A man may tear the pearl from between the teeth of the crocodile; he

may steer his ship over the roughest seas; he may twine a serpent round

his brow like a laurel; but he cannot convince a foolish and stubborn

opponent.

* * * * *

A man may squeeze oil from sand; he may slake his thirst from the well

in a mirage; he may even obtain possession of a hare’s horn; but he

cannot convince a foolish and stubborn opponent.

* * * * *

A dog will eat with delight the most noisome and decaying bones, and

will pay no attention even if the ruler of the gods stands before

him--and in like manner a mean man takes no heed of the worthlessness

of his belongings.

* * * * *

Our nobility of birth may pass away; our virtues may fall into decay:

our moral character may perish as if thrown over a precipice: our

family may be burnt to ashes, and a thunderbolt may dash away our power

like an enemy: let us keep a firm grip on our money, for without this

the whole assembly of virtues are but as blades of glass.

* * * * *

Let a man be wealthy, and he shall be quite wise, learned in the sacred

writings and of good birth; virtuous, handsome and eloquent. Gold

attracts all the virtues to itself.

The same portion of the sky that forms a circle round the moon by night

also forms a circle round the sun by day How great is the labour of

both!

* * * * *

A sour heart; a face hardened with inward pride and a nature as

difficult to penetrate as the narrowest of mountain passes--these

things are known to be characteristic of women: their mind is known

by the wise to be as changeable as the drop of dew on the lotus leaf.

Faults develop in a woman as she grows up, exactly as poisonous

branches sprout from the creeper.

* * * * *

The beautiful features of a woman are praised by the poets--her breasts

are compared to pots of gold: her face to the shining moon, and her

hips to the forehead of an elephant: nevertheless the beauty of a woman

merits no praise.

* * * * *

From _The Baharistan_, the work of Jami, a Persian poet and

philosopher.

* * * * *

Bahlúl being asked to count the fools of Basrah, replied: “They are

without the confines of computation. If you ask me, I will count the

wise men, for they are no more than a limited few.”

* * * * *

A learned man being annoyed while writing a letter to one of his

confidential friends, at the conduct of a person who, seated at his

side, glanced out of the corner of his eye at his writing, wrote: “Had

not a hireling thief been seated at my side and engaged in reading my

letter I should have written to thee all my secrets.” The man said:

“By God, my lord, I have neither read nor even looked at thy letter.”

“Fool!” exclaimed the other; “how then canst thou say what thou now

sayest?”

A mendicant once coming to beg something at the door of a house, the

master of it called out to him from the interior: “Pray excuse me: the

women of the house are not here.” The beggar retorted: “I wish for a

morsel of bread, not to embrace the women of the house.”

* * * * *

A certain person made a claim of ten dirams on Júhí. The judge

enquired: “Hast thou any testimony to offer?” On the answer being in

the negative he continued: “Shall I put him on his oath?” “Of what

value is _his_ oath?” said the man in reply. “O judge of the

Faithful,” then proposed Júhí in his turn, “there lives in my quarter

of the town an Imám, temperate, truthful and beneficent, send for him

and put him on his oath instead of me, that this man’s mind may be

easy.”

* * * * *

A poet read me once a wretched ode--

Verse of the kind where “alif” finds no place.

I said the kind of verse that _thou_ should’st make,

Is that in which _no_ letter we could trace.

* * * * *

Jáhiz relates: “I never experienced so much shame as this event

occasioned me. One day a woman took my hand and led me to the shop of

a master metal founder, saying to him: ‘Be it thus formed.’ I being

puzzled to know what this conduct signified, questioned the master, who

in reply said: ‘She had ordered me to make her a figure in the form

of Satan. When I told her that I did not know in what semblance to

make it, she brought thee, as thou knowest, and said: ‘Make it in this

semblance.’”

* * * * *

The same learned man, too, gives us this relation: “As I was once

standing in the street, in conversation with a friend, a woman came and

standing opposite me, gazed in my face. When her staring had exceeded

all bounds, I said to my slave: ‘Go to that woman and ask her what she

seeks.’ The slave returning to me thus reported her answer: ‘I wished

to inflict some punishment on my eyes which had committed a great

fault, and could find none more severe for them than the sight of thy

ugly face.’”

A person who perceived an ugly man asking pardon for his sins, and

praying for deliverance from the fire of hell, said to him: “Wherefore,

O friend, with such a countenance as thou hast, would’st thou cheat

hell, and give such a face reluctantly to the fire?”

* * * * *

An assembly of people being seated together, and engaged in discussing

the merits and defects of men, one of them observed: “Whoever has not

two seeing eyes is but half a man; and whoever has not in his house a

beautiful bride is but half a man; finally he who cannot swim in the

sea is but half a man.” A blind man in the company who had no wife, and

could not swim, called out to him: “O my dear friend, thou hast laid

down an extraordinary principle, and cast me so far out of the circle

of manhood, that still half a man is required before I can take the

name of one who is no man.”

* * * * *

A Beduin having lost a camel, made an oath that when he found it he

would sell it for one diram. When however he found it, repenting of

his oath, he tied a cat to its neck, and called out: “Who will buy

the camel for one diram and the cat for a hundred dirams; but both

together, as I will not part them.” “How cheap,” said a person who had

arrived there, “would be this camel, had it not this collar attached to

its neck!”

* * * * *

A Beduin who had lost a camel, proclaimed: “Whoever brings me my camel

shall have two camels as a reward.” “Out, man!” said they to him; “what

kind of business is this? Is the whole ass load of less value than

a small additional bundle laid upon it?” “You have this excuse for

your words,” replied he, “that you have never tasted the pleasure of

finding, and the sweetness of recovering what has been lost.”

* * * * *

A Khalíf was partaking of food with an Arab from the desert. During

the repast as his glance fell upon the Arab’s portion he saw in it a

hair, and said: “O Arab, take that hair out of thy food.” The Arab

exclaimed: “It is impossible to eat at the table of one who looks so at

his guest’s portion as to perceive a hair in it.” Then withdrawing his

hand he swore never again to partake of food at his table.

* * * * *

A weaver left a deposit in the house of a learned man. After a few

days had elapsed, finding some necessity for it, he paid him a visit

and found him seated at the door of his house giving instruction to a

number of pupils who were standing in a row before him. “O Professor,”

said the man, “I am in want of the deposit which I left.” “Be seated

a moment,” replied the other, “until I have finished the lesson.” The

weaver sat down, but the lesson lasted a long time and he was pressed

for time. Now that learned man had a habit when giving lessons, of

wagging his head, and the weaver seeing this, and fancying that to

give a lesson was merely to wag the head, said: “Rise up, O Professor,

and make me thy deputy till thy return: let me wag my head in place

of thee, and do thou bring out my deposit, for I am in a hurry.” The

learned man, hearing this, laughed and said:

* * * * *

In public halls the city jurist boasts

That all, obscure or clear, to him is known;

But if thou ask him aught, his answer mark:--

A gesture with the hand or head alone.

* * * * *

From a collection called _The Pleasantries of Cogia Nasr Eddin

Effendi_, the typical noodle of the Turks.

Cogia Effendi one day went into a garden, pulled up some carrots and

turnips and other kinds of vegetables, which he found, putting some

into a sack and some into his bosom; suddenly the gardener coming up,

laid hold of him, and said, “What are you seeking here?” The Cogia,

being in great consternation, not finding any other reply, answered,

“For some days past a great wind has been blowing, and that wind blew

me hither.” “But who pulled up these vegetables,” said the gardener?

“As the wind blew very violently,” replied the Cogia, “it cast me here

and there, and whatever I laid hold of in the hope of saving myself

remained in my hands.” “Ah,” said the gardener, “but who filled the

sack with them?” “Well,” said the Cogia, “that is the very question I

was about to ask myself when you came up.”

* * * * *

One day Cogia Nasr Eddin Effendi said, “O Mussulmen, give thanks to God

Most High that He did not give the camel wings; for, had He given them,

they would have perched upon your houses and chimneys, and have caused

them to tumble upon your heads.”

* * * * *

One day the, Cogia saw a great many ducks playing on the top of a

fountain. The Cogia, running towards them, said, “I’ll catch you”;

whereupon they all rose up and took to flight. The Cogia, taking a

little bread in his hand, sat down on the side of the fountain, and

crumbling the bread in the fountain, fell to eating. A person coming

up, said, “What are you eating?” “Duck broth,” replied the Cogia.

* * * * *

One day the Cogia went with Cheragh Ahmed to the den of a wolf, in

order to see the cubs. Said the Cogia to Ahmed: “Do you go in.” Ahmed

did so. The old wolf was abroad, but presently returning, tried to get

into the cave to its young. When it was about half way in the Cogia

seized hard hold of it by the tail. The wolf in its struggles cast a

quantity of dust into the eyes of Ahmed. “Hallo, Cogia,” he cried,

“What does this dust mean.” “If the wolf’s tail breaks,” said the

Cogia, “You’ll soon see what the dust means.”

* * * * *

One day a thief got into the Cogia’s house. Cries his wife, “O Cogia,

there is a thief in the house.” “Don’t make any disturbance,” says the

Cogia. “I wish to God that he may find something, so that I may take it

from him.”

* * * * *

Cogia Effendi, every time he returned to his house, was in the habit

of bringing a piece of liver, which his wife always gave to a common

woman, placing before the Cogia leavened patties to eat when he came

home in the evening. One day the Cogia said, “O wife, every day I bring

home a liver: where do they all go to?” “The cat runs away with all

of them,” replied the wife. Therefore the Cogia getting up, put his

hatchet in the trunk and locked it up. Says his wife to the Cogia,

“For fear of whom do you lock up the hatchet?” “For fear of the cat,”

replied the Cogia. “What should the cat do with the hatchet?” said the

wife. “Why,” replied the Cogia, “as he takes a fancy to the liver,

which costs two aspres, is it not likely that he will take a fancy to

the hatchet, which costs four?”

* * * * *

One day the Cogia, being out on a journey, encamped along with a

caravan, and tied up his horse along with the others. When it was

morning the Cogia could not find his horse amongst the rest, not

knowing how to distinguish it; forthwith taking a bow and arrow in his

hand, he said, “Men, men, I have lost my horse.” Every one laughing,

took his own horse; and the Cogia looking, saw a horse which he

instantly knew to be his own. Forthwith placing his right foot in the

stirrup, he mounted the horse, so that his face looked to the horse’s

tail. “O Cogia,” said they, “why do you mount the horse the wrong way?”

“It is not my fault,” said he, “but the horse’s, for the horse is

left-handed.”

* * * * *

One day as the Cogia was travelling in the Derbend he met a shepherd.

Said the shepherd to the Cogia. “Art thou a faquir?” “Yes,” said the

Cogia. Said the shepherd, “See these seven men who are lying here, they

were men like you whom I killed because they could not answer questions

which I asked. Now, in the first place let us come to an understanding;

if you can answer my questions let us hold discourse, if not, let us

say nothing.” Says the Cogia, “What may your questions be?” Said the

shepherd, “The moon, when it is new, is small, afterwards it increases,

until it looks like a wheel; after the fifteenth, it diminishes, and

does not remain; then again, there is a little one, of the size of

Hilal, which does remain. Now what becomes of the old moons?” Says

the Cogia. “How is it that you don’t know a thing like that? They take

those old moons and make lightning of them, have you not seen them when

the heaven thunders, glittering like so many swords?” “Bravo, Fakeer,”

said the shepherd. “Well art thou acquainted with the matter, I had

come to the same conclusion myself.”

* * * * *

One day the Cogia’s wife, in order to plague the Cogia, boiled some

broth exceedingly hot, brought it into the room and placed it on the

table. The wife then, forgetting that it was hot, took a spoon and

put some into her mouth, and, scalding herself, began to shed tears.

“O, wife,” said the Cogia, “what is the matter with you; is the broth

hot?” “Dear Efendy,” said the wife, “my mother, who is now dead loved

broth very much; I thought of that, and wept on her account.” The Cogia

thinking that what she said was truth, took a spoonful of the broth and

burning his mouth began to cry and bellow. “What is the matter with

you,” said his wife; “why do you cry?” Said the Cogia, “You cry because

your mother is gone, but I cry because her daughter is here.”

* * * * *

One day a man came to the house of the Cogia and asked him to lend him

his ass. “He is not at home,” replied the Cogia. But it so happened

that the ass began to bray within. “O Cogia Efendy,” said the man, “you

say that the ass is not at home, and there he is braying within.” “What

a strange fellow you are!” said the Cogia. “You believe the ass, but

will not believe a grey bearded man like me.”

* * * * *

One day the Cogia roasted a goose, and set out in order to carry it to

the Emperor. On the way, feeling very hungry, he cut off one leg and

ate it. Coming into the presence of the Emperor, he placed the goose

before him. On seeing it, Tamerlank said to himself, “The Cogia is

making game of me,” and was very angry, and demanded, “How happens it

that this goose has but one foot?” Said the Cogia, “In our country all

the geese have only one foot. If you disbelieve me, look at the geese

by the side of that fountain.” Now at that time there was a flock of

geese by the rim of the fountain, all of whom were standing on one leg.

Timour instantly ordered that all the drummers should at once play up;

the drummers began to strike with their sticks, and forthwith all the

geese stood on both legs. On Timour saying, “Don’t you see that they

have two legs?” the Cogia replied, “If you keep up that drumming you

yourself will presently have four.”

* * * * *

One day the Cogia’s wife, having washed the Cogia’s kaftan, hung it

upon a tree to dry; the Cogia going out saw, as he supposed, a man

standing in the tree with his arms stretched out. Says the Cogia to his

wife, “O wife, go and fetch me my bow and arrow.” His wife fetched and

brought them to him; the Cogia taking an arrow, shot it and pierced the

kaftan and stretched it on the ground; then returning, he made fast

his door and lay down to sleep. Going out in the morning he saw that

what he had shot was his own kaftan; thereupon, sitting down, he cried

aloud, “O God, be thanked; if I had been in it I should have certainly

been killed.”

* * * * *

One day as the Cogia was going to his house, he met a number of

students, and said to them, “Gentlemen, pray this night come to our

house and taste a sup of the old father’s broth.” “Very good,” said the

students, and following the Cogia, came to the house. “Pray enter,”

said he, and brought them into the house, then going up to where his

wife was, “O wife,” said he, “I have brought some travellers that we

may give them a cup of broth.” “O master,” said his wife, “is there

oil in the house or rice, or have you brought any that you wish to

have broth?” “Bless me,” said the Cogia, “give me the broth pan,” and

snatching it up, he forthwith ran to where the students were, and

exclaimed, “Pray, pardon me gentlemen, but had there been oil or rice

in our house, this is the pan in which I would have served the broth up

to you.”

One day the Cogia going into a person’s garden climbed up into an

apricot tree and began to eat the apricots. The master coming said,

“Cogia, what are you doing here?” “Dear me,” said the Cogia, “don’t

you see that I am a nightingale sitting in the apricot tree?” Said the

gardener, “Let me hear you sing.” The Cogia began to warble. Whereupon

the other fell to laughing, and said: “Do you call that singing?” “I am

a Persian nightingale,” said the Cogia, “and Persian nightingales sing

in this manner.”

* * * * *

From _The Book of Laughable Stories_, collected by Gregory Bar

Hebræus in the thirteenth century. The collection includes some seven

hundred stories taken from the literary products of all the Oriental

countries available at that time.

* * * * *

Bazarjamhir said, “When thou dost not know which of two things is the

better for thee [to do], take counsel with thy wife and do the opposite

of that which she saith, for she will only counsel [thee to do] the

things which are injurious to thee.”

A certain woman saw Socrates as they were carrying him along to crucify

him, and she wept and said, “Woe is me, for they are about to slay thee

without having committed any offence.” And Socrates made answer unto

her, saying, “O foolish woman, wouldst thou have me also commit some

crime that I might be punished like a criminal?”

* * * * *

Alexander [the Great] saw among the soldiers of his army a man called

Alexander who continually took to flight in the time of war, and he

said to him, “It is said that upon the ring of Pythagoras there was

written, ‘The evil which is not perpetual is better than the good which

is not perpetual.’”

* * * * *

It is said that upon the ring of Pythagoras there was written, “The

evil which is not perpetual is better than the good which is not

perpetual.”

It was said to Socrates, “Which of the irrational animals is not

beautiful?” And he replied, “Woman,” referring to her folly.

