“Quoi, du Vieux Testament tu te souviens encore!”
Solomon Morgenstern is the last of the learned fools whom I shall mention. He, too, submitted to every indignity, that he might keep in favour by exciting the good-humour of the King. His dress was more caricatured than that of any of his fellows; and instead of a sword, he wore a fox’s brush at his side, and in his cocked hat, hare’s feet for feathers. The wisest thing that Morgenstern did, was his lecture on ‘Reasonable thoughts on Folly and Fools,’ in which there was much sly satire, which was probably lost on the monarch, who presided over the assembly of listeners.
Finally, the last of the privileged fools existed within the lifetime of some aged persons still surviving. He was seen by Dr. Edward Moore, in 1774, at the Electoral court at Mannheim. He was a Tyrolese who spoke German with so droll an accent that universal laughter was excited by it. He appeared when the Elector and his guests sat down to dinner; and he went round the table directing his sallies of wit against every one present, not even sparing the princesses. This was the ultimus ex officio stultorum; but the time then was at hand that was to bring with it that revolution which came in contact with nothing in Europe that it did not destroy,—the French Revolution. It touched the German Empire; and down went Empire, Electors, and Fools. The three indeed have reappeared, but under different names and modified forms.
Before closing the roll of German fools, I will notice one who was in the service of Prince Maurice of Orange. He was with the Prince with his forces before Nimeguen. Maurice having some trouble to set his own troops in order, turned to his fool, who accompanied him on the expedition, and asked him whether it would not have been better that he, the jester, should command the army, and the prince turn fool. “Things would not be much improved by that,” said the Dutch motley; “for you are as little able to make a jest, as I am to command an army. If we change places, the States General will dismiss both of us.” Here, however, the fool did Maurice injustice, for the Prince could say some excellent things; and his description of the martial qualities of the chief military nations of the period, is exactly in the spirit of a professional wit, more true than refined: “The German,” said Maurice, “is, in war, just like a louse, which lets itself be killed without flinching. The Frenchman is like a flea, which skips here and there, and does not willingly allow himself to be taken. The Spaniard resembles the insect which can only with difficulty be dislodged from where it burrows itself; and as for the Italian, he is like the bug, which, being killed, leaves an ill smell behind him.”—And now for the official fools of Italy.
THE JESTERS OF ITALY.
There are very few of the writers who have devoted their attention to the subject treated in this imperfect volume, who have ever alluded to the fool who suddenly appeared at the court of Alboin, King of the Lombards, (A.D. 572,) and who created a large measure of astonishment there, by his rude exterior and his ready wit. All Verona was, in popular phrase, “full of him.” The chronicle of his “Astuzie” was long the delight of the whole of Italy.
His name was Bertoldo. He was hideously ugly, and not very clean in his person; dwarfed, and deformed. His eyebrows resembled pigs’ bristles; but his eyes beneath them, gleamed like two torches; his hair was as red as carrots, and if you can fancy humanity caricatured to the very utmost extent, you will not, even then, be able to see with your mind’s eye the never-matched hideousness of this rustic, who set all the court in a roar by entering the great hall where Alboin was presiding, and, without even uncovering, seating himself by the side of the grim husband of Rosamunda.
The Lombard King smiled sourly at his impudence, and inquired what he was, when he was born, and in what country.
“I am a man,” said the monster; “was born the night my mother bore me; and” (this is something of Ancient Pistol’s phrase, which, indeed, often smacked of the fool’s humour or philosophy,) “the world is my native country.” King and court understood, now, with whom they had to do, and they tried his wit by plying him with questions, “What is the swiftest thing on earth?” asked one. “Thought,” was the reply of Bertoldo. To other questions he replied, that the best wine was the wine drunk in another man’s house; and that the worst fire at home was to be found in an angry wife and an impudent servant.