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.