* * * * *

Another of the sages said, “The members of a man’s household are the

moth of his money.”

* * * * *

A certain man who had once been a painter left off painting and became

a physician. And when it was said to him, “Why hast thou done this?” he

replied, “The errors [made] in painting [all] eyes see and scrutinize;

but the mistakes of the healing art the ground covereth.”

* * * * *

Another king was asked by his sages, “To what limit hath thine

understanding reached?” And he replied, “To the extent that I believe

no man, neither do I put any confidence in any man whatsoever.”

* * * * *

Another king said, “If men only knew how pleasant to me it is to

forgive faults there is not one of them who would not commit them.”

* * * * *

A poet said unto a certain avaricious man, “Why dost thou never bid me

to a feast with thee?” He replied to him, “Because thou eatest very

heartily indeed, besides thou swallowest so hurriedly; and whilst thou

art still eating one morsel thou art getting ready for the next.” The

poet said to him, “What wouldst thou have then? Wouldst thou have me

whilst I am eating one morsel to stand up and bow the knee, and then

take another?”

* * * * *

Another sage said, “I hold every man who saith that he hateth riches to

be a liar until he establisheth a sure proof thereof from what he hath

gathered together, and having established his belief it is, at the same

time, quite certain that he is a fool!”

* * * * *

Another miser whilst quarreling violently with his neighbour was asked

by a certain man, “Why art thou fighting with him?” He replied to him,

“I had eaten a roasted head, and I threw the bones outside my door, so

that my friends might rejoice and mine enemies be sorry when they saw

in what a luxurious manner I was living; and this fellow rose up and

took the bones and threw them before his own door.”

* * * * *

Another poet was questioned by a man concerning a certain miser,

saying, “Who eateth with him at his table?” and the poet replied,

“Flies.”

* * * * *

To a certain comedian it was said, “When a cock riseth up in the early

morning hours, why doth he hold one foot in the air?” He replied, “If

he should lift up both feet together he would fall down.”

* * * * *

Another actor went into his house and found a sieve laid upon his

couch, and he went and hung himself up on the peg in the wall. His wife

said to him, “What is this? Art thou possessed of a devil?” And he

said to her, “Nay, but when I saw the sieve in my place, I went to its

place.”

* * * * *

Another fool had two hunting dogs, one black and the other white. And

the governor said to him, “Give me one of them.” The man said to him,

“Which of them dost thou want?” and the governor said, “The black one.”

The man said, “The black one I love more than the white,” and the

governor replied, “Then give me the white one.” And the foolish man

said to him, “The white one I love more than both put together.”

* * * * *

Another fool said, “My father went twice to Jerusalem, and there did he

die and was buried, but I do not know which time he died, whether it

was during the first visit or the last.”

* * * * *

When another fool was told, “Thy ass is stolen,” he said, “Blessed be

God that I was not upon him.”

Another silly man buried some zûzê coins in the plain, and made a

fragment of a cloud a mark of the place where it was. And some days

after he came to carry away the money, but could not find the place to

do so, and he said, “Consider now; the zûzê were in the ground, and

they must have been carried away by some people. For who can steal the

cloud which is in the sky? And what arm could reach there unto? This

matter is one worthy to be wondered at.”

* * * * *

Another simpleton was asked, “How many days’ journey is it between

Aleppo and Damascus?” and he replied, “Twelve; six to go and six to

come back.”

* * * * *

Another silly man having gone on a journey to carry on his trade wrote

to his father, saying, “I have been ill with a very grievous sickness,

and if any one else had been in my place he would not have been able to

live.” And his father made him answer, saying, “Believe me, my son, if

thou hadst died thou wouldst have grieved me sadly, and I would never

have spoken to thee again in the whole course of my life.”

* * * * *

A certain lunatic put on a skin cloak with the hairy side outwards,

and when people asked him why he did so, he replied, “If God had known

that it was better to have the hairy side of the skin cloak inwards, He

would not have created the wool on the outside of the sheep.”

* * * * *

Another fool owned a house together with some other folk, and he said

one day, “I want to sell the half of it which is my share and buy the

other half, so that the whole building may be mine.”

* * * * *

From earliest times the stupid or blundering fellow has been the butt

of his comrades’ shafts of wit or sarcasm.

The feeling of superiority, so delightful to the human mind, found easy

expression in jeering at the discomfiture of the noodle.

More often than not, noodle stories are told of residents of some

particular locality or district, whose people are looked upon as

simpletons. Doubtless this originally meant merely country people, who

were provincial or outlandish compared to the city bred.

But as the Greeks chose Bœotia for their noodle colony and the Persians

guyed the people of Emessa, so each country has had a location or a

community for its laughing stock down to the Gothamites of the English.

As a rule the same noodle stories are found in many languages, and only

an exhaustive study of comparative folk lore can adequately consider

the various tales.

As an instance, there is the story, of Eastern origin, that may be

found in the booby tales of all nations. It has come down in late years

in the form of a play, called in a German version, “Der Tisch Ist

Gedeckt” and in an English form, “The Obstinate Family.”

In the Arabian tale,

A blockhead, having married his pretty cousin, gave the customary feast

to their relations and friends. When the festivities were over, he

conducted his guests to the door, and from absence of mind neglected

to shut it before returning to his wife. “Dear cousin,” said his wife

to him when they were alone, “go and shut the street door.” “It would

be strange indeed,” he replied, “if I did such a thing. Am I just made

a bridegroom, clothed in silk, wearing a shawl and a dagger set with

diamonds, and am I to go and shut the door? Why, my dear, you are

crazy. Go and shut it yourself.” “Oh, indeed!” exclaimed the wife.

“Am I, young, robed in a dress, with lace and precious stones--am I

to go and shut the street door? No, indeed! It is you who are become

crazy, and not I. Come, let us make a bargain,” she continued; “and

let the first who speaks go and fasten the door.” “Agreed,” said the

husband, and immediately he became mute, and the wife too was silent,

while they both sat down, dressed as they were in their nuptial

attire, looking at each other and seated on opposite sofas. Thus they

remained for two hours. Some thieves happened to pass by, and seeing

the door open, entered and laid hold of whatever came to their hands.

The silent couple heard footsteps in the house, but opened not their

mouths. The thieves came into the room and saw them seated motionless

and apparently indifferent to all that might take place. They continued

their pillage, therefore, collecting together everything valuable, and

even dragging away the carpets from beneath them; they laid hands on

the noodle and his wife, taking from their persons every article of

jewellery, while they, in fear of losing the wager, said not a word.

Having thus cleared the house, the thieves departed quietly, but the

pair continued to sit, uttering not a syllable. Towards morning a

police officer came past on his tour of inspection, and seeing the door

open, walked in. After searching all the rooms and finding no person,

he entered their apartment, and inquired the meaning of what he saw.

Neither of them would condescend to reply. The officer became angry,

and ordered their heads to be cut off. The executioner’s sword was

about to perform its office, when the wife cried out, “Sir, he is my

husband. Do not kill him!” “Oh, oh,” exclaimed the husband, overjoyed

and clapping his hands, “you have lost the wager; go and shut the

door.” He then explained the whole affair to the police officer, who

shrugged his shoulders and went away.

Another story, known in a score of variants is found in a collection of

tales of the Kabaïl, Algeria, to this effect:

The mother of a youth of the Beni Jennad clan gave him a hundred reals

to buy a mule; so he went to market, and on his way met a man carrying

a water melon for sale. “How much for the melon?” he asks. “What will

you give?” says the man. “I have only got a hundred reals,” answered

the booby; “had I more, you should have it.” “Well,” rejoined the man,

“I’ll take them.” Then the youth took the melon and handed over the

money. “But tell me,” says he, “will its young one be as green as it

is?” “Doubtless,” answered the man, “it will be green.” As the booby

was going home, he allowed the melon to roll down a slope before him.

It burst on its way, when up started a frightened hare. “Go to my

house, young one,” he shouted. “Surely a green animal has come out of

it.” And when he got home, he inquired of his mother if the young one

had arrived.

Other stories of boobies or simpletons follow, taken here and there

from the enormous mass of humorous literature on this theme.

Yet noodles are not always witless fools.

The principle of the humor in such tales is merely and only the

superiority complex, that loves to laugh good naturedly or with a

contemptuous tolerance at the speech or actions of those less clever

than itself. It is the attitude of the cognoscenti toward,

“The lady from the provinces, who dresses like a guy,

Who doesn’t think she waltzes,--but would rather like to try,”

as W. S. Gilbert puts it.

One day some men were walking by the riverside, and came to a place

where the contrary currents caused the water to boil as in a whirlpool.

“See how the water boils!” says one. “If we had plenty of oatmeal,”

says another, “we might make enough porridge to serve all the village

for a month.” So it was resolved that part of them should go to the

village and fetch their oatmeal, which was soon brought and thrown into

the river. But there presently arose the question of how they were to

know when the porridge was ready. This difficulty was overcome by the

offer of one of the company to jump in, and it was agreed that if he

found it ready for use, he should signify the same to his companions.

The man jumped in, and found the water deeper than he expected. Thrice

he rose to the surface, but said nothing. The others, impatient at his

remaining so long silent, and seeing him smack his lips, took this for

an avowal that the porridge was good, and so they all jumped in after

him and were drowned.

A poor old woman used to beg her food by day and cook it at night.

Half of the food she would eat in the morning, and the other half in

the evening. After a while a cat got to know of this arrangement, and

came and ate the meal for her. The old woman was very patient, but at

last could no longer endure the cat’s impudence, and so she laid hold

of it. She argued with herself as to whether she should kill it or

not. “If I slay it,” she thought, “it will be a sin; but if I keep it

alive, it will be to my heavy loss.” So she determined only to punish

it. She procured some cotton wool and some oil, and soaking the one in

the other, tied it on to the cat’s tail and then set it on fire. Away

rushed the cat across the yard, up the side of the window, and on to

the roof, where its flaming tail ignited the thatch and set the whole

house on fire. The flames soon spread to other houses, and the whole

village was destroyed.

Not a few of the _Bizarrures_ of the Sieur Gaulard are the

prototypes of bulls and foolish sayings of the typical Irishman,

which go their ceaseless rounds in popular periodicals, and are even

audaciously reproduced as original in our “comic” journals. To cite

some examples:

* * * * *

A friend one day told M. Gaulard that the Dean of Besançon was dead.

“Believe it not,” said he, “for had it been so he would have told me

himself, since he writes to me about everything.”

M. Gaulard asked his secretary one evening what hour it was. “Sir,”

replied the secretary, “I cannot tell you by the dial, because the sun

is set.” “Well,” quoth M. Gaulard, “and can you not see by the candle?”

* * * * *

On another occasion the Sieur called from his bed to a servant desiring

him to see if it was daylight yet. “There is no sign of daylight,”

said the servant. “I do not wonder,” rejoined the Sieur, “that thou

canst not see day, great fool as thou art. Take a candle and look with

it out at the window, and thou shalt see whether it be day or not.”

* * * * *

In a strange house, the Sieur found the walls of his bed chamber full

of great holes. “This,” exclaimed he in a rage, “is the cursedest

chamber in all the world. One may see day all the night through.”

* * * * *

Travelling in the country, his man, to gain the fairest way, rode

through a field sowed with pease, upon which M. Gaulard cried to him,

“Thou knave, wilt thou burn my horse’s feet? Dost thou not know that

about six weeks ago I burned my mouth with eating pease, they were so

hot?”

* * * * *

A poor man complained to him that he had had a horse stolen from him.

“Why did you not mark his visage,” asked M. Gaulard, “and the clothes

he wore?” “Sir,” said the man, “I was not there when he was stolen.”

Quoth the Sieur, “You should have left somebody to ask him his name,

and in what place he resided.”

* * * * *

M. Gaulard felt the sun so hot in the midst of a field at noontide in

August that he asked of those about him, “What means the sun to be

so hot? How should it not keep its heat till winter, when it is cold

weather?”

* * * * *

A proctor, discoursing with M. Gaulard, told him that a dumb, deaf, or

blind man could not make a will but with certain additional forms. “I

pray you,” said the Sieur, “give me that in writing, that I may send it

to a cousin of mine who is lame.”

* * * * *

One day a friend visited the Sieur and found him asleep in his chair.

“I slept,” said he, “only to avoid idleness; for I must always be doing

something.”

The Abbé of Poupet complained to him that the moles had spoiled a fine

meadow, and he could find no remedy for them. “Why, cousin,” said M.

Gaulard, “it is but paving your meadow, and the moles will no more

trouble you.”

* * * * *

M. Gaulard had a lackey belonging to Auvergne, who robbed him of twelve

crowns and ran away, at which he was very angry, and said he would have

nothing that came from that country. So he ordered all that was from

Auvergne to be cast out of the house, even his mule; and to make the

animal more ashamed, he caused his servants to take off its shoes and

its saddle and bridle.

* * * * *

Among the cases decided by a Turkish Kází, two men came before him

one of whom complained that the other had almost bit his ear off. The

accused denied this, and declared that the fellow had bit his own

ear. After pondering the matter for some time, the judge told them to

come again two hours later. Then he went into his private room, and

attempted to bring his ear and his mouth together; but all he did was

to fall backwards and break his head. Wrapping a cloth round his head,

he returned to court, and the two men coming in again presently, he

thus decided the question: “No man can bite his own ear, but in trying

to do so he may fall down and break his head.”

* * * * *

The typical noodle of the Turks, the Khoja Nasru ’d-Dín, quoted above

as Cogia Nasr Eddin Effendi, is said to have been a subject of the

independent prince of Karaman, at whose capital, Konya, he resided, and

he is represented as a contemporary of Timúr (Tamerlane), in the middle

of the fourteenth century. The pleasantries which are ascribed to him

are for the most part common to all countries, but some are probably of

genuine Turkish origin. To cite a few specimens: The Khoja’s wife said

to him one day, “Make me a present of a kerchief of red Yemen silk, to

put on my head.” The Khoja stretched out his arms and said, “Like that?

Is that large enough?” On her replying in the affirmative he ran off

to the bazaar, with his arms still stretched out, and meeting a man on

the road, he bawled to him, “Look where you are going, O man, or you

will cause me to lose my measure!”

* * * * *

One evening the Khoja went to the well to draw water, and seeing the

moon reflected in the water, he exclaimed, “The moon has fallen into

the well; I must pull it out.” So he let down the rope and hook, and

the hook became fastened to a stone, whereupon he exerted all his

strength, and the rope broke, and he fell upon his back. Looking into

the sky, he saw the moon, and cried out joyfully, “Praise be to Allah!

I am sorely bruised, but the moon has got into its place again.”

* * * * *

The Chinese have a story of a lady who had been recently married, and

on the third day saw her husband returning home, so she slipped quietly

behind him and gave him a hearty kiss. The husband was annoyed, and

said she offended all propriety. “Pardon! pardon!” said she. “I did not

know it was you.”

* * * * *

Indian fiction abounds in stories of simpletons, and probably the

oldest extant drolleries of the Gothamite type are found in the

_J[.a]takas_, or Buddhist Birth stories. Assuredly they were own

brothers to our mad men of Gotham, the Indian villagers who, being

pestered by mosquitoes when at work in the forest, bravely resolved,

according to _J[.a]taka_ 44, to take their bows and arrows and

other weapons and make war upon the troublesome insects until they

had shot dead or cut in pieces every one; but in trying to shoot the

mosquitoes they only shot, struck, and injured one another. And nothing

more foolish is recorded of the Schildburgers than Somadeva relates,

in his _Kathá Sarit Ságara_, of the simpletons who cut down the

palm-trees: Being required to furnish the king with a certain quantity

of dates, and perceiving that it was very easy to gather the dates of

a palm which had fallen down of itself, they set to work and cut down

all the date-palms in their village, and having gathered from them

their whole crop of dates, they raised them up and planted them again,

thinking they would grow.

* * * * *

In Málava there were two Bráham brothers, and the wealth inherited

from their father was left jointly between them. And while they were

dividing that wealth they quarrelled about one having too little and

the other having too much, and they made a teacher learned in the

Vedas arbitrator, and he said to them, “You must divide everything

your father left into two halves, so that you may not quarrel about

the inequality of the division.” When the two fools heard this, they

divided every single thing into two equal parts--house, beds, in fact,

all their property, including their cattle.

