In one of the letters addressed by the anxious Chesterfield to his son, the discerning Peer remarks: “There is at all courts a chain which connects the Prince or the Minister with the page of the backstairs or the chambermaid. The King’s wife or mistress has an influence over him; a lover has an influence over her; the chambermaid or valet de chambre has an influence over both; and so ad infinitum. You must therefore,” adds the estimable trainer of his child, “not break a link of that chain, by which you hope to climb up to the prince.” With a little modification, such as “fool” for valet de chambre, this counsel would not have been without value to any young Spaniard about to push his fortunes at any one of the royal courts once scattered over the length and breadth of now united Spain. At these courts, the jester was paramount in influence. The introduction of the merry official is said to date from the entry of the Troubadours from the south of France. This joyous company brought with them many methods of entertaining royal and noble listeners, but they gradually degenerated, as the minstrels did in other countries, into buffoons,—and probably found the latter the more profitable profession of the two.
James II., King of Majorca, provided for the merry professors in the royal household, by establishing them there, under the protection of the law. “From ancient times,” as tradition tells us, so runs the decree, “it has been lawful for Mimes or Jesters to reside in princes’ households;317 for the execution of their office is a provocative to gladness. Wherefore, we will and ordain, that in our court there shall always be five jesters, of which five, two may be trumpeters, and a third our letter-carrier (tabellarius).” This arrangement left the other two in close attendance upon their royal patron.
That these officials were not always addicted to joking, may be seen in the case of the anonymous fool, who is said to have stabbed Theudis, or Theodored, the royal Groth, at the Council of Toledo. It is believed, however, that the assassin only feigned folly in order to obtain freer access to the person of the prince. Generally speaking, the Spanish fools seem to have been as merry fellows as Figaro, whose office of barber was indeed frequently exercised, like that of the jester, with infinite mirth and much impunity. So merry were some of these Joculatores, that one king, at least, is said to have died of laughter at a fool’s jest. This king must have been very easy to kill, if we may judge by the joke which, as we are told, proved mortal to him.
The monarch in question was Martin of Arragon, who reigned from 1394 to 1410. His favourite jester was the renowned Borra, who drove such a thriving trade by his jokes, that he is said to have been worth a ton of gold. He looked down upon many a poor philosopher, remarking the while, “I have made more by my folly than that fellow by all his wisdom!” His influence with the King was unbounded, and the bribes he received in consequence tended very much to increase his fortune. What he obtained in this way can only be guessed at. That his jokes were rewarded in magnificent style, we may judge from the circumstance which occurred when Borra exerted himself professionally at a banquet at which Sigismund, afterwards Emperor, was present. The latter, pleased with Borra, so loaded him with silver ere he left the room, that the fool could not carry it away without bending. Folly was never more318 richly paid, except, perhaps, by Queen Sibylla da Forcia, who paid her joculators in gold, and much pleasanter coin besides.
Borra, as before intimated, killed his royal patron by a joke. King Martin was suffering from indigestion through too greedily devouring an entire goose. As he lay groaning on his bed, Borra skipped into the room with a merry air, and the Monarch inquired of him, whence he came.
“Out of the next vineyard,” answered the fool, “where I saw a young deer hanging by his tail from a tree, as if some one had so punished him for stealing figs.” When it is added that the King died of laughter at this joke, the historians forget the goose and the indigestion.
Alphonso, King of Arragon, had for his fool, one Luis Lopez, who, according to Cervantes, lies buried in no less a place than the cathedral of Cordova. Lopez kept, like other fools, a “Fools’ Chronicle,” in which he entered the follies of the court, and the names of the offenders. The King had given 10,000 ducats to a Moor to purchase horses with, in Barbary. Some days subsequently, on looking over the Chronicle, he was astonished to find a page containing simply his name.
“Cousin Luis,” said his Majesty, “why do you enrol me among fools?”
“For trusting 10,000 ducats to an infidel Moor, without security,” answered Luis.
“Tush, man! The Moor is honest, and will bring back either horses or money.”
“Then if he does,” said Lopez, “I will scratch out your name and put his in its place.”
The above joke was used in various forms, till it grew old, and fools of quality would no longer plagiarize it. It is told of at least one jester at every court. Many fools would have been above such a jest at all; for there were some who, though jesters, joked with instruction in view.
319 Michael Aitzinger was one of these. I do not know that he ............