
to the palace, and kept the whole royal and august personages there
assembled, in a roar of laughter at the highly seasoned details which
he exultingly recounted,--from the Marshal’s ride into Paris, to the
final exorcism made to relieve him from Satanic possession.
The joke was so exceedingly to the taste of his Majesty, that he
despatched messengers to Strozzi to inquire after his ghostly and
bodily health, and especially if the Franciscans had succeeded or
failed in making a true believer of the most unbelieving man in France.
Strozzi never forgave this trick, which had rendered him ridiculous
in the eyes of his own servants. He exacted a double vengeance, which
fell heavily on the fool. The Cardinal of Lorraine had established
an inquisitorial tribunal in France, and before this body, Brusquet
was charged with heresy, and with open mockery of the religion of
the State. The tribunal found it an easy matter to fling the alleged
offender into confinement, with menace of loss of life. He was a
well-plumed pigeon, whom of course, they did not intend to kill, but
only to greatly terrify and thoroughly pluck. Brusquet was a coward and
avaricious, but he bled freely in pistoles in order to save his life
and purchase freedom.--Strozzi having injured him in purse, proceeded
to assail him in his honour.
The year was 1555. The Cardinal de Lorraine had gone on a mission
to Rome, and in his suite was his favourite Brusquet, who had the
royal sanction to follow his Eminence. The Legation had not been long
within the walls of Rome, when intelligence of the death of the King’s
“plaisant” reached Paris, by especial courier. The latter carried
with him a duly attested document, the jester’s last will. It was the
most singular of deeds, for therein the testator willed or prayed
that the King should permit the wife of Brusquet to retain the office
held previously by her husband,--that of Superintendent-General of
Posting,--on one condition, namely, that she espoused his friend the
courier, who was the bearer of the news and the testamentary paper. It
was thought that nothing could possibly be more appropriate than this
dying act of a court fool. The thing was resolved upon, and the wife of
Brusquet, who had no children, except a married daughter, was forced,
persuaded, or cajoled, till she consented to marry the courier,--in
order that she might preserve a lucrative office.
The wedded pair had already kept house for a month when Brusquet
(who was daily electrifying the Papal Court by his mirthfulness
or impudence) suddenly learned the news of his death, and of the
indecently hasty marriage of his not altogether disconsolate widow.
He was in exceeding wrath, hurried back to Paris, turned the second
husband into the street, chastised his wife, and then publicly
remarried her! Court, camp, and city considered this last act as one
more in the official character of the fool than any he had hitherto
accomplished, and the hilarity was general and unbounded. Brusquet,
however, only showed that his wit had departed, for he attempted to
avenge himself by conveying false information to the Court of Rome as
to alleged traitorous intentions of Strozzi against the states and
property of the Church. He represented the Marshal as having fallen
into disgrace, and, after flying from France, having joined an Algerine
force destined to operate successively against Ostia, Civita Vecchia,
and Ancona, and ultimately to plunder the wealthy shrine of Loretto.
The Roman Government was only needlessly alarmed, and Brusquet only
suffered for his accusation of another.