* * * * *

Henry Stephens (Henri Estienne), in the Introduction to his _Apology

for Herodotus_, relates some very amusing noodle-stories, such as of

him who, burning his shins before the fire, and not having wit enough

to go back from it, sent for masons to remove the chimney; of the fool

who ate the doctor’s prescription, because he was told to “take it”; of

another wittol who, having seen one spit upon iron to try whether it

was hot, did likewise with his porridge; and, best of all, he tells of

a fellow who was hit on the back with a stone as he rode upon his mule,

and cursed the animal for kicking him. This last exquisite jest has its

analogue in that of the Irishman who was riding on an ass one fine day,

when the beast, by kicking at the flies that annoyed him, got one of

its hind feet entangled in the stirrup, whereupon the rider dismounted,

saying, “Faith, if you’re going to get up, it’s time I was getting

down.”

* * * * *

The poet Ovid alludes to the story of Ino persuading the women of the

country to roast the wheat before it was sown, which may have come

to India through the Greeks, since we are told in the _Kathá Sarit

S[.a]gara_ of a foolish villager who one day roasted some sesame

seeds, and finding them nice to eat, he sowed a large quantity of

roasted seeds, hoping that similar ones would come up. The story

also occurs in Coelho’s _Contes Portuguezes_, and is probably of

Buddhistic origin. An analogous story is told of an Irishman who gave

his hens hot water, in order that they should lay boiled eggs!

* * * * *

Few folk-tales are more widely diffused than that of the man who set

out in quest of as great noodles as those of his own household. The

details may be varied more or less, but the fundamental outline is

identical, wherever the story is found; and, whether it be an instance

of the transmission of popular tales from one country to another, or

one of those “primitive fictions” which are said to be the common

heritage of the Aryans, its independent development by different

nations and in different ages cannot be reasonably maintained.

Thus, in one Gaelic version of this diverting story--in which our old

friends the Gothamites reappear on the scene to enact their unconscious

drolleries--a lad marries a farmer’s daughter, and one day while they

are all busily engaged in peat cutting, she is sent to the house to

fetch the dinner. On entering the house, she perceives the speckled

pony’s packsaddle hanging from the roof, and says to herself, “Oh, if

that packsaddle were to fall and kill me, what should I do?” and here

she began to cry, until her mother, wondering what could be detaining

her, comes, when she tells the old woman the cause of her grief,

whereupon the mother, in her turn, begins to cry, and when the old man

next comes to see what is the matter with his wife and daughter, and

is informed about the speckled pony’s packsaddle, he too, “mingles his

tears” with theirs. At last the young husband arrives, and finding the

trio of noodles thus grieving at an imaginary misfortune, he there

and then leaves them, declaring his purpose not to return until he

has found three as great fools as themselves. In the course of his

travels he meets with some strange folks: men whose wives make them

believe whatever they please--one, that he is dead; another, that he is

clothed, when he is stark naked; a third, that he is not himself. He

meets with the twelve fishers who always miscounted their number; the

noodles who went to drown an eel in the sea; and a man trying to get

his cow on the roof of his house, in order that she might eat the grass

growing there.

* * * * *

In Russian variants the old parents of a youth named Lutonya weep over

the supposititious death of a potential grandchild, thinking how sad

it would have been if a log which the old woman had dropped had killed

that hypothetical infant. The parents’ grief appears to Lutonya so

uncalled for that he leaves the house, declaring he will not return

until he has met with people more foolish than they. He travels long

and far, and sees several foolish doings. In one place a horse is

being inserted into its collar by sheer force; in another, a woman is

fetching milk from the cellar a spoonful at a time; and in a third

place some carpenters are attempting to stretch a beam which is not

long enough, and Lutonya earns their gratitude by showing them how to

join a piece to it.

* * * * *

A well known English version is to this effect: There was a young man

who courted a farmer’s daughter, and one evening when he came to the

house she was sent to the cellar for beer. Seeing an axe stuck in a

beam above her head, she thought to herself, “Suppose I were married

and had a son, and he were to grow up, and be sent to this cellar for

beer, and this axe were to fall and kill him--oh, dear! oh dear!” and

there she sat crying and crying, while the beer flowed all over the

cellar floor, until her old father and mother come in succession and

blubber along with her about the hypothetical death of her imaginary

grown up son. The young man goes off in quest of three bigger fools,

and sees a woman hoisting a cow on to the roof of her cottage to

eat the grass that grew among the thatch, and to keep the animal

from falling off, she ties a rope round its neck, then goes into the

kitchen, secures at her waist the rope, which she had dropped down the

chimney, and presently the cow stumbles over the roof, and the woman

is pulled up the flue till she sticks half way. In an inn he sees a

man attempting to jump into his trousers--a favourite incident in this

class of stories; and farther along he meets with a party raking the

moon out of a pond.

Another English variant relates that a young girl having been left

alone in the house, her mother finds her in tears when she comes home,

and asks the cause of her distress. “Oh,” says the girl, “while you

were away, a brick fell down the chimney, and I thought, if it had

fallen on me I might have been killed!” The only novel adventure which

the girl’s betrothed meets with, in his quest of three bigger fools, is

an old woman trying to drag an oven with a rope to the table where the

dough lay.

* * * * *

There is a Sicilian version in Pitrá’s collection, called _The

Peasant of Larcarà_, in which the bride’s mother imagines that her

daughter has a son who falls into the cistern. The groom--they are

not yet married--is disgusted, and sets out on his travels with no

fixed purpose of returning if he finds some fools greater than his

mother-in-law, as in the Venetian tale. The first fool he meets is a

mother, whose child, in playing the game called _nocciole_, tries

to get his hand out of the hole whilst his fist is full of stones. He

cannot, of course, and the mother thinks they will have to cut off

his hand. The traveller tells the child to drop the stones, and then

he draws out his hand easily enough. Next he finds a bride who cannot

enter the church because she is very tall and wears a high comb. The

difficulty is settled as in the former story. After a while he comes

to a woman who is spinning and drops her spindle. She calls out to the

pig, whose name is Tony, to pick it up for her. The pig does nothing

but grunt, and the woman in anger cries, “Well, you won’t pick it up?

May your mother die!” The traveller, who had overheard all this, takes

a piece of paper, which he folds up like a letter, and then knocks at

the door. “Who is there?” “Open the door, for I have a letter for you

from Tony’s mother, who is ill and wishes to see her son before she

dies.” The woman wonders that her imprecation has taken effect so soon,

and readily consents to Tony’s visit. Not only this, but she loads a

mule with everything necessary for the comfort of the body and soul of

the dying pig. The traveller leads away the mule with Tony, and returns

home so pleased with having found that the outside world contains so

many fools that he marries as he had first intended.

* * * * *

In other Italian versions, a man is trying to jump into his stockings;

another endeavours to put walnuts into a sack with a fork; and a woman

dips a knotted rope into a deep well, and then having drawn it up,

squeezes the water out of the knots into a pail.

* * * * *

Mediæval writers most frequently gave voice to short proverbs, maxims

or epigrams, but a longer story is this delightful one from the old

Folk tales of India.

SAN SHROE BU

_ENFORCED GREATNESS_

Once upon a time there lived a very poor middle aged couple on the

outskirts of a great and magnificent city. Early in the morning the man

used to set out to the city and return home in the evening with a few

odd annas earned by picking up small jobs in the warehouses of wealthy

merchants. One fine morning, being lazier than usual, he remained in

bed with his eyes closed though fully awake, and furtively watched the

proceedings of his wife during her toilette. When she was completely

satisfied with her performance the man pretended to wake up as though

from a deep sleep and addressed his wife, “you know, my dear, of late I

have been feeling that some strange power has been granted to me by the

gracious nats who preside over our destinies. To illustrate my point,

you saw just now that I was fast asleep, and yet, would you believe it,

I know exactly what you were doing a little while ago from the time you

rose from your bed up till the present moment,” and proceeded to tell

her all she did at her toilette. As may be imagined, his wife was quite

astonished at this feat, and womanlike, she began to see in this power

the means to a profitable living.

Just about this time the kingdom became greatly distracted by a

series of daring thefts which took place both by day and night.

All efforts made by the authorities to capture the culprits proved

useless. At length the king became seriously alarmed for the safety of

his treasures, and in order to afford better protection he redoubled

the guards round the palace. But in spite of all this precaution the

thieves entered the palace one night and succeeded in carrying away a

large quantity of gold, silver and precious stones.

On the following morning the king issued a proclamation to the effect

that a thousand gold mohurs would be given as a reward to the person

who could either capture the thieves or restore the stolen property. So

without consulting her husband in whom she had absolute faith, she went

off to the palace and informed the king that her husband was a great

astrologer and that it would be quite easy for him to find the lost

treasures. The king’s heart was filled with gladness on receiving this

information. He told the good woman that if her husband could do all

that she promised, further honours and rewards would be heaped upon him.

When the woman returned home she joyfully related to her husband the

details of her interview with the king. “What have you done, you silly

fool?” shouted the man with mingled astonishment and alarm. “The other

day when I spoke to you about my powers I was merely imposing upon you.

I am neither an astrologer nor a diviner. It will be impossible for me

to find the lost property. By your silly act you have not only brought

disgrace upon us but you have also imperilled our lives. I don’t care

what happens to you; I only know that I am going to commit suicide this

very day.”

So saying he left the house and entered a dense forest with the

intention of cutting a stout creeper with which to hang himself. After

he got what he wanted he climbed up a big tree to tie one end of the

creeper to a branch. But while he was engaged in this act the notorious

thieves came to the foot of the very tree on which he was perched and

proceeded to divide the treasures which they stole from the palace. The

man on the top remained absolutely still and eagerly listened to all

that was going on down below. Apparently the division was not quite

satisfactory to every one, and as a result a terrible dispute arose

among them. For long hours they argued and abused each other without

being able to come to a settlement. At length seeing that the sun was

already declining they agreed to bury the treasure at the foot of the

tree and to return on the morrow for a further discussion relative to

their respective shares.

As soon as they left the place the poor man came down from the tree and

ran home as fast as he could. “My dear wife, I know exactly where the

treasures are to be found. If you make haste and come along with me I

shall be able to remove the whole lot to our house.” So they hastened

together with baskets on their heads and reached the spot when darkness

had properly set in. They then dug up the treasures as quickly as they

could and conveyed them home.

On the following day they went to the palace and restored the lost

treasures to the king. Greatly overjoyed at his good fortune the king

praised the man and marvelled at his rare knowledge. In addition to the

reward which he received, the man was forthwith appointed the chief

astrologer to the King with a handsome salary which placed him beyond

the dreams of avarice.

While in the enjoyment of such honours and rewards the astrologer one

day thought to himself, “So far I have been very fortunate. My luck has

been phenomenally good. Everybody takes me to be a great man, though

actually I am not. I wonder for how long my luck will befriend me?”

From that time forward his mind became uneasy. He often sat up in bed

at nights dreading the future which should bring about his exposure

and disgrace. Every day he spoke to his wife about his false position

and the peril that threatened him. He saw that it would be utter folly

and madness to make a clean breast of everything as he had already

committed himself too far. So he decided to say nothing for the present

but to await a favourable opportunity of extricating himself from the

awkward situation.

It so happened that one day the king received a letter from the ruler

of a distant country which stated that he had heard about the famous

astrologer. But that somehow he did not quite believe all that was

said concerning the wisdom and knowledge of the man. By way of testing

his real powers would he, the king, enter into a bet? If acceptable,

he said he would send him a gourd fruit by his Envoys, and if his

astrologer could say how many seeds it contained, he was willing to

forfeit his kingdom provided he (the former) did the same in the

event of his protégé going wrong in his calculations. Having absolute

faith in his astrologer the king forthwith sent a reply to the letter

accepting the bet.

For many days after this the poor astrologer thought very hard how

he should act in the matter. He knew that the gourd fruit usually

contained thousands of seeds and that to attempt a guess would be worse

than useless. Being fully convinced that the day of reckoning had

at last arrived, he determined to run away and hide himself in some

obscure corner rather than face the disgrace of a public exposure. So

the next thing he did was to procure a boat. He then loaded it with

food for many days and quietly left the shores of the city.

The following day as he was nearing the mouth of the river, a foreign

vessel came sailing up under a full spread of canvas. He saw from a

distance that the sailors, having nothing particular to do, sat in a

group and were engaged in pleasant conversation. As he came alongside

the vessel he heard a man remark to the others, “Somehow I feel quite

certain that our king will lose the bet. Don’t you fellows know

that this country possesses an astrologer who is infallible in his

calculations? He is reputed to possess the combined sight of a thousand

_devas_. To such a one the single seed, lying hidden within this

gourd we now convey with us, will not prove an obstacle of any serious

difficulty. You may therefore rest assured that he will find it out in

a very short time.”

When the man heard these words he felt very glad and blessed his good

luck for having freed him once again from a dangerous situation.

Instead, therefore, of continuing his journey, he swung his boat round

and made for home, happy in the possession of his freshly acquired

knowledge. On his arrival he related everything to his wife who shed

tears of joy on hearing the good news.

Early next day, hearing that the king was about to grant an audience

to the foreign Envoys, the royal astrologer went to the palace. The

courtiers were very glad to see him turn up, for so great was their

confidence in him that they felt that their country was quite safe and

that the chances were in favour of their acquiring a new kingdom. When

the king entered the Hall of Audience he invited the astrologer to sit

on his right while the others sat in front of him with their faces

almost touching the floor. Then the real proceedings began.

First of all presents were exchanged and complimentary speeches were

delivered on both sides. When these ceremonies were over the Chief

Envoy addressed the king in the following terms, “Oh Mighty Monarch!

The real object of our journey to your most beautiful country has

already formed the subject of correspondence between your Majesty and

my king. I will not therefore tire you by its recital all over again.

My master commands me to show you this gourd and to ask you to say how

many seeds exactly it contains. If what you say be correct his kingdom

passes into your possession, but on the other hand should you be wrong

your kingdom becomes the property of my master.”

Hearing these words the king smiled and turning to the astrologer near

him, said, “My dear _saya_, it is unnecessary for me to tell

you what you have got to do. Consult your stars and tell us how many

seeds the fruit contains. You already know how generous I have been

to you in the past. And now at this crisis, if you are able to assist

me in winning a kingdom, my reward to you shall be such as to make

you rejoice for all the remaining days of your life.” “Your Majesty,”

replied the astrologer, “everything I have, including my life, belongs

to you. By your will I am able to live, and by your will I must also

die. In the present case my calculations point to one answer only, and

therefore I have no hesitation in saying that this gourd contains one

seed only.”

Accustomed to seeing gourds with thousands of seeds, the king

turned pale when he heard the astrologer’s answer. But still having

complete faith in him, with effort he restrained himself from further

questioning him. The gourd was then placed upon a gold plate and was

cut open in the presence of all those present. To the astonishment of

everybody there was but a single seed as was said by the astrologer.

The foreign Envoy congratulated the king on having won his bet and on

the possession of so valuable a servant. He then returned home with a

heavy heart bearing the news of his sovereign’s ruin and his country’s

misfortune.

As to the astrologer his fame spread far and wide. All sorts of

honours and rewards were heaped upon him. He was even granted the

unique privilege of entering or leaving any part of the palace at all

hours, just as his own inclinations directed him. Yet in spite of all

these things he was not happy. He knew he was an imposter who stood in

imminent danger of being found out. He was more than satisfied with

the reputation he had made and the riches he had acquired. He did not

desire any more of these things. His greatest ambition now was to find

a graceful way of escape from his false position.

So he thus spoke to his wife one day, “My dear wife, so far I have had

most wonderful luck. It has enabled me to escape two great dangers with

honour to myself. But how long will this luck stand by me? Something

tells me that I shall be found out on the third occasion. What I

propose to do next is this. Listen carefully so that you may carry out

my instructions without a hitch. Tomorrow while I am at the palace with

the king you must set fire to our house. Being of thatch and bamboo

it will not take long to be consumed. You must then come running to

the palace to inform me about it and at the same time you must keep on

repeating these words, ‘the Astrological Tables are gone.’ I will then

do the rest.”

On the following day while the king was holding a grand Durbar in the

Hall of Audience, a great commotion was heard outside the gates. On

enquiry the king was informed that the astrologer’s wife had come to

inform her husband that their house was burnt down and that everything

of value, including the most precious astrological tables by which her

husband made his wonderful predictions, had been consumed by the fire.

Hearing these words the astrologer pretended to be terribly affected.

He struck his forehead with the palm of his hand and for a long time he

remained silent and motionless with grief. Then turning to the king he

said, “May it please your Majesty I am now utterly ruined. For had it

been my riches alone that perished in the fire I should not have minded

so much. They could have been easily replaced. But now since these

precious tables are gone it is impossible to procure a similar set from

anywhere else. I hope I have served your Majesty faithfully and to your

satisfaction in the past; but I grieve to say that I shall not be in

a position to give you the same service in the future. I beseech you

therefore to release me from the present responsible position, for I

shall no longer be useful to you. But in recognition of my past humble

services if your Majesty, in your great goodness of heart, can see fit

to grant me a small pension for the rest of my life I shall have cause

to consider myself exceptionally favoured.”

The king was very sad to hear of his favourite’s misfortune. And as

there was nothing else to be said or done in the matter he ordered a

beautiful building to be erected on the site of the house that was

burnt down. Next he filled it with a large retinue of servants and

other equipments such as horses, carriages and so forth. Then the whole

thing was made over to the astrologer with the command that for the

rest of his life he was to draw from the Royal Treasury no less a sum

than ten thousand gold mohurs a month.

As may be imagined the lucky astrologer was more than satisfied

with the arrangements and inwardly congratulated himself upon his

good fortune which once more enabled him to escape from a dangerous

situation. Thus some men are born great, some achieve greatness; but

there are also others who have greatness forced upon them, and it is

to this third and last class that our hero the pretentious astrologer

belongs.

In the Middle Ages, popular sculpture and painting were but the

translation of popular literature, and nothing was more common to

represent, in pictures and carvings, than individual men under the

forms of the animals who displayed similar characters or similar

propensities. Cunning, treachery, and intrigue were the prevailing

vices of the middle ages, and they were those also of the fox, who

hence became a favourite character in satire. The victory of craft

over force always provoked mirth. The fabulists, or, we should perhaps

rather say, the satirists, soon began to extend their canvas and

enlarge their picture, and, instead of single examples of fraud or

injustice, they introduced a variety of characters, not only foxes, but

wolves, and sheep, and bears, with birds also, as the eagle, the cock,

and the crow, and mixed them up together in long narratives, which

thus formed general satires on the vices of contemporary society. In

this manner originated the celebrated romance of “Reynard the Fox,”

which in various forms, from the twelfth century to the eighteenth,

has enjoyed a popularity which was granted probably to no other book.

The plot of this remarkable satire turns chiefly on the long struggle

between the brute force of Isengrin the Wolf, possessed only with a

small amount of intelligence, which is easily deceived--under which

character is presented the powerful feudal baron--and the craftiness

of Reynard the Fox, who represents the intelligent portion of society,

which had to hold its ground by its wits, and these were continually

abused to evil purposes. Reynard is swayed by a constant impulse to

deceive and victimise everybody, whether friends or enemies, but

especially his uncle Isengrin. It was somewhat the relationship between

the ecclesiastical and baronial aristocracy. Reynard was educated in

the schools, and intended for the clerical order; and at different

times he is represented as acting under the disguise of a priest,

of a monk, of a pilgrim, or even of a prelate of the church. Though

frequently reduced to the greatest straits by the power of Isengrin,

Reynard has generally the better of it in the end: he robs and defrauds

Isengrin continually, outrages his wife, who is half in alliance

with him, and draws him into all sorts of dangers and sufferings,

for which the latter never succeeds in obtaining justice. The old

sculptors and artists appear to have preferred exhibiting Reynard in

his ecclesiastical disguises, and in these he appears often in the

ornamentation of mediæval architectural sculpture, in wood-carvings,

in the illuminations of manuscripts, and in other objects of art. The

popular feeling against the clergy was strong in the middle ages, and

no caricature was received with more favour than those which exposed

the immorality or dishonesty of a monk or a priest. A sculpture in

the church of Christchurch, in Hampshire, represents Reynard in the

pulpit preaching; behind, or rather perhaps beside him, a diminutive

cock stands upon a stool--in modern times we should be inclined to

say he was acting as clerk. Reynard’s costume consists merely of the

ecclesiastical hood or cowl. Such subjects are frequently found on the

carved seats, or misereres, in the stalls of the old cathedrals and

collegiate churches. The painted glass of the great window of the north

cross-aisle of St. Martin’s church in Leicester, which was destroyed

in the last century, represented the fox, in the character of an

ecclesiastic, preaching to a congregation of geese.

Reynard’s mediæval celebrity dates certainly from a rather early

period. Montfaucon has given an alphabet of ornamental initial letters,

formed chiefly of figures of men and animals, from a manuscript which

he ascribes to the ninth century, among which is one representing

a fox walking upon his hind legs, and carrying two small cocks,

suspended at the ends of a cross staff. It is hardly necessary to say

that this group forms the letter T. Long before this, the Frankish

historian Fredegarius, who wrote about the middle of the seventh

century, introduces a fable in which the fox figures at the court of

the lion. The same fable is repeated by a monkish writer of Bavaria,

named Fromond who flourished in the tenth century, and by another named

Aimoinus, who lived about the year 1,000. At length, in the twelfth

century, Guibert de Nogent, who died about the year 1124, and who has

left us his autobiography (_de Vita Sua_), relates an anecdote

in that work, in explanation of which he tells us that the wolf was

then popularly designated by the name of Isengrin; and in the fables

of Odo, as we have already seen, this name is commonly given to the

wolf, Reynard to the fox, Teburg to the cat, and so on with the others.

This only shows that in the fables of the twelfth century the various

animals were known by these names, but it does not prove that what we

know as the romance of Reynard existed. Jacob Grimm argued from the

derivation and forms of these names, that the fables themselves, and

the romance, originated with the Teutonic peoples, and were indigenous

to them; but his reasons seem more specious than conclusive, and

Paulin Paris holds that the romance of Reynard was native of France,

and that it was partly founded upon old Latin legends perhaps poems.

Its character is altogether feudal, and it is strictly a picture of

society, in France primarily, and secondly in England and the other

nations of feudalism, in the twelfth century. The earliest form in

which this romance is known is in the French poem--or rather poems, for

it consists of several branches or continuations--and is supposed to

date from about the middle of the twelfth century. It soon became so

popular, that it appeared in different forms in all the languages of

Western Europe, except in England, where there appears to have existed

no edition of the romance of Reynard the Fox until Caxton printed

his prose English version of the story. From that time it became, if

possible, more popular in England than elsewhere, and that popularity

had hardly diminished down to the commencement of the present century.

The popularity of the story of Reynard caused it to be imitated in a

variety of shapes, and this form of satire, in which animals acted the

part of men, became altogether popular.

A direct imitation of “Reynard the Fox” is found in the early French

romance of “Fauvel,” the hero of which is neither a fox nor an ass,

but a horse. People of all ranks and classes repair to the court of

Fauvel, the horse, and furnish abundant matter for satire on the moral,

political, and religious hypocrisy which pervaded the whole frame

of society. At length the hero resolves to marry, and, in a finely

illuminated manuscript of this romance, preserved in the Imperial

Library in Paris, this marriage furnishes the subject of a picture,

which gives the only representation to be met with of one of the

popular burlesque ceremonies which were so common in the middle ages.

Among other such ceremonies, it was customary with the populace, on the

occasion of a man’s or woman’s second marriage, or an ill-sorted match,

or on the espousals of people who were obnoxious to their neighbours,

to assemble outside the house, and greet them with discordant music.

This custom is said to have been practiced especially in France, and

it was called a _charivari_. There is still a last remnant of it

in our country in the music of marrow-bones and cleavers, with which

the marriages of butchers are popularly celebrated; but the derivation

of the French name appears not to be known. It occurs in old Latin

documents, for it gave rise to such scandalous scenes of riot and

licentiousness, that the Church did all it could, though in vain, to

suppress it. The earliest mention of this custom, furnished in the

_Glossarium_ of Ducange, is contained in the synodal statutes of

the church of Avignon, passed in the year 1337, from which we learn

that when such marriages occurred, people forced their way into the

houses of the married couple, and carried away their goods, which they

were obliged to pay a ransom for before they were returned, and the

money thus raised was spent in getting up what is called in the statute

relating to it a _Chalvaricum_. It appears from this statute, that

the individuals who performed the _charivari_ accompanied the

happy couple to the church, and returned with them to their residence,

with coarse and indecent gestures and discordant music, and uttering

scurrilous and indecent abuse, and that they ended with feasting.

In the statutes of Meaux, in 1365, and in those of Hugh, bishop of

Beziers, in 1368, the same practice is forbidden, under the name of

_Charavallium_; and it is mentioned in a document of the year

1372, also quoted by Ducange, under that of _Carivarium_, as then

existing at Nîmes. Again, in 1445, the Council of Tours made a decree,

forbidding, under pain of excommunication, “the insolences, clamours,

sounds, and other tumults practiced at second and third nuptials,

called by the vulgar a _Charivarium_, on account of the many and

grave evils arising out of them.” It will be observed that these early

allusions to the charivari are found almost solely in documents coming

from the Roman towns in the south of France, so that this practice

was probably one of the many popular customs derived directly from

the Romans. When Cotgrave’s “Dictionary” was published (that is, in

1632) the practice of the _charivari_ appears to have become more

general in its existence, as well as its application; for he describes

it as “a public defamation, or traducing of; a foule noise made, blacke

santus rung, to the shame and disgrace of another; hence an infamous

(or infaming) ballad sung, by an armed troupe, under the window of an

old dotard, married the day before unto a young wanton, in mockerie of

them both.” And, again, a _charivaris de poelles_ is explained

as “the carting of an infamous person, graced with the harmonie of

stinging kettles and frying-pan musicke.” The word is now generally

used in the sense of a great tumult of discordant music, produced often

by a number of persons playing different tunes on different instruments

at the same time.

The sermons and satires against extravagance in costume began at

an early period. The Anglo-Norman ladies, in the earlier part of

the twelfth century, first brought in vogue in our island this

extravagance in fashion, which quickly fell under the lash of satirist

and caricaturist. It was first exhibited in the robes rather than

in the head-dress. These Anglo-Norman ladies are understood to have

first introduced stays, in order to give an artificial appearance of

slenderness to their waists; but the greatest extravagance appeared in

the forms of their sleeves. The robe, or gown, instead of being loose,

as among the Anglo-Saxons, was laced close around the body, and the

sleeves, which fitted the arm tightly till they reached the elbows,

or sometimes nearly to the wrist, then suddenly became larger, and

hung down to an extravagant length, often trailing on the ground, and

sometimes shortened by means of a knot. The gown, also, was itself

worn very long. The clergy preached against these extravagances in

fashion, and at times, it is said, with effect; and they fell under

the vigorous lash of the satirist. In a class of satires which became

extremely popular in the twelfth century, and which produced in the

thirteenth the immortal poem of Dante--the visions of purgatory and of

hell--these contemporary extravagances in fashion are held up to public

detestation, and are made the subject of severe punishment. They were

looked upon as among the outward forms of pride. It arose, no doubt,

from this taste--from the darker shade which spread over men’s minds in

the twelfth century--that demons, instead of animals, were introduced

to personify the evil-doers of the time. Such is the figure, seen in a

very interesting manuscript in the British Museum (MS. Cotton. Nero, C

iv.). The demon is here dressed in the fashionable gown with its long

sleeves, of which one appears to have been usually much longer than

the other. Both the gown and sleeve are shortened by means of knots,

while the former is brought close round the waist by tight lacing.

It is a picture of the use of stays made at the time of their first

introduction.

This superfluity of length in the different parts of the dress was a

subject of complaint and satire at various and very distant periods,

and contemporary illuminations of a perfectly serious character show

that these complaints were not without foundation.

The professional entertainers of the Middle Ages performed in the

streets and public places, or in the theatres, and especially at

festivals, and they were often employed at private parties, to

entertain the guests at a supper.

We trace the existence of this class of performers during the earlier

period of the middle ages by the expressions of hostility towards

them used from time to time by the ecclesiastical writers, and the

denunciations of synods and councils. Nevertheless, it is evident from

many allusions to them, that they found their way into the monastic

houses, and were in great favour not only among the monks, but among

the nuns also; that they were introduced into the religious festivals;

and that they were tolerated even in the churches. It is probable

that they long continued to be known in Italy and the countries

near the centre of Roman influence, and where the Latin language was

continued, by their old name of _mimus_. The Anglo-Saxon vocabularies

interpret the Latin _mimus_ by _glig-mon_, a gleeman. In Anglo-Saxon,

_glig_ or _gliu_ meant mirth and game of every description, and as the

Anglo-Saxon teachers who compiled the vocabularies give, as synonyms

of _mimus_, the words _scurra_, _jocifta_, and _pantomimus_, it is

evident that all these were included in the character of the gleeman,

and that the latter was quite identical with his Roman type. It was

the Roman _mimus_ introduced into Saxon England. We have no traces of

the existence of such a class of performers among the Teutonic race

before they became acquainted with the civilisation of imperial Rome.

We know from drawings in contemporary illuminated manuscripts that the

performances of the gleeman did include music, singing, and dancing,

and also the tricks of mountebanks and jugglers, such as throwing up

and catching knives and balls, and performing with tamed bears, etc.

But even among the peoples who preserved the Latin language, the word

_mimus_ was gradually exchanged for others employed to signify the

same thing. The word _jocus_ had been used in the signification of a

jest, playfulness, _jocari_ signified to jest, and _joculator_ was a

word for a jester; but, in the debasement of the language, _jocus_

was taken in the signification of everything which created mirth. It

became, in the course of time the French verb _jeu_, and the Italian

_gioco_, or _giuoco_. People introduced a form of the verb _jocare_,

which became the French _juer_, to play or perform. _Joculator_ was

then used in the sense of _mimus_. In French the word became _jogléor_,

or _jougléor_, and in its later form _jougleur_. I may remark that, in

mediæval manuscripts, it is almost impossible to distinguish between

the _u_ and the _n_, and that modern writers have misread this last

word as _jongleur_, and thus introduced into the language a word which

never existed, and which ought to be abandoned. In old English, as we

see in Chaucer, the usual form was _jogelere_. The mediæval joculator,

or jougleur, embraced all the attributes of the Roman _mimus_, and

perhaps more. In the first place he was very often a poet himself,

and composed the pieces which it was one of his duties to sing or

recite. These were chiefly songs, or stories, the latter usually told

in verse, and so many of them are preserved in manuscripts that they

form a very numerous and important class of mediæval literature. The

songs were commonly satirical and abusive, and they were made use of

for purposes of general or personal vituperation. Out of them, indeed,

grew the political songs of a later period. They carried about with

them for exhibition tame bears, monkeys, and other animals, taught to

perform the actions of men. As early as the thirteenth century, we find

them including among their other accomplishments that of dancing upon

the tight-rope. Finally, the jougleurs performed tricks of sleight of

hand, and were often conjurers and magicians. As, in modern times, the

jougleurs of the middle ages gradually passed away, sleight of hand

appears to have become their principal accomplishment, and the name

only was left in the modern word _juggler_. The jougleurs of the middle

ages, like the mimi of antiquity, wandered about from place to place,

and often from country to country, sometimes singly and at others in

companies, exhibited their performances in the roads and streets,

repaired to all great festivals, and were employed especially in the

baronial hall, where, by their songs, stories, and other performances,

they created mirth after dinner.

This class of society had become known by another name, the origin of

which is not so easily explained. The primary meaning of the Latin

word _minister_ was a servant, one who ministers to another, either

in his wants or in his pleasures and amusements. It was applied

particularly to the cupbearer. In low Latinity, a diminutive of this

word was formed, _minestellus_, or _ministrellus_, a petty servant, or

minister. When we first meet with this word, which is not at a very

early date, it is used as perfectly synonymous with _joculator_, and,

as the word is certainly of Latin derivation, it is clear that it was

from it the middle ages derived the French word _menestrel_ (the modern

_menetrier_), and the English _minstrel_. The mimi or jougleurs were

perhaps considered as the petty ministers to the amusements of their

lord, or of him who for the time employed them. Until the close of the

middle ages, the minstrel and the jougleur were absolutely identical.

