We may dismiss, as unfounded, the legends, and, as unsaid, the wit touching Triboulet and his remarks on the folly of the Emperor Charles V. trusting to the honour of Francis I. by passing through France, and the greater folly of Francis in not taking advantage of the circumstance to seize upon the Emperor. Triboulet was in his grave before the last delicate affair was even negotiated (1538), and all the smart sayings had been uttered previously, under similar circumstances, by other jesters. Indeed, the best things attributed to Triboulet are of questionable authority. Thus, we hear of his complaining to Francis of a nobleman who had threatened to beat him to death for some impertinent joke. “If he does,” said the King, “I will hang him a quarter of an hour afterwards.” “Ah, Sire!” exclaimed the fou, “couldn’t you contrive to hang him a quarter of an hour previously?” Something like this story is told of at least half-a-dozen wearers of motley.
There is another story told which certainly refers to Triboulet. He was passing over a bridge in company with a courtier, who observed that the bridge had no “garde-fou” or “parafool,” as the common term ran for a parapet. “Surely,” remarked Triboulet to the observation, “the people here did not expect that we two should cross it together.”
There is something more of a joke in this fou’s reply to another courtier who saw Triboulet galloping or caracoling on a magnificent horse when Francis made his public entry into Rouen. “You had better go more quietly, Cousin,” said the courtier, “or you will suffer for it.” “Alas, Sir,” replied the plaisant, “what can I do? I stick my spurs into my horse’s flanks to keep him quiet; and the more I prick, the more unruly I find the obstinate beast!” Such sayings as these were only tricks of vocation. Triboulet did not lack common sense, nor omit to use it for the benefit of those who appeared to have lacked their own. This was the case when Francis gave a courier two thousand crowns, as he mounted his horse, and proceeded on a mission to Rome; which place he undertook to reach within a space of time in which no human being could have accomplished the journey. “I will put you down in my register, Sire, as a fool, for believing a man can do what is impossible, and for paying him four times what were his due, even if he could achieve what he undertakes to do.” “But, if he fails,” said Francis, “he will restore me my money.” “Will he, by my bagpipes!” exclaimed Triboulet; “then he will be a greater fool than yourself, and so I shall have two to register instead of one.”
There is another trait illustrative of Triboulet, which has, nevertheless, been attributed, if I remember rightly, to the jester of Leopold of Austria, when planning his invasion of Switzerland. Francis I. summoned a council in 1525, to deliberate on the necessary measures for the celebrated campaign which ended in the capture of the monarch at Pavia. The counsellors did not spare their brains; and, at length having duly and unanimously decided on the most feasible means for successfully entering Italy, they broke up, and rose to separate.
“A moment, wise Sirs,” said Triboulet, as he lay, supported on his elbow, at the feet of the King. “I pray your stupendous wisdoms to tarry an instant, while I intimate that, although you may fancy you have delivered yourself of the best possible advice to my cousin Francis, you have really forgotten the most important point of all.”
“Ay! ay! merry cousin,” exclaimed the King, “will your sage worship inform us how that may be?”
“Just this,” answered Triboulet, with his merry chuckle. “They have told you how best to get into Italy. Now, you do not intend, I suppose, to stay there for ever; and your fool thinks they would have done well if they had counselled your Majesty, not merely how to get into Italy, but how to get out of it again.”
“Tush! joyous companion,” said Francis; “it is not needful. We shall return tambour battant.”
“Very fine,” rejoined the fool. “Vos tambours seront battus;” and at this équivoque, the council dispersed, laughing.
The “Bibliophile Jacob” says of Triboulet, that he was as truly an historical personage as any “grand pannetier,” or “bouteiller de la couronne.” Triboulet was a native of Blois, where he led a wild life in his youth, but entered early in the service of the Count d’Angoulême, afterwards Francis I., in the quality of jester. He may have been called the town jester, for he was for ever in the streets, playing on the bagpipes, basking in the sun, saying sharp things to all who passed near him, and impudently importuning everybody for money. It was in Blois that Triboulet cut the “pourpoint de livrée” of one of the pages of the Count d’Angoulême, as the young gentleman was hurrying through the streets on a mission connected with the coming visit of Louis XII. and Anne of Brittany. The page, unconscious of the trick played him, whereby he looked like a monkey without his tail, was hailed by his young fellows at court with shouts of laughter. But when their laughter was at an end, they resolved to avenge the insult. They carried Triboulet off beyond the ramparts of the city, and, near the permanent gallows which was then no uncommon ornament in the vicinity of great cities, they began tormenting him, by pricking his feet with their daggers, dragging him by the hair, and burning his moustaches. This done, one merry and merciful young gentleman, looking at the fool’s long ears (for which he was remarkable), proposed that he should be hung by them to the gibbet; and accordingly, they nailed him by the right ear in such a position that he was only supported by his toes, and his pitiful beseechings only raised the mirth of the tender-hearted young pages.