The Court Jester

Who am I, you ask? Well, that is simple enough. I am the court jester! I mean precisely what I have just said. I am the court jester. There are others, none such as important as I however, and so I stand behind my exquisite and eloquently superlative grammar. I am the champion of nuance, I understand all subtext. Subverse as well, it need not be written. I am the man of the town to whom the people go when in need of understanding, of caring, of lightened hearts and inspired minds. I have most of the answers, but more importantly, I have all of the questions. I probe and pry at the very fabric and essence of existence. I’ve seen what lies beneath both mind and matter. I’ve journeyed to the depths of the mind en route to the centre of the heart. These others, these pedestrians, these common folk, these aristocrats, oh they journey only to the depth of the saloon en route to the gallows. I am, as they say, as I say at least, the most brilliant man in the city. I love this city, which is why at times I have subjected it to the utmost scrutiny. Picking and poking away at her beauty, at her substance, just as she has to me. Oh, why even the Queen herself has poked at me, put me in a tizzy. She said to me one time, believe it or not, that I, the court jester, live too much in my head. My word, what a thought to have, living in my own head. Where would the rest of me fit? Well, I ought to say, if I were to live in my own head the rent would be cheap. I let anyone spend at least a little bit of time in my head for only a small token of food for thought. Back to the point, I love both my Queen and her city regardless of how they treat me. I love them so much in fact I’ve made a decision lately. No more shall I hide my wealth of brilliance and compassion from them. Nay, now I have decided that I, yes I, the court jester, ought to partake in running this fair town. Fancy that?

Morning breaks and I spring from my bed of straw that lay in my spacious castle. Another busy day approaches. My fair city awaits my attention. These pedestrian citizens don’t know how to keep her safe. Look! The gates have been left open, again! Intruders are afoot do they not see? Okay, double pace, I must get ready even quicker than yesterday. I must stand on guard for the city, the empire! Oh I can’t wait to see my Queen! Did you know - I bet you didn’t - that my Queen has knighted me? She has! Sir Court Jester, the best court jester she has ever met she says. They all used to laugh at me, mere onlookers; said to me that I would never be royalty in her eyes. But now I have this crown! Well, I made the crown myself you see, but she let me wear it during the ceremony! Maybe she just didn’t see it, that I was wearing a crown. Maybe she ignored how much it meant to me, to wear a crown that was fit for a king, her king. Or maybe she let me wear it because it looked good on me, perhaps? Well, enough morning Lamentations! Let me throw on my cleanest courtesan cloths and attend to my fair city and my fair queen post haste.

I hear the jeers of all the nay-Sayers, at night when I sleep and on mornings such as these. “What do you know about Rome?” they ask me with their noses above my brow. “You are not fit to share your vision with Rome!” They don’t even see the folly of their reasoning. Leaders, they call themselves. Bumbling fools! What have they ever brought to Rome that she couldn’t have brought to herself? Rome is beautiful and elegant and powerful. The world knows this; just the sight of her creates hope for those who dream of a glorious future. For those who believe in an afterlife they hope to die in Rome’s arms and be reborn in her womb. They know she is the light in a world of darkness, the desert oasis from which both snakes and doves quench thirst. These bumbling fools, snakes indeed! They drink from Rome’s kindness and mistake themselves for her! They think they created Rome, they think they know her. They ask a myriad of questions and yet have no answers. What do they know of Rome, these men of Rome’s past and present? Each of them has had his time in my precious Queen’s courtyard, telling her what riches they will bring to her Rome. Marketeers all of them, they bring her only empty riches and empty promises. But my Queen wishes the best for her Rome – she knows not where else to turn – and gives each of these so-called dignitaries a chance. Dignitaries, bah! When was it no longer required for dignitaries to have dignity? Oh, how these men enter her life and squabble for a chance to lead Rome. That’s what they want, you see, the power. Oh I remember that day late April, last spring, when the entire Senate was fighting for my Queen’s attention! Drove m’lady to near madness and she took to the ale to cure herself. They don’t know, those fools, she sent me a message by carrier bird whilst they squabbled for her vote. Perched against a bar in a dark saloon, she needed clarity and thought of me. She knew even then I see her Rome with different eyes than anyone in the world.

That’s my power, you see, as a court jester: I make the sad funny, the unattractive attractive, I see the future in the past and shine light on the dimmest corners. Everyone reckons because of my dance and song that I haven’t delivered to them the truth, the Word, that I’ve given them only sweet melodies to remember me by. Well they need not remember me, I care not about their pasts to come. My words are here to build upon, to add mortar to brick, for Rome’s majesty! I am her sworn protector, guide and servant. I love her more with each sunrise that I have spent within her walls. I love her more with each sunset that I have spent outside her walls, avant-garde, searching her sewers for demons to slay.

Still, I have to wonder, why her Majesty won’t bid me her audience. When she first saw me, that first day, she made me a promise. She promised me I would be her best, that I would have top rank, that she and I would become closer faster than she could handle. She said it had already started. I agreed. My first day in her glorious city and I knew my travels were almost over. No more traveling from city to city for me; Beirut, Cairo, Calcutta, I’ve seen them all you see. The only travels I have left in life are here in Rome. Journeying within her walls is worth four lifetimes outside of them. I dedicate what is left of my humble existence to one day walk the path, from my castle in this cozy alleyway to the thrown at the side of m’lady! And yet, my Queen needs not all this attention. She hides her eyes from mine, for mine burn hers with desire. Cursed eyes of mine, I ought to have been born a Cyclops. She has bid me to stop. Stop! She said. It was quite simple, needed not much explanation. But as I mentioned, I have only most of the answers but all of the questions. The first one that came to mind was, “Why?” Oh the reasons she gave me, song and dance, here and there, to and fro. A blind man could see that she was dancing, dancing around something very large. A man with vision could see she danced around the truth. She looked so beautiful dancing however, how could I let her stop? I danced alongside, my word I danced halfway to Turkey before I could not dance any further. Quite out of step I cracked open the truth for both of us to share. Oh, how it burned so much to hold the truth now in my hands. The pain and anguish I felt that night. My Queen suffered as well. From our shared truth there was shared pain, and oh the pain and anguish she felt the next morning. Fools, both of us, dancing around the truth for so long only made it harder for us to deal with it when the time came. At least we were able to deal with the truth together. She, blinded by the lies of her white Knight, and I blinded by my Queen who turned her back to me to face him, were given the greatest gift we could hope to receive, the cooling darkness of truth. Now, we both can see. Our visions are restored, and we, that is to say each of us, are now stronger.

Where to from here, you ask? Well, within Rome undoubtedly! I am still humble servant to her Majesty and the empire. Now that she has been left alone, without a senate, without a white Knight, somebody ought to stick around to help out with the day-to-day affairs of Rome. Rome is still my world, what I care for the most. I hope my Queen can take comfort in this. I will not pester her for title or prestige or for a special place beside her on the thrown. The truth in all of this for a court jester such as myself is that even I, the court jester, Sir Court Jester, ought not to fight with impatience for the end of my journey within Rome’s walls. Nay, the beautiful journey continues for me. I have much more to learn about Rome and my Queen must regain her bearings. I will tend to her worldly affairs by day and bathe her feet at night, without pause or question in either task. In return, I bid her today, only one favour: That when she so desires for a special second voice to echo against the walls of Rome and into eternity, that she measures her choice not against the size of a man’s sword but by his desire to wield it in her defense.

Until then, hear the court jester as he prances and sings with wit and compassion, “Rome Rome Romeo, gently down the stream! Merrily Merrily Merrily…”