Possibly the former may have been considered the more courtly of the

two names. But in England, as the middle ages disappeared, and lost

their influence on society sooner than in France, the word minstrel

remained attached only to the musical part of the functions of the old

mimus, while, as just observed, the juggler took the sleight of hand

and the mountebank tricks. In modern French, except where employed

technically by the antiquity, the word _menetrier_ means a fiddler.

The jougleurs, or minstrels, formed a very numerous and important,

though a low and despised, class of mediæval society. The dulness of

every-day life in a feudal castle or mansion required something more

than ordinary excitement in the way of amusement, and the old family

bard, who continually repeated to the Teutonic chief the praises of

himself and his ancestors, was soon felt to be a wearisome companion.

The mediæval knights and their ladies wanted to laugh, and to make

them laugh sufficiently it required that the jokes, or tales, or comic

performances, should be broad, coarse, and racy, with a good spicing of

violence and of the wonderful. Hence the jougleur was always welcome

to the feudal mansion, and he seldom went away dissatisfied. But the

subject of the present chapter is rather the literature of the jougleur

than his personal history, and, having traced his origin to the Roman

mimus, we will now proceed to one class of his performances.

It has been stated that the mimus and the jougleurs told stories.

Of those of the former, unfortunately, none are preserved, except,

perhaps, in a few anecdotes scattered in the pages of such writers as

Apuleius and Lucian, and we are obliged to guess at their character,

but of the stories of the jougleurs a considerable number has been

preserved. It becomes an interesting question how far these stories

have been derived from the mimi, handed down traditionally from mimus

to jougleur, how far they are native in our race, or how far they were

derived at a later date from other sources. And in considering this

question, we must not forget that the mediæval jougleurs were not the

only representatives of the mimi, for among the Arabs of the East also

there had originated from them, modified under different circumstances,

a very important class of minstrels and story-tellers, and with these

the jougleurs of the west were brought into communication at the

commencement of the crusades. There can be no doubt that a very large

number of the stories of the jougleurs were borrowed from the East, for

the evidence is furnished by the stories themselves; and there can be

little doubt also that the jougleurs improved themselves, and underwent

some modification, by their intercourse with Eastern performers of the

same class.

The people of the middle ages, who took their word _fable_ from the

Latin _fabula_, which they appear to have understood as a mere term for

any short narration, included under it the stories told by the mimi and

jougleurs; but, in the fondness of the middle ages for diminutives, by

which they intended to express familiarity and attachment, applied to

them more particularly the Latin _fabella_, which in the old French

became _fablel_, or, more usually, _fabliau_. The fabliaux of the

jougleurs form a most important class of the comic literature of the

middle ages. They must have been wonderfully numerous, for a very large

quantity of them still remain, and these are only the small portion of

what once existed, which have escaped perishing like the others by the

accident of being written in manuscripts which have had the fortune to

survive; while manuscripts containing others have no doubt perished,

and it is probable that many were only preserved orally, and never

written down at all. The recital of these fabliaux appears to have

been the favourite employment of the jougleurs, and they became so

popular that the mediæval preachers turned them into short stories in

Latin prose, and made use of them as illustrations in their sermons.

Many collections of these short Latin stories are found in manuscripts

which had served as note-books to the preachers, and out of them was

originally compiled that celebrated mediæval book called the “Gesta

Romanorum.”

The _Trouvères_, or poets, who wrote the Fabliaux flourished chiefly

from the close of the twelfth century to the earlier part of the

fourteenth. They all composed in French, which was a language then

common to England and France, but some of their compositions bear

internal evidence of having been composed in England. No objection

appears to have been entertained to the recital of these licentious

stories before the ladies of the castle or of the domestic circle, and

their general popularity was so great, that the more pious clergy seem

to have thought necessary to find something to take their place in the

post-prandial society of the monastery, and especially of the nunnery;

and religious stories were written in the same form and metre as the

fabliaux. Some of these have been published under the title of _Contes

Devots_, and, from their general dulness, it may be doubted if they

answered their purpose of furnishing amusement so well as the others.

Troubadour was the Provençal name for the _Trouvères_, and in the

twelfth century these poets flourished so luxuriantly that their

influence is still felt in the poetic sentiment of today.

Yet they were in no sense humorous writers, unless their satire on the

foibles and follies of the times may be so construed. They were Boudoir

poets and their airs and graces were romantic rather than mirthful.

Much of their production was of the languishing, sighing order, but the

Fabliaux, of a ruder narrative type were also popular.

These Fabliaux, now usually given out in expurgated editions, were

extremely plain spoken, and, as so often occurred, were adopted and

adapted by the monks for the real or pretended furtherance of their

religious teachings.

The Troubadours did much for lyric art by their conscientious attention

to form, but the humor of their productions is almost a negligible

quantity. Their songs were invariably sung, and usually to the

accompaniment of the blue-ribboned guitar, but oftenest the burden was

of sorrowful intent.

And it was, perhaps, owing to the want of a humorous sense, that the

Troubadours could carry on their lackadaisical and lovesick careers.

Yet there were some of the Troubadours’ songs which showed a departure

from the usual romantic wailings and a few are here given.

Doubtless the very free translation adds to their humor, but the motive

is clear.

Rambaud d’Orange thus declares his policy in treatment to the fair sex.

I.

My boy, if you’d wish to make constant your Venus,

Attend to the plan I disclose.

Her first naughty word you must meet with a menace,

Her next--drop your fist on her nose.

When she’s bad, be you worse,

When she scolds, do you curse,

When she scratches, just treat her to blows.

II.

Defame and lampoon her, be rude and uncivil,

Then you’ll vanquish the haughtiest dame.

Be proud and presumptuous, deceive like the ----

And aught that you wish you may claim.

All the beautiful slight,

To the plain be polite,

That’s the way the proud hussies to tame.

Bernard de Ventadour is thus unromantic.

You say the moon is all aglow,

The nightingale a-singing.

I’d rather watch the red wine flow

And hear the goblets ringing.

You say ’tis sweet to hear the gale

Creep sighing through the willows.

I’d rather hear a merry tale

’Mid a group of jolly fellows.

You say ’tis sweet the stars to view

Upon the waters gleaming.

I’d rather see (’twixt me and you

And the post) my supper steaming.

While the Monk of Montaudon, an incorrigible satirist, thus descants on

the ladies.

I am a saint of good repute, by mortals called St. Julian;

Being wanted much on earth I go not oft to realms cerulean.

Yet once of late I made a call, which you may term a high call--

I went aloft to have a chat along with good St. Michael.

But soon the saint was called away, which closed our conversation,

To judge between some dames and monks engaged in disputation.

_Paint_ was the subject of their strife, the rock on which they

split;

Each party wanted to monopolise the use of it.

The monks declared, with many tears, that they were ruined quite,

For not an ounce of it was left to keep their pictures bright.

The ladies laid it on so thick, as you can understand,

That the compounders could not quite keep pace with their demand.

And so, unless the former were restrained by stringent law,

Each shrine they swore would quickly cease its worshippers to draw.

Then stepped an ancient beauty forth, and thus to Mike descanted:

“Our sex was painted long before paint was for pictures wanted;

As for myself, how can it hurt a clergyman or saint,

If the crows’-feet beneath my eyes I cover up with paint?

In keeping up my beauteous looks I cannot see a crime;

In spite of them I’ll still repair the ravages of time.”

St. Michael scratched his pate awhile, then, looking very wise,

Said: “Dames and monks, let me suggest, I pray, a compromise.

The soul as well as body, dames, requires both paint and padding.

You should not wholly spend your years in love-making and gadding.

And you, my monks, be less severe, nor bend the bow to breaking;

All dames should have a moderate time allowed to them for raking.

Then let them paint till forty-five”--at this the dames looked

glum--

“Or fifty,” cried the saint in haste. “Agree, my monks, now come.”

“No,” said the monks, “that cannot be, the time is far too long;

But, though we feel within our souls the compromise is wrong,

Yet, in our deep respect for you, our scruples we will drop,

And let the dames, till thirty-five, frequent the painter’s shop;

But only on condition that thereafter they shall cease

To daub, and let us monks enjoy our privilege in peace.”

Before the ladies could rejoin, two other saints appeared--

Peter and Lawrence--by the dames no less than monks revered.

They reasoned with the parties, and so well employed their wit,

That they persuaded them at length the difference to split.

The monks agreed to yield five years; the ladies condescended

Up to their fortieth year to paint, and there the trial ended.

And the same merry Monk of Montaudon voices his sentiments thus:

I like those sports the world calls folly,

Banquets that know no melancholy;

I love a girl whose talk is jolly,

Not silent like a painted dolly.

A rich man of my love is winner,

His foe I feel must be a sinner;

And I adore, or I’d be thinner,

A fine fat salmon-trout for dinner.

I hold among my chief of blisses,

Basking beside a stream with misses;

Love sunshine, flowers; but O than this is

A joy more deep--I _do_ like kisses.

I hate a husband who’s uxorious;

A grocer’s son, whose dress is glorious;

Hate men in drink who get uproarious

And maids whose conduct is censorious.

I hate young folks who are precocious,

Hate parsons with a beard ferocious;

Of wine too much can no one broach us;

But too much water is atrocious!

The Court of Love, a gay and whimsical institution, doubtless

originated in the contests of the Troubadours, when the poets recited

for a prize the particular style of an ode called the _Tenson_.

Though a fascinating subject, we may not dwell on it further than to

quote the thirty-one articles of the Code of Love, this being the most

available bit of humor.

1. Marriage is no legitimate excuse against love.

2. Whoever cannot conceal cannot love.

3. No one must have two lovers at the same time.

4. Love must always be increasing or diminishing.

5. Favours unwillingly granted have no charm.

6. No male must love until of full age.

7. Whoever of two lovers survives the other must observe a

widowhood of two years.

8. None should be deprived of love except they lose their reason.

9. None can love except when compelled by the stress of love.

10. Love is an exile from the homes of avarice.

11. She who is scrupulous of the marriage tie should not love.

12. A true lover desires no embraces save those of his lady-love.

13. Love divulged rarely lasts.

14. Easy winning makes love contemptible; difficulty renders it

dear.

15. Every lover grows pale at the sight of his lady-love.

16. The heart of a lover trembles at the sudden sight of his

lady-love.

17. A new love makes an old one depart.

18. Probity alone makes a man worthy to be loved.

19. If love diminishes it soon fails, and rarely recovers its

strength.

20. The lover is always timid.

21. From true jealousy love always increases.

22. When suspicion is aroused about a lover, jealousy and love

increase.

23. Filled with thoughts of love, the lover eats and drinks less

[than usual].

24. Every act of a lover is determined by thoughts of the beloved.

25. A true lover thinks naught happy save what would please his

beloved.

26. Love can deny nothing to love.

27. A lover cannot be satiated with the charms of the beloved.

28. A slight prejudice makes a lover think ill of the beloved.

29. He is not wont to love who is oppressed by too great abundance

of pleasure.

30. A true lover is always without intermission filled with the

image of his lady-love.

31. Nothing hinders one woman being loved by two men, or one man by

two women.

On these rules--some nonsensical, many contradictory, and all

abominable--the following decisions, among many others, were based.

The first is that of the Countess of Champagne already quoted, with its

approval by Queen Eleanor. In its original verbiage it runs thus:

* * * * *

_Question._ Can true love exist between married persons?

_Judgment_, by the Countess of Champagne: “We say and establish,

by the tenor of these presents, that love cannot extend its rights

to married persons. In fact, lovers accord everything to each other

mutually and gratuitously, without being constrained by motives of

necessity; while married people are bound by the duty of mutually

sacrificing their wills and refusing nothing the one to the other.

“Let this judgment, which we have given with extreme care, and after

taking counsel of a large number of ladies, be to you a constant and

irrefragable truth. Thus determined in the year 1174, the third day

before the kalends of May.”

_Question._ Do the greater affection and livelier attachment exist

between lovers or married people? [It having been already decided, let

us remember, that married people could not love one another.]

_Judgment_, by Ermengarde, Viscountess of Narbonne: “The

attachment of married people and the tender affection of lovers are

sentiments of a nature and custom altogether different. There can

consequently be no just comparison established between objects which

have no resemblance or connection the one with the other.”

_Question._ A lady attached to a gentleman in an honorable love

marries another. Has she the right to repel her former lover and refuse

him his accustomed favours?

_Judgment_, by Ermengarde, Viscountess of Narbonne: “The

supervenience of the marriage bond does not bar the right of the prior

attachment, unless the lady utterly renounces love, and declares that

she does so for ever.”

The _Gesta Romanorum_, one of the most important collections

of moral tales, was put together during the thirteenth century by a

learned Frenchman named Pierre Bercheure, who was a Benedictine Prior.

He chose to lay the scenes of the stories in Rome, though this was not

historically true. Gesta means merely acts or exploits, and many of the

tales are descended from Oriental Folk Lore.

Not all students of ancient literature agree as to the authorship of

the Gesta as it appears in its present form, but the consensus of

opinion seems to point to the aforesaid Frenchman.

However, the collector’s name matters little; the work itself, while it

harks back to the Fables of Æsop and Pilpay and to the _Talmud_,

is of interest as a veritable storehouse of Mediæval stories.

Each of these has its religious application, but it is easy to think

that the readers were oftener intrigued by the story than by the

appended moral.

_OF SLOTH_

The emperor Pliny had three sons, to whom he was extremely indulgent.

He wished to dispose of his kingdom, and calling the three into his

presence, spoke thus--“The most slothful of you shall reign after my

decease.” “Then,” answered the elder, “the kingdom must be mine; for

I am so lazy, that sitting once by the fire, I burnt my legs, because

I was too indolent to withdraw them.” The second son observed, “The

kingdom should properly be mine, for if I had a rope round my neck, and

held a sword in my hand, my idleness is such, that I should not put

forth my hand to cut the rope.” “But I,” said the third son, “ought to

be preferred to you both; for I outdo both in indolence. While I lay

upon my bed, water dropped from above upon my eyes; and though, from

the nature of the water, I was in danger of becoming blind, I neither

could nor would turn my head ever so little to the right hand or to

the left.” The emperor, hearing this, bequeathed the kingdom to him,

thinking him the laziest of the three.

_Application_

My beloved, the king is the devil; and the three sons, different

classes of corrupt men.

_OF THE GOOD, WHO ALONE WILL ENTER THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN_

There was a wise and rich king who possessed a beloved, but not a

loving wife. She had three illegitimate sons who proved ungrateful

and rebellious to their reputed parent. In due time she brought forth

another son, whose legitimacy was undisputed; and after arriving

at a good old age, he died, and was buried in the royal sepulchre

of his fathers. But the death of the old king caused great strife

amongst his surviving sons, about the right of succession. All of

them advanced a claim, and none would relinquish it to the other; the

three first, presuming upon their priority in birth, and the last upon

his legitimacy. In this strait, they agreed to refer the absolute

decision of their cause to a certain honourable soldier of the late

king. When this person, therefore, heard their difference, he said,

“Follow my advice, and it will greatly benefit you. Draw from its

sepulchre the body of the deceased monarch; prepare, each of you,

a bow and single shaft, and whosoever transfixes the heart of his

father, shall obtain the kingdom.” The counsel was approved, the body

was taken from its repository and bound naked to a tree. The arrow

of the first son wounded the king’s right hand--on which, as if the

contest were determined, they proclaimed him heir to the throne. But

the second arrow went nearer, and entered the mouth; so that he too

considered himself the undoubted lord of the kingdom. However, the

third perforated the heart itself, and consequently imagined that his

claim was fully decided, and his succession sure. It now came to the

turn of the fourth and last son to shoot; but instead of fixing his

shaft to the bow-string, and preparing for the trial, he broke forth

into a lamentable cry, and with eyes swimming in tears, said, “Oh! my

poor father; have I then lived to see you the victim of an impious

contest? Thine own offspring lacerate thy unconscious clay?--Far,

oh! far be it from me to strike thy venerated form, whether living or

dead.” No sooner had he uttered these words, than the nobles of the

realm, together with the whole people, unanimously elected him to the

throne; and depriving the three barbarous wretches of their rank and

wealth, expelled them for ever from the kingdom.

