If all Konrad’s jokes had been as harmless, albeit as bold as this, there would have been little wherewith to reproach him. But some of his jests will not bear repeating, and others are only remarkable for their silliness. Some were quiet and telling; as when a too grossly flattering genealogist curried favour with the Emperor, by showing him a pedigree which traced his descent from Noah.—“Bravo!” exclaimed Von den Rosen, who was present, “then the Kaiser and I are cousins, through the patriarch. I did not know I was of half such good blood!” Maximilian smiled approvingly on the fool, and then contemptuously on Master Johann Stabius, poet and genealogist, who had thought to get crowns from a King, and only obtained sly reproaches from a fool.
Finally, it may be said that the hand of Konrad was as heavy as his tongue was sharp. One scene in the life of this jester, exhibits him in a melodramatic light, that reminds one of the days, or nights, of “Raymond and Agnes, or the Bleeding Nun.” Konrad was once compelled to pass the night at a sorry inn, in a wood, through whose intricacies he had lost his way. It was kept by brigands; but the joyousness of Konrad won him the heart of the waiting-maid, who bade him beware of the male-servant who would come to take away his supper-tray, and who would extinguish the light, as if by accident, in order that the poor traveller might be murdered in the dark, by the landlord and his fellows. Konrad, by good luck, had with him a dark-lantern; this he lighted and concealed beneath his coat; and when the incident occurred for which the maid had told him to be prepared, the jester went to work in terrible earnest. As soon as the candle had been extinguished, he turned on his lantern, and saw himself in presence of three ruffians with very menacing looks and stilettoes. Kunz’s own poniard was quicker than theirs: having buried it in the bosom of the bandit nearest to him, he addressed himself to the landlord, of whose companions one lay dead at his feet, and the other had suddenly fled. The traveller did not kill his host, but bound him tightly, with the ready aid of the female servant, who was herself a sort of prisoner, and delivered him to that justice which begins with much needless form, but which has a rope and a noose at the end of it.
It was soon after this exploit that Konrad von den Rosen lost his Imperial master, Maximilian. The poor fool loved his patron; “I followed him near for a long while,” said he, “and I will follow him closely now.” And so it was! Konrad followed Maximilian, when Germany, too busy to think of him, was talking of Charles V., Luther, and the Diet of Worms.
The last-named Emperor, however, was himself no illiberal patron of official fools and dwarfs. Both figured, like living caricatures, amid the splendours of his Imperial court. One of the latter, who seems to have been both dwarf and buffoon, a Pole grandiosely named Corneille de Lithuanie, is spoken of as having figured with such distinction at a tournament held in Brussels on the first Sunday in February 1545, as to have carried off the second prize. The first was gained by the Count d’Egmont, for having broken the greatest number of lances; but on Corneille was conferred the second, for having been the next best in the ranks, and for general gallantry.
Charles had native fools in his other dominions. In Spain, we meet with that excellent jester, Don Francis; also with Pedro de San Erbas and Zapata. There was another in the service of Charles, named Pape Theun, who had originally exercised some office of trust. Of these, Francis was the wittiest; but it is said that the sharpness of his wit brought about his assassination. He was certainly mortally wounded by assassins, but his wit kept by him to the last. He was assailed at his own door, and his wife, hearing the consequent disturbance, cried out from within to know what was the matter. “Nothing at all, mistress,” exclaimed the fool, “they have merely killed your husband.” Another fool, Perico de Ayala, who was a retainer in the house of the Marquis de Vilena, attended on Don Francis while he was dying, and piously asked him to pray for poor Perico in the next world. “I will, I will,” said Francis; “but, Perico, suppose you tie a string round my little finger, lest I forget it.”
This specimen of wit does not say much for the official fool; and it is still worse in the case of Pedro de San Erbas, the only incident connected with whose office, with which I am acquainted, reveals rather the wit of his master than his own. Thus we are told, that after the abdication of Charles, he held a court at Valladolid, to receive the farewell compliments of the nobles and ladies of the vicinity. When the ceremony had concluded, Pedro approached to take leave of his old patron. At seeing him, Charles took off his hat, and Pedro thereupon asked if the act was one of courtesy, or simply to indicate that he was no longer Emperor. “Neither, Pedro,” answered the prince; “I do it to signify that all I can give you now is this simple token of civility.”
Of Zapata nothing is known save his remark when Charles, who owed his entire household a year’s salary, once observed to his courtiers, after teasing the fool for a long time, “He will soon pay me back again.” “Ah!” exclaimed Zapata, “what can I pay back, when not a soul under your roof has received a doit of their salary for a twelvemonth?” This remark showed the bold freedom rather than the wittiness of Zapata’s tongue. As for Pape Theun, he seems to have been rather a practical than a loquacious joker. He was insolent rather than witty of speech, and when this insolence brought him into disgrace, the jokes he played to recover the goodwill of his master were coarse jokes, acceptable to coarse people in coarse times, but the repeating of which would assuredly not be acceptable to my readers.
To return to the fools who exclusively belonged to the Imperial court of Germany, the next remarkable individual of the class is Nelle, attached to the household of Matthias II. Nelle not only attended the celebrated meeting of the States, assembled at Ratisbon in 1613, but he presented to the Emperor a volume, exquisitely bound, which contained, as he said, the record of all that had been accomplished by the statesmen. Matthias opened the book, and found it all blank paper, “Why, there is nothing written here,” said the monarch. “Exactly so,” answered the fool, “because there was nothing done there; and so my record is truthful.” I cannot say, however, that this was so witty as the reply of the Speaker of the Commons to Elizabeth, when the latter, at the end of a session, asked him what they had passed; “An it please your Majesty,” said Mr. Speaker, “we have passed two months and a half!”
Another story is told of Nelle. In his moody master’s reign Lutherans and Papists were at open strife; and a Bishop Clesel, in Vienna, was excessively indignant that the sheep of his own particular pasture flocked every Sunday out of the capital, to listen to a Lutheran monk in the neighbouring village of Hörnals. In great wrath, and open court, he besought the Emperor to prohibit the people from leaving Vienna on the Sabbath for the village in question. Matthias replied that he did not know how this was to be effected; and looking at the fool, he added, “Nelle, can your wit help us in this matter?” “It is the easiest thing in the world,” rejoined Nelle; “you have only to send the Bishop to Hörnals, and bring the Lutheran monk to preach in the capital, and you will not find a soul desirous of leaving Vienna on the Sunday.”
The Emperors certainly allowed a license to their jesters which no one else dared to take advantage of. Thus, at the court of Ferdinand II., we hear of a silly courtier who endeavoured to amuse the illustrious circle by his imbecilities. Jonas, Ferdinand’s favourite fool, began answering him according to his folly. But this so offended the noble simpleton of half a hundred quarters, that he exclaimed, “Fellow, be silent; I never stop to talk with a fool!” “Well, I do,” replied Jonas, bending over the courtier’s seat as he stood behind the pompous gentleman’s chair, “and therefore be good enough to listen to me in your turn.”