_Application_

My beloved, that wise and rich king is the King of kings, and Lord

of lords, who joined himself to our flesh, as to a beloved wife. But

going after other gods, it forgot the love due to him in return, and

brought forth by an illicit connection, three sons, viz., Pagans,

Jews, and Heretics. The first wounded the right hand--that is, the

doctrine of Christ by persecutions. The second, the mouth--when they

gave Christ vinegar and gall to drink; and the third, wounded, and

continue to wound the _heart_,--while they strive, by every

sophistical objection, to deceive the faithful. The fourth son is any

good Christian.

_OF THE INCARNATION OF OUR LORD_

A certain king was remarkable for three qualities. Firstly, he

was braver than all men; secondly, he was wiser; and lastly, more

beautiful. He lived a long time unmarried; and his counsellors would

persuade him to take a wife. “My friends,” said he, “it is clear to

you that I am rich and powerful enough; and therefore want not wealth.

Go, then, through town and country, and seek me out a beautiful and

wise virgin; and if ye can find such a one, however poor she may be,

I will marry her.” The command was obeyed; they proceeded on their

search, until at last they discovered a lady of royal extraction with

the qualifications desired. But the king was not so easily satisfied,

and determined to put her wisdom to the test. He sent to the lady by

a herald a piece of linen cloth, three inches square; and bade her

contrive to make for him a shirt exactly fitted to his body. “Then,”

added he, “she shall be my wife.” The messenger, thus commissioned,

departed on his errand, and respectfully presented the cloth, with the

request of the king. “How can I comply with it,” exclaimed the lady,

“when the cloth is but three inches square? It is impossible to make a

shirt of that; but bring me a vessel in which I may work, and I promise

to make the shirt long enough for the body.” The messenger returned

with the reply of the virgin, and the king immediately sent a sumptuous

vessel, by means of which she extended the cloth to the required size,

and completed the shirt. Whereupon the wise king married her.

_Application_

My beloved, the king is God; the virgin, the mother of Christ; who

was also the chosen vessel. By the messenger, is meant Gabriel. The

cloth, is the Grace of God, which, by proper care and labour, is made

sufficient for man’s salvation.

_OF THE DECEITS OF THE DEVIL_

There were once three friends, who agreed to make a pilgrimage

together. It happened that their provisions fell short, and having

but one loaf between them, they were nearly famished. “Should this

loaf,” they said to each other, “be divided amongst us, there will

not be enough for any one. Let us then take counsel together, and

consider how the bread is to be disposed of.” “Suppose we sleep upon

the way,” replied one of them; “and whosoever hath the most wonderful

dream, shall possess the loaf.” The other two acquiesced, and settled

themselves to sleep. But he who gave the advice, arose while they

were sleeping, and eat up the bread, not leaving a single crumb for

his companions. When he had finished he awoke them. “Get up quickly,”

said he, “and tell us your dreams.” “My friends,” answered the first,

“I have had a very marvellous vision. A golden ladder reached up to

heaven, by which angels ascended and descended. They took my soul from

my body, and conveyed it to that blessed place where I beheld the Holy

Trinity; and where I experienced such an overflow of joy, as eye hath

not seen, nor ear heard. This is my dream.” “And I,” said the second,

“beheld the devils with iron instruments, by which they dragged my

soul from the body, and plunging it into hell flames, most grievously

tormented me; saying, ‘As long as God reigns in heaven this will be

your portion.’” “Now then,” said the third, who had eaten the bread,

“hear my dream. It appeared as if an angel came and addressed me in

the following manner, ‘My friend, would you see what is become of your

companions?’ I answered, ‘Yes, Lord. We have but one loaf between us,

and I fear that they have run off with it.’ ‘You are mistaken,’ he

rejoined, ‘it lies beside us: follow me.’ He immediately led me to the

gate of heaven, and by his command I put in my head and saw you; and I

thought that you were snatched up into heaven and sat upon a throne of

gold, while rich wines and delicate meats stood around you. Then said

the angel, ‘Your companion, you see, has an abundance of good things,

and dwells in all pleasures. There he will remain for ever; for he has

entered a celestial kingdom and cannot return. Come now where your

other associate is placed.’ I followed, and he led me to hell-gates,

where I beheld you in torment, as you just now said. Yet they furnished

you, even there, with bread and wine in abundance. I expressed my

sorrow at seeing you in misery, and you replied, ‘As long as God reigns

in heaven here I must remain, for I have merited it. Do you then rise

up quickly, and eat all the bread, since you will see neither me nor

my companion again.’ I complied with your wishes; arose, and eat the

bread.”

_Application_

My beloved, the Saracens and Jews; the rich and powerful; and finally,

the perfect among men, are typified by the three companions. The bread,

represents the kingdom of heaven.

_OF VIGILANCE IN OUR CALLING_

A thief went one night to the house of a rich man, and scaling the

roof, peeped through a hole to examine if any part of the family were

yet stirring. The master of the house, suspecting something, said

secretly to his wife, “Ask me in a loud voice how I acquired the

property I possess; and do not desist until I bid you.” The woman

complied, and began to vociferate, “My dear husband, pray tell me,

since you never were a merchant, how you obtained all the wealth which

you have now collected.” “My love,” answered her husband, “do not ask

such foolish questions.” But she persisted in her enquiries; and at

length, as if overcome by her urgency, he said, “Keep what I am going

to tell you a secret, and your curiosity shall be gratified.”

“Oh, trust me.”

“Well, then, you must know that I was a thief, and obtained what I now

enjoy by nightly depredations.” “It is strange,” said the wife, “that

you were never taken.” “Why,” replied he, “my master, who was a skilful

clerk, taught me a particular word, which, when I ascended the tops of

people’s houses, I pronounced, and thus escaped detection.” “Tell me, I

conjure you,” returned the lady, “what that powerful word was.” “Hear,

then; but never mention it again, or we shall lose all our property.”

“Be sure of that;” said the lady, “it shall never be repeated.”

“It was--is there no one within hearing?--the mighty word was

‘FALSE.’”

The lady, apparently quite satisfied, fell asleep; and her husband

feigned it. He snored lustily, and the thief above, who had heard

their conversation with much pleasure, aided by the light of the moon,

descended, repeating seven times the cabalistic sound. But being too

much occupied with the charm to mind his footing, he stepped through

the window into the house; and in the fall dislocated his leg and arm,

and lay half dead upon the floor. The owner of the mansion, hearing

the noise, and well knowing the reason, though he pretended ignorance,

asked, “What was the matter?” “Oh!” groaned the suffering thief,

“_False_ words have deceived me.” In the morning he was taken

before the judge, and afterwards suspended on a cross.

_Application_

My beloved, the thief is the devil; the house is the human heart. The

man is a good prelate, and his wife is the church.

To sum up, then, it would appear that the humorous muse in the Middle

Ages concerned herself chiefly with scattering and disseminating moral

lessons, which, because of the superiority of the teachers to the

taught, showed up an ignorance that was laughable.

The fables and maxims that had been passed from mouth to mouth were put

into writing and translated into various tongues.

The Sanscrit or Hindoo stories were undoubtedly the oldest and from

them were taken the Arabic and Persian tales. These drifted into Europe

and took a proper place among the literatures of the world.

Coleridge says that humor took its rise in the Middle Ages, while a

present day writer contradictingly asserts that nobody smiled from the

second century until the fifteenth.

It is true, that as the advent of Christianity put a full stop to all

progress in the arts and sciences so it impeded the advance of learning

and delayed the development of humor.

And yet, though men may not have smiled during the dark ages, they now

and then laughed, at a humor that was far from subtle, but which was

the foundation of the world’s merriment.

The monks and ecclesiastics who formulated the moral precepts for the

people found that the lessons were better conveyed by funny stories

than by serious ones, and the preachers came to use the hammer of

amusement to drive home their good advices.

MODERN HUMOR

With the readiness of the essayists to ascribe literary paternity,

Chaucer is called the Father of English Poetry.

Coleridge observes that he is the best representative in English of the

Norman-French Trouvères, but even more than by the French, Chaucer was

influenced by the great Italians, Dante, Petrarch and Boccaccio, as

well as by Ovid and Virgil.

Father of Modern Poetry more correctly describes Chaucer, and as he was

the first notable English poet who was a layman, so also, was he the

first connected with the court.

Though his time, the Fourteenth Century, is practically in the Middle

Ages, Chaucer is distinctly modern in viewpoint and philosophy.

Born in London, he lived his life in the company of the men and women

of the circles he knew and loved. Mankind was his study and his theme.

The average reader is hampered by the difficulties of the early English

diction, and the modern mind is shocked by the freedom of speech then

in vogue.

But we append such bits of Chaucer’s verse as space allows.

* * * * *

The story of the Cock and the Fox, in the Nun’s Priest’s Tale, is

allowed by judges to be the most admirable fable (in the narration)

that ever was written. The description of the birds, the delightful

gravity with which they are invested with intellectual endowments, are

conceived in the highest taste of true poetry and natural humour.

_THE COCK AND THE FOX_

Now every wise man, let him hearken me:

This story is all so true, I undertake,

As is the book of Lancelot du Lake,

That women hold in full great reverence.

Now will I turn again to my sentence.

A col fox, full of sly iniquity,

That in the grove had wonned yearés three,

By high imagination forecast.

The samé night throughout the hedges brast

Into the yard where Chanticleer the fair

Was wont, and eke his wivés to repair,

And in a bed of wortés still he lay

Till it was passed undern of the day,

Waiting his time on Chanticleer to fall,

As gladly do these homicidés all

That in await liggen to murder men.

O falsé murderer! rucking in thy den,

O newé Scariot, newé Ganelon!

O false dissimuler, O Greek Simon!

That broughtest Troy all utterly to sorrow.

O Chanticleer, accursed be the morrow

That thou into thy yard flew from thy beams

Thou were full well ywarnéd by thy dreams

That thilké day was perilous to thee:

But what that God forewot must needés be,

After the opinion of certain clerkés,

Witness on him that any perfect clerk is,

That in schoolé is great altercation

In this matteré, and great disputision,

And hath been of a hundred thousand men:

But I ne cannot boult it to the bren,

As can the holy Doctor Augustin,

Or Boece, or the Bishop Bradwardin,

Whether that Godde’s worthy foreweeting

Straineth me needly for to do a thing

(Needely clepe I simple necessity)

Or elles if free choice be granted me

To do the samé thing or do it naught

Though God forewot it ere that it was wrought,

Or if his weeting straineth never a deal

But by necessity conditional.

I will not have to do of such mattere;

My Tale is of a Cock, as ye may hear,

That took his counsel of his wife with sorrow,

To walken in the yard upon the morrow

That he had met the dream, as I you told.

Womenne’s counsels be full often cold;

Womenne’s counsels brought us first to woe,

And made Adam from Paradise to go,

There as he was full merry and well at ease:

But for I n’ot to whom I might displease

If I counsel of women wouldé blame--

Pass over, for I said it in my game.

Read authors where they treat of such mattere,

And what they say of women ye may hear,

These be the cocke’s wordés and not mine:

I can none harm of no womán devine.

Fair in the sand to bathe her merrily

Li’th Partelote, and all her sisters by,

Against the sun, and Chanticleer so free

Sang merrier than the mermaid in the sea,

(For Phisiologus sayeth sikerly

How that they singeth well and merrily).

And so befell that as he cast his eye

Among the wortés on a butterfly,

He was ware of this fox that lay full low,

Nothing he list him thenné for to crow,

But cried anon, “Cok! cok!” and up he start

As man that was affrayed in his heart,

For naturally a beast desireth flee

From his contráry if he may it see,

Though he ne’er erst had seen it with his eye.

This Chanticleer, when he ’gan him espy,

He would have fled, but that the fox anon

Said: “Gentle sir, alas! what will be done?

Be ye afraid of me that am your friend?

Now, certes, I were worse than any fiend

If I to you would harm or villany.

I am not come your counsel to espy;

But truély the cause of my coming

Was only for to hearken how ye sing,

For truély ye have as merry a steven

As any angel hath that is in heaven;

Therwith ye have of music more feeling

Than had Boece, or any that can sing.

My Lord, your father (God his soulé bless!)

And eke your mother of her gentleness,

Have in my house ybeen to my great ease,

And certés, Sir, full fain would I you please.

But for men speak of singing, I will say,

(So may I brouken well my eyen tway,)

Save you, ne heard I never man so sing

As did your father in the morrowning:

Certés it was of heart all that he sung:

And for to make his voice the moré strong

He would so pain him, that with both his eyen

He musté wink, so loud he wouldé crien,

And standen on his tiptoes therewithal,

And stretchen forth his necké long and small.

And eke he was of such discretion,

That there n’as no man in no región

That him in song or wisdom mighté pass.

I have well read in Dan Burnel the ass

Among his Vers, how that there was a cock,

That for a Priestés son gave him a knock

Upon his leg when he was young and nice

He made him for to lose his benefice;

But certain there is no comparison

Betwixt the wisdom and discretion

Of youré father and his subtilty.

Now singeth, Sir, for Sainté Charity:

Let see, can ye your father counterfeit?

This Chanticleer his wingés ’gan to beat,

As man that could not his treason espy,

So was he ravished with his flattery.

Alas! ye lordés, many a false flatour

Is in your court, and many a losengeour,

That pleaseth you well moré, by my faith,

Than he that sothfastness unto you saith.

Readeth Ecclesiast of flattery:

Beware ye lordés of their treachery.

This Chanticleer stood high upon his toes

Stretching his neck, and held his eyen close,

And ’gan to crowen loude for the nones;

And Dan Russell the fox start up at once,

And by the gargat henté Chanticleer

And on his back toward the wood him bear,

For yet ne was there no man that him sued.

O destiny! that mayst not be eschew’d,

Alas that Chanticleer flew from the beams,

Alas his wife ne raughté not of dreams!

And on a Friday fell all this mischance.

_TO MY EMPTY PURSE_

To you, my purse, and to none other wight,

Complain I, for ye be my lady dear;

I am sorry now that ye be so light,

For certés ye now make me heavy cheer;

Me were as lief be laid upon a bier,

For which unto your mercy thus I cry,

Be heavy again, or ellés must I die.

Now vouchsafen this day, ere it be night,

That I of you the blissful sound may hear,

Or see your colour like the sunné bright,

That of yellowness ne had never peer;

Ye be my life, ye be my heartés steer;

Queen of comfórt and of good company,

Be heavy again, or ellés must I die.

Now, purse, that art to me my livés light,

And saviour, as down in this world here,

Out of this towné help me by your might,

Sithen that you will not be my tresór,

For I am shave as nigh as any frere,

But I prayen unto your courtesy,

Be heavy again, or ellés must I die.

_BALLAD OF WOMEN’S DOUBLENESS_

This world is full of variance

In everything; who taketh heed,

That faith and trust, and all Constance,

Exiléd be, this is no drede,

And save only in womanhead,

I can ysee no sikerness;

But, for all that, yet as I read,

Beware alway of doubleness.

Also that the fresh summer flowers,

The white and red, the blue and green,

Be suddenly with winter showers,

Made faint and fade, withouten ween;

That trust is none, as ye may seen,

In no thing, nor no steadfastness,

Except in women, thus I mean;

Yet aye beware of doubleness.

The crooked moon (this is no tale),

Some while isheen and bright of hue,

And after that full dark and pale,

And every moneth changeth new,

That who the very sothé knew

All thing is built on brittleness,

Save that women always be true;

Yet aye beware of doubleness.

The lusty freshé summer’s day,

And Phœbus with his beamés clear,

Towardés night they draw away,

And no longer list t’ appear,

That in this present life now here

Nothing abideth in his fairness,

Save women aye be found entere,

And devoid of all doubleness.

The sea eke with his sterné wawés

Each day yfloweth new again,

And by the concourse of his lawés

The ebbe floweth in certain;

After great drought there cometh rain;

That farewell here all stableness,

Save that women be whole and plein;

Yet aye beware of doubleness.

Fortunés wheel go’th round about

A thousand timés day and night,

Whose course standeth ever in doubt

For to transmue she is so light,

For which adverteth in your sight

Th’ untrust of worldly fickleness,

Save women, which of kindly right

Ne hath no touch of doubleness.

What man ymay the wind restrain,

Or holden a snake by the tail?

Who may a slipper eel constrain

That it will void withouten fail?

Or who can driven so a nail

To maké sure newfangleness,

Save women, that can gie their sail

To row their boat with doubleness?

At every haven they can arrive

Whereat they wot is good passáge;

Of innocence they cannot strive

With wawés, nor no rockés rage;

So happy is their lodemanage

With needle and stone their course to dress,

That Solomon was not so sage

To find in them no doubleness.

Therefore whoso doth them accuse

Of any double intentión,

To speaké rown, other to muse,

To pinch at their conditión,

All is but false collusión,

I dare right well the soth express;

They have no better protectión,

But shroud them under doubleness.

So well fortunéd is their chance,

The dice to-turnen up so down,

With sice and cinque they can advance,

And then by revolutión

They set a fell conclusión

Of lombés, as in sothfastness,

Though clerkés maken mentión

Their kind is fret with doubleness.

Sampson yhad experience

That women were full true yfound

When Dalila of innocence

With shearés ’gan his hair to round;

To speak also of Rosamond,

And Cleopatra’s faithfulness,

The stories plainly will confound

Men that apeach their doubleness.

Single thing is not ypraiséd,

Nor of old is of no renown,

In balance when they be ypesed,

For lack of weight they be borne down,

And for this cause of just reason

These women all of rightwisness

Of choice and free electión

Most love exchange and doubleness.

_L’ENVOI_

O ye women! which be inclinéd

By influence of your natúre

To be as pure as gold yfinéd,

And in your truth for to endure,

Armeth yourself in strong armúre,

(Lest men assail your sikerness,)

Set on your breast, yourself t’assure,

A mighty shield of doubleness.

Chaucer was called the Morning Star of Song, and his immediate

followers proved to be satellites of far less magnitude.

John Skelton, an early Poet Laureate, was of a buffoon type of humor,

yet thus speaks of his own verse.

Though my rhyme be ragged,

Tattered and gagged,

Rudely rainbeaten,

Rusty, moth-eaten,

If ye take well therewith,

It hath in it some pith.

One, at least, of his whimsical poems is not without charm.

_TO MAISTRES MARGARET HUSSEY_

Mirry Margaret

As midsomer flowre,

Gentyll as faucon

Or hauke of the towre,

With solace and gladnes

Moch mirth, and no madnes,

All good and no badnes,

So joyously

So maydenly

So womanly

Her demeynynge

In every thynge

Far, far passynge

That I can endite

Or suffice to write

Of mirry Margaret

As mydsomer flowre

Gentill as faucon

Or hawke of the towre.

As pacient and as styll

And as ful of good wil

As faire Isiphyll

Coliander

Sweete pomaunder

Good Cassander;

Stedfast of thought

Wel made, wel wroght,

Far may be sought

Erst that ye can fynde

So curteise so kynde

As mirry Margaret

This midsomer flowre,

Gentyll as faucon

Or hauke of the towre.

The Troubadours and Minstrels were followed by a type of entertainer

known as the Fool or the Court Fool, who took the place of the satirist

in the great households.

Soon various jests were collected, and attributed to these domestic

fools, whose garb began to take the form of the cap and bells,

accompanied by the jester’s bauble.

As printing became more widespread, the jestbooks multiplied, and many

collections were published in England.

Skelton seems to have been quite as much Court Jester as Poet Laureate

under Henry VII and Henry VIII, and a volume of _Merie Tayles of

Skelton_ is one of the earliest of the Jest Books.

Yet, since this was published some forty years after Skelton’s death

it is assumed that but few of the tales are really of the poet’s

origination.

Likewise, Scogin’s Jests and the stories attributed to Tarlton and

Peele are considered unauthentic as to authorship and merely the work

of the hack writers of the period.

These Jestbooks as well as the _C. Mery Talys_, or _Hundred

Merry Tales_, which, with its companion volume, _Mery Tales and

Quicke Answeres_, was, we are told, used by Shakespeare, are now

found in many reprints, and only a few bits of their witty or humorous

lore may be given here.

As an example of the sharp satire of Skelton, the following shows how

he regarded the prevalent practice of obtaining letters patent of

monopoly from the crown, and also is a hit at the fondness for drinking

among the Welsh.

_HOW THE WELSHMAN DYD DESYRE SKELTON TO AYDE HIM IN HYS SUTE TO THE

KYNGE FOR A PATENT TO SELL DRYNKE_

Skelton, when he was in London went to the kynge’s courte, where there

dyd come to him a Welshman saying, “Syr, it is so that many dooth come

upp of my country to the kynge’s court, and some doth get of the kynge

by a patent a castell, and some a parke, and some a forest, and some

one fee and some another, and they doe lyve lyke honest men, and I

should lyve as honestly as the best, if I might have a patent for good

drynke, wherefore I dooe praye you to write a fewe woords for me in a

lytle byll to geve the same to the kynge’s handes, and I will geve you

well for your laboure. I am contented sayde Skelton. Syte downe, then,

sayd the Welshman and write. What shall I wryte? sayde Skelton. The

Welshman said wryte “_dryncke_.” Nowe sayde the Welshman wryte

“_more dryncke_.” What nowe? said Skelton. Wryte now “_A great

deale of dryncke_.” Nowe sayd the Welshman putte to all thys dryncke

“_A littell crome of breade_, and _a great déale of dryncke to

it_,” and reade once again. Skelton dyd reade “_Dryncke, more

dryncke, and a great deale of dryncke and a lytle crome of breade and a

great deale of dryncke to it_.” Then the Welshman sayde Put oute the

litle crome of breade, and sette in _all dryncke and no breade_.

And if I myght have thys sygned of the kynge, sayde the Welshman, I

care for no more as long as I lyve. Well, then, sayde Skelton, when you

have thys sygned of the kynge then will I labour for a patent to have

bread, that you wyth your dryncke and I with the bread may fare well,

and seeke our livinge with bagge and staffe.

HERE BEGYNNETH CERTAYNE MERYE TALES OF SKELTON, POET LAURIAT

_HOW SKELTON CAME LATE HOME TO OXFORD FROM ABINGTON_

Skelton was an Englysheman borne as Skogyn was, and hee was educated

& broughte up in Oxfoorde: and there was he made a poete lauriat. And

on a tyme he had ben at Abbington to make mery, wher that he had eate

salte meates, and hee did com late home to Oxforde, and he did lye in

an ine named y^e Tabere whyche is now the Angell, and hee dyd drynke,

& went to bed. About midnight he was so thyrstie or drye that hee was

constrained to call to the tapster for drynke, & the tapster harde

him not. Then hee cryed to hys oste & hys ostes, and to the ostler,

for drinke; and no man wold here hym. Alacke, sayd Skelton, I shall

peryshe for lacke of drynke! what reamedye? At the last he dyd crie

out and sayd: Fyer, fyer, fyer! when Skelton hard euery man bustle

hymselfe upward, & some of them were naked, & some were halfe asleepe

and amased, and Skelton dyd crye: Fier, fier! styll, that everye man

knewe not whether to resorte. Skelton did go to bed, and the oste and

ostis, & the tapster with the ostler, dyd runne to Skeltons chamber

with candles lyghted in theyr handes, saying: where, where, where is

the fyer? Here, here, here, said Skelton, & poynted hys fynger to hys

moouth, saying: fetch me some drynke to quenche the fyer and the heate

and the drinesse in my mouthe: & so they dyd. Wherfore it is good for

everye man to helpe hys owne selfe in tyme of neede wythe some policie

or crafte, so bee it there bee no deceit nor falshed used.

THE JESTS OF SCOGIN

_HOW JACKE BY SOPHISTRY WOULD MAKE OF TWO EGGS THREE_

Scogin on a tyme had two egs to his breakfast, and Jack his scholler

should rost them; and as they were rosting, Scogin went to the fire

to warme him. And as the egs were rosting, Jacke said: sir, I can by

sophistry prove that here be three egs. Let me se that, said Scogin.

I shall tel you, sir, said Jack. Is not here one? Yes, said Scogin.

And is not here two? Yes, said Scogin; of that I am sure. Then Jack

did tell the first egge againe, saying: is not this the third? O, said

Scogin, Jack, thou art a good sophister; wel, said Scogin, these two

eggs shall serve me for my breakfast, and take thou the third for thy

labour and for the herring that thou didst give mee the last day. So

one good turne doth aske another, and to deceive him that goeth about

to deceive is no deceit.

* * * * *

This is a very common story. It is, in a slightly varied form, No. 67

of _A C Mery Tales_, and Johnson has introduced it into _The

Pleasant Conceits of Old Hobson, the Merry Londoner_, 1607.

_HOW SCOGIN SOLD POWDER TO KILL FLEAS_

Scogin divers times did lacke money, and could not tell what shift

to make. At last, he thought to play the physician, and did fill a

box full of the powder of a rotten post; and on a Sunday he went to

a Parish Church, and told the wives that hee had a powder to kil up

all the fleas in the country, and every wife bought a pennyworth; and

Scogin went his way, ere Masse was done. The wives went home, and

cast the powder into their beds and in their chambers, and the fleas

continued still. On a time, Scogin came to the same Church on a

sunday, and when the wives had espied him, the one said to the other:

this is he that deceived us with the powder to kill fleas; see, said

the one to the other, this is the selfe-same person. When Masse was

done, the wives gathered about Scogin, and said: you be an honest man

to deceive us with the powder to kill fleas. Why, said Scogin, are not

your fleas all dead? We have more now (said they) than ever we had. I

marvell of that, said Scogin, I am sure you did not use the medicine as

you should have done. They said: wee did cast it in our beds and in our

chambers. I, said he, there be a sort of fooles that will buy a thing,

and will not aske what they should doe with it. I tell you all, that

you should have taken every flea by the neck, and then they would gape;

and then you should have cast a little of the powder into every flea’s

mouth, and so you should have killed them all. Then said the wives: we

have not onely lost our money, but we are mocked for our labour.

FROM MERY TALES OF THE MAD MEN OF GOTTAM

_THE SECOND TALE_

There was a man of Gottam did ride to the market with two bushells of

wheate, and because his horse should not beare heavy, he caried his

corne upon his owne necke, & did ride upon his horse, because his horse

should not cary to heavy a burthen. Judge you which was the wisest, his

horse or himselfe.

_THE THIRD TALE_

On a tyme, the men of Gottam would have pinned in the Cuckoo, whereby

shee should sing all the yeere, and in the midst of ye town they made

a hedge round in compasse, and they had got a Cuckoo, and had put

her into it, and said: Sing here all the yeere, and thou shalt lacke

neither meate nor drinke. The Cuckoo, as soone as she perceived her

selfe incompassed within the hedge, flew away. A vengeance on her! said

they; we made not our hedge high enough.

FROM MOTHER BUNCHES MERRIMENTS

_HOW MADDE COOMES, WHEN HIS WIFE WAS DROWNED, SOUGHT HER AGAINST THE

STREAME_

Coomes of Stapforth, hearing that his wife was drowned comming from

market, went with certayne of his friends to see if they could find her

in the river. He, contrary to all the rest, sought his wife against

the streame; which they perceyving, sayd he lookt the wrong way. And

why so? (quoth he.) Because (quoth they) you should looke downe the

streame, and not against it. Nay, zounds (quoth hee), I shall never

find her that way: for shee did all things so contrary in her life

time, that now she is dead, I am sure she will goe against the streame.

THE PLEASANT CONCEITS OF OLD HOBSON

_HOW MAISTER HOBSON SAID HE WAS NOT AT HOME_

On a time Master Hobson upon some ocation came to Master Fleetewoods

house to speake with him, being then new chosen the recorder of London,

and asked one of his men if he were within, and he said he was not at

home. But Maister Hobson, perceving that his maister bad him say so,

and that he was within (not being willing at that time to be spoken

withall), for that time desembling the matter, he went his way. Within

a few dayes after, it was Maister Fleetwoods chaunse to come to Maister

Hobson’s, and knocking at the dore, asked if he were within. Maister

Hobson, hearing and knowing how he was denyed Maister Fleetwoods speach

before time, spake himselfe aloud, and said hee was not at home. Then

sayd Maister Fleetwood: what, Master Hobson, thinke you that I knowe

not your voyce? Whereunto Maister Hobson answered and said: now,

Maister Fleetewood, am I quit with you: for when I came to speake with

you, I beleeved your man that said you were not at home, and now you

will not beleeve mine owne selfe; and this was the mery conference

betwixt these two merry gentlemen.

_FROM CERTAINE CONCEYTS & JEASTS; AS WELL TO LAUGH DOWNE OUR

HARDER UNDIGESTED MORSELLS, AS BREAKE UP WITH MYRTH OUR BOOKE

AND BANQUET. COLLECTED OUT OF SCOTUS POGGIUS, AND OTHERS_

A certayne Poore-man met king Phillip, & besought him for something,

because he was his kinsman. The king demanded frō whence descended.

Who answered: from Adam. Then the K. commaunded an Almes to be given.

Hee replyed, an Almes was not the gift of a king; to whome the king

answered: if I should so reward all my kindred in that kinde, I should

leave but little for myselfe.

* * * * *

A certaine conceyted Traveller being at a Banquet, where chanced a

flye to fall into his cuppe, which hee (being to drinke) tooke out for

himselfe, and afterwards put in againe for his fellow: being demanded

his reason, answered, that for his owne part he affected them not, but

it might be some other did.

* * * * *

A certaine player, seeing Thieves in his house in the night, thus

laughingly sayde: I knowe not what you will finde here in the dark,

when I can find nothing my selfe in the light.

_WIT AND MIRTH. CHARGEABLY COLLECTED OUT OF TAVERNS,

ORDINARIES, INNES, BOWLING-GREENES AND ALLYES, ALEHOUSES,

TOBACCO-SHOPS, HIGHWAYES, AND WATER-PASSAGES. MADE UP, AND

FASHIONED INTO CLINCHES, BULLS, QUIRKES, YERKES, QUIPS, AND

JERKES. APOTHEGMATICALLY BUNDLED UP AND GARBLED AT THE REQUEST

OF JOHN GARRET’S GHOST_

Taylor the Water-Poet was one of the favourite authors of Robert

Southey, who has given an account of his life and writings in

his _Uneducated Poets_, and has quoted him largely in his

_Common-Place Book_.

John Garret, at the request of whose ghost the Water-Poet professes

to have formed the present collection, was a jester of the period,

mentioned by Bishop Corbet and others. Heylin, author of the

Cosmography, speaks of “Archy’s bobs, and Garrets sawcy jests.” In his

dedication of the _Wit and Mirth_, Taylor alludes to Garret as

“that old honest mirrour of mirth deceased.”

Taylor, to forestall possible cavils at his plagiarisms from others, or

adoption of good sayings already published and well-known, expressly

says in the dedication: “Because I had many of them [the jests] by

relation and heare-say, I am in doubt that some of them may be in print

in some other Authors, which I doe assure you is more than I doe know.”

* * * * *

One said, that hee could never have his health in _Cambridge_,

and that if hee had lived there till this time, hee thought in his

conscience that hee had dyed seven yeeres agoe.

A Judge upon the Bench did aske an old man how old he was. My Lord,

said he, I am eight and fourscore. And why not fourscore and eight?

said the Judge. The other repli’d: because I was eight, before I was

fourescore.

* * * * *

A rich man told his nephew that hee had read a booke called _Lucius

Apuleius of the Golden Asse_, and that he found there how Apuleius,

after he had beene an asse many yeeres, by eating of Roses he did

recover his manly shape againe, and was no more an asse: the young man

replied to his uncle: Sir, if I were worthy to advise you, I would give

you counsell to eate a salled of Roses once a weeke yourselfe.

* * * * *

A country man being demanded how such a River was called, that ranne

through their Country, hee answered that they never had need to call

the River, for it alwayes came without calling.

* * * * *

One borrowed a cloake of a Gentleman, and met one that knew him, who

said: I thinke I know that cloake. It may be so, said the other, I

borrowed it of such a Gentleman. The other told him that it was too

short. Yea, but, quoth he that had the cloake, I will have it long

enough, before I bring it home againe.

_OF THE WOMAN THAT FOLLOWED HER FOURTH HUSBANDS BERE AND WEPT_

A woman there was which had had iiii husbandys. It fourtuned also that

this fourth husbande dyed and was brought to chyrche upon the bere;

whom this woman folowed and made great mone, and waxed very sory,

in so moche that her neyghbours thought she wolde swown and dye for

sorow. Wherfore one of her gosseps cam to her, and spake to her in

her ere, and bad her, for Godds sake, comfort her self and refrayne

that lamentacion, or ellys it wold hurt her and peraventure put her in

jeopardy of her life. To whom this woman answeryd and sayd: I wys, good

gosyp, I have grete cause to morne, if ye knew all. For I have beryed

iii husbandes besyde this man; but I was never in the case that I am

now. For there was not one of them but when that I folowed the corse to

chyrch, yet I was sure of an nother husband, before the corse cam out

of my house, and now I am sure of no nother husband; and therfore ye

may be sure I have great cause to be sad and hevy.

By thys tale ye may se that the olde proverbe ys trew, that it is as

great pyte to se a woman wepe as a gose to go barefote.

A C. MERY TALYS

_OF THE MERCHAUNTE OF LONDON THAT DYD PUT NOBLES IN HIS MOUTHE IN HYS

DETHE BEDDE_

A ryche covetous marchant there was that dwellid in London, which

ever gaderyd mony and could never fynd in hys hert to spend ought

_upon_ hym selfe nor upon no man els. Whiche fell sore syke, and

as he laye on hys deth bed had his purs lyenge at his beddys hede, and

[he] had suche a love to his money that he put his hande in his purs,

and toke out thereof x or xii li. in nobles and put them in his mouth.

And because his wyfe and other perceyved hym very syke and lyke to dye,

they exortyd hym to be confessyd, and brought the curate unto hym.

Which when they had caused him to say Benedicite, the curate bad hym

crye God mercy and shewe to hym his synnes. Than this seyck man began

to sey: I crey God mercy I have offendyd in the vii dedly synnes and

broken the x commaundementes; but because of the gold in his mouth he

muffled so in his speche, that the curate could not well understande

hym: wherfore the curat askyd hym, what he had in his mouthe that

letted his spech. I wys, mayster parsone, quod the syke man,

muffelynge, I have nothyng in my mouthe but a lyttle money; bycause I

wot not whither I shal go, I thought I wold take some spendynge money

with me: for I wot not what nede I shall have therof; and incontynent

after that sayeng dyed, before he was confessyd or repentant that any

man coulde perceyve, and so by lyklyhod went to the devyll.

By this tale ye may se, that they that all theyr lyves wyll never do

charyte to theyr neghbours, that God in tyme of theyr dethe wyll not

suffre them to have grace of repentaunce.

_OF THE SCOLER OF OXFORDE THAT PROVED BY SOVESTRY II CHYKENS III_

A ryche Frankelyn in the contrey havynge by his wyfe but one chylde and

no mo, for the great affeccyon that he had to his sayd chylde founde

hym at Oxforde to schole by the space of ii or iii yere. Thys yonge

scoler, in a vacacyon tyme, for his disporte came home to his father.

It fortuned afterwarde on a nyght, the father, the mother and the sayd

yonge scoler

_5 lines wanting._

_I_ have studyed sovestry, and by that scyence I can prove, that

these ii chekyns in the dysshe be thre chekyns. Mary, sayde the father,

that wolde I fayne se. The scoller toke one of the chekyns in his hande

and said: lo! here is one chekyn, and incontynente he toke bothe the

chekyns in his hande jointely and sayd: here is ii chekyns; and one and

ii maketh iii: ergo here is iii chekyns. Than the father toke one of

the chekyns to him selfe, and gave another to his wyfe, and sayd thus:

lo! I wyll have one of the chekyns to my parte, and thy mother shal

have a nother, and because of thy good argumente thou shalte have the

thyrde to thy supper: for thou gettyst no more meate here at this tyme;

whyche promyse the father kepte, and so the scoller wente without his

supper.

By this tale men may se, that it is great foly to put one to scole to

lerne any subtyll scyence, whiche hathe no naturall wytte.

_OF THE COURTEAR THAT ETE THE HOT CUSTARDE_

A certayne merchaunt and a courtear, _being upon a time together_

at dyner having a hote custerd, _the courtear being_ somwhat

homely of maner toke _parte of it and put it_ in hys mouth, whych

was so hote that made him _shed teares._ The merchaunt, lookyng

on him, thought that he had _ben weeping, and asked hym why_ he

wept. This curtear, not wyllynge it to be _known that he had brent

his_ mouth with the hote custerd, answered and said, sir: _quod

he, I had_ a brother whych dyd a certayn offence wherfore he was

hanged; _and, chauncing_ to think now uppon his deth, it maketh

me to wepe. This merchaunt thought the courtear had said trew, and

anon after the merchaunt was disposid to ete _of the custerd_,

and put a sponefull of it in his mouth, and brent his mouth also, that

his _eyes watered_. This courtear, that percevyng, spake to the

merchaunt and seyd: sir, quod _he, pray_ why do ye wepe now? The

merchaunt perseyved how he had _bene deceived_ and said: mary,

quod he, I wepe, because thou wast not hangid, _when that_ they

brother was hangyd.

_OF HYM THAT SOUGHT HIS WYFE AGAYNST THE STREME_

A man there was whose wyfe, as she came over a bridg, fell in to the

ryver and was drowned; wherfore he wente and sought for her upward

against the stream, wherat his neighboures, that wente with hym,

marvayled, and sayde he dyd nought, he shulde go seke her downeward

with the streme. Naye, quod he, I am sure I shall never fynde her that

waye: for she was so waywarde and so contrary to every thynge, while

she lyvedde, that I knowe very well nowe she is deed, she wyll go a

gaynste the stream.

_OF THE FOOLE THAT THOUGHT HYM SELFE DEED_

There was a felowe dwellynge at Florence, called Nigniaca, whiche was

nat verye wyse, nor all a foole, but merye and jocunde. A sorte of

yonge men, for to laughe and pastyme, appoynted to gether to make hym

beleve that he was sycke. So, whan they were agreed howe they wolde do,

one of them mette hym in the mornynge, as he came out of his house, and

bad him good morowe, and than asked him, if he were nat yl at ease? No,

quod the foole, I ayle nothynge, I thanke God. By my faith, ye have a

sickely pale colour, quod the other, and wente his waye.

Anone after, an other of them mette hym, and asked hym if he had nat an

ague: for your face and colour (quod he) sheweth that ye be very sycke.

Than the foole beganne a lyttel to doubt, whether he were sycke or no:

for he halfe beleved that they sayd trouth. Whan he had gone a lytel

farther, the thyrde man mette hym, and sayde: Jesu! manne, what do you

out of your bed? ye loke as ye wolde nat lyve an houre to an ende. Nowe

he doubted greatly, and thought verily in his mynde, that he had hadde

some sharpe ague; wherfore he stode styll and wolde go no further; and,

as he stode, the fourth man came and sayde: Jesu! man, what dost thou

here, and arte so sycke? Gette the home to thy bedde: for I parceyve

thou canste nat lyve an houre to an ende. Than the foles harte beganne

to feynte, and [he] prayde this laste man that came to hym to helpe

hym home. Yes, quod he, I wyll do as moche for the as for myn owne

brother. So home he brought hym, and layde hym in his bed, and than he

fared with hym selfe, as thoughe he wolde gyve up the gooste. Forth

with came the other felowes, and saide he hadde well done to lay hym in

his bedde. Anone after, came one whiche toke on hym to be a phisitian;

whiche, touchynge the pulse, sayde the malady was so vehement, that he

coulde nat lyve an houre. So they, standynge aboute the bedde, sayde

one to an other: nowe he gothe his waye: for his speche and syght fayle

him; by and by he wyll yelde up the goste. Therfore lette us close his

eyes, and laye his hands a crosse, and cary hym forth to be buryed.

And than they sayde lamentynge one to an other: O! what a losse have we

of this good felowe, our frende?

The foole laye stylle, as one [that] were deade; yea, and thought in

his mynde, that he was deade in dede. So they layde hym on a bere, and

caryed hym through the cite. And whan any body asked them what they

caryed, they sayd the corps of Nigniaca to his grave. And ever as they

went, people drew about them. Among the prece ther was a taverners boy,

the whiche, whan he herde that it was the cors of Nigniaca, he said to

them: O! what a vile bestly knave, and what a stronge thefe is deed! by

the masse, he was well worthy to have ben hanged longe ago. Whan the

fole harde those wordes, he put out his heed and sayd: I wys, horeson,

if I were alyve nowe, as I am deed, I wolde prove the a false lyer to

thy face. They, that caryed him, began to laugh so hartilye, that they

sette downe the bere, and wente theyr waye.

By this tale ye maye se, what the perswasion of many doth. Certaynly he

is very wyse, that is nat inclined to foly, if he be stered thereunto

by a multitude. Yet sapience is founde in fewe persones: and they be

lyghtly olde sobre men.

* * * * *

A few further bits are added, being witty sayings from Camden, Bacon

and the Jest Books and manuscripts of the period.

* * * * *

Queen Elizabeth seeing a gentleman in her garden, who had not felt

the effect of her favours so soon as he expected, looking out of her

window, said to him, in Italian, “What does a man think of, Sir Edward,

when he thinks of nothing?” After a little pause, he answered, “He

thinks, Madam, of a woman’s promise.” The queen shrunk in her head, but

was heard to say, _Well, Sir Edward, I must not confute you: Anger

makes dull men witty, but it keeps them poor_.

* * * * *

A certain nobleman sold a gentleman a horse for a good round sum, which

he took upon his lordship’s word, that he had no fault. About three

weeks after, he met my lord; “Why, your lordship told me,” says he,

“that your horse had no fault, and he is blind of an eye.” _Well,

Sir_, says my lord, _it is no fault, it is only a misfortune_.

* * * * *

A doctor of little learning, and less modesty, having talked much at

table; one, much admiring him, asked another, when the doctor was gone,

if he did not think him a great scholar? The answer was, _He may be

learned, for aught I know, or can discover; but I never heard learning

make such a noise_.

* * * * *

Sir Drue Drury called for tobacco-pipes at a tavern. The waiter brought

some, and, in laying them down on the table, broke most of them. Sir

Drue swore a great oath, that they were made of the same metal with

the Commandments. “Why so?” says one. _Because they are so soon

broken._

* * * * *

A rich usurer was very lame of one of his legs, and yet nothing of hurt

outwardly to be seen, whereupon he sent for a surgeon for his advice;

who, being more honest than ordinary, told him, “It was in vain to

meddle with it, for it was only old age that was the cause.” _But why

then_ (said the usurer) _should not my other leg be as lame as

this, seeing that the one is no older than the other?_

* * * * *

A gentleman disputing about religion in Button’s Coffeehouse, some of

the company said, “You talk of religion! I will hold you five guineas,

you cannot repeat the Lord’s prayer; Sir Richard Steele here shall hold

stakes.” The money being deposited, the gentleman began, _I believe

in God_; and so went through his Creed. _Well_, said the other,

_I own I have lost, but I did not think that you could have done

it_.

* * * * *

A gentleman calling for small-beer at another gentleman’s table,

finding it very hard, gave it the servant again without drinking.

“What,” said the master of the house, “do you not like the beer?” _It

is not to be found fault with_, answered the other, _for one

should never speak ill of the dead_.

Some gentlemen being at a tavern together, for want of better

diversion, some proposed play; but, said another of the company, “I

have fourteen good reasons against gaming.” “What are those,” said

another? “In the first place,” answered he, _I have no Money_.

_Oh!_ said the first, _if you had four hundred reasons, you need

not name another_.

* * * * *

Quin used to apply a story to the then ministry. A master of a brig

calls out, _Who is there?_ A boy answered, _Will, Sir.--What are

you doing?--Nothing, Sir.--Is Tom there?--Yes_, says Tom.--_What

are you doing, Tom?--Helping Will, Sir._

* * * * *

A gentleman, passing a woman who was skinning eels, and observing the

torture of the poor animals, asked her, how she could have the heart to

put them to such pain. _Ah_, said she, _poor creatures! they be

used to it_.

* * * * *

A silly priest at Trumpington being to read that place, _Eli, Eli,

Lamasabachthani_, began to consider with himself, that it might

be ridiculous and absurd for him to read it as it stood, because he

was vicar of Trumpington, and not of Ely: and therefore he read it,

_Trumpington, Trumpington, Lamasabachthani_.

* * * * *

It seems impossible, right here, not to digress, chronologically, for a

moment.

Every one will have noticed that these old time jests are the

foundations on which many modern stories are built, but the last one

quoted above is so palpably the prototype of a current Boston story

that it must be told.

* * * * *

A small child named Halliwell, spending the night with a neighbor, Mrs.

Cabot, knelt at the knee of her hostess to say her evening prayer.

“Our Father who art in Heaven,” the little visitor began devoutly,

“Cabot be thy name--”

“What? What do you mean?” asked the startled lady.

“Oh,” said the child, “of course, at home, I say ‘Halliwell be thy

name,’ but here, I thought it more polite to say Cabot.”

* * * * *

It is held by most writers on the subject that the great influx of

humor into literature took place in the latter half of the sixteenth

century.

This is partly because the progressing art of printing brought about

the influx of many elements into literature at that time, and also

because then appeared the work of three of the greatest of the world’s

humorists.

Shakespeare in England, Rabelais in France and Cervantes in Spain, gave

us their immortal works.

Earlier in the century Thomas More in his _Utopia_ and Nicholas

Udall in his _Ralph Royster Doyster_ wrote in humorously satiric

vein, but these works are difficult to quote from satisfactorily.

Having reached the period when Humor began to be produced in various

countries independently of one another, it becomes necessary to modify

our strict chronological arrangement and consider the nations and their

humorists separately.

Before this, broadly speaking, literature should be considered as a

whole, but as great names began to appear in certain widely separated

localities, a national division must be made.

And so, continuing in England, we come to William Shakespeare.

With Shakespeare’s greatness as a poet and dramatist we are not here

concerned, but there are some critics who dispute his preeminence as a

humorist.

While Hazlitt declared that in his opinion Molière was as great or

greater than Shakespeare as a comic genius; Doctor Johnson, on the

other hand, held that Shakespeare’s comedies are better than his

tragedies.

However, few are found to support Johnson’s opinion, and Hazlitt

qualifies his by saying that as Shakespeare’s imagination and poetry

were the master qualities of his mind, the ludicrous was forced to take

second place.

Both these worthies, however, agree on the question of Falstaff’s

greatness, and Hazlitt takes this attitude.

“I would not be understood to say that there are not scenes or whole

characters in Shakespeare equal in wit and drollery to anything upon

record. Falstaff alone is an instance, which, if I would, I could not

get over. He is the leviathan of all the creatures of the author’s

comic genius, and tumbles about his unwieldy bulk in an ocean of wit

and humour. But in general it will be found (if I am not mistaken),

that even in the very best of these the spirit of humanity and the

fancy of the poet greatly prevail over the mere wit and satire, and

that we sympathize with his characters oftener than we laugh at them.

His ridicule wants the sting of ill-nature. He had hardly such a thing

as spleen in his composition. Falstaff himself is so great a joke,

rather from his being so huge a mass of enjoyment than of absurdity.”

While with equal perceptive judgment “Falstaff,” says Dr. Johnson,

“unimitated, unimitable Falstaff, how shall I describe thee? Thou

compound of sense and vice; of sense which may be admired but not

esteemed; of vice which may be despised, but hardly detested! Falstaff

... is a thief and a glutton, a coward and a boaster, always ready to

cheat the weak and prey upon the poor; to terrify the timorous and

insult the defenceless. At once obsequious and malignant, he satirizes

in their absence those whom he lives by flattering.... Yet the man thus

corrupt, thus despicable, makes himself necessary to the Prince that

despises him, by the most pleasing of all qualities, perpetual gaiety,

by an unfailing power of exciting laughter, which is the more freely

indulged, as his wit is not of the splendid or ambitious kind, but

consists in easy scapes and sallies of levity, which make sport, but

raise no envy.”

One of the most difficult of all poets to quote from, we can only offer

detached and fugitive fragments of Shakespeare’s plays; beginning with

a bit quoted by Hazlitt and accompanied by his delightful observations

thereon.

“Shakespeare takes up the meanest subjects with the same tenderness

that we do an insect’s wing, and would not kill a fly. To give a more

particular instance of what I mean, I will take the inimitable and

affecting, though most absurd and ludicrous dialogue, between Shallow

and Silence, on the death of old Double.”

* * * * *

_Shallow._ Come on, come on, come on; give me your hand, sir; give

me your hand, sir; an early stirrer, by the rood. And how doth my good

cousin Silence?

_Silence._ Good morrow, good cousin Shallow.

_Shallow._ And how doth my cousin, your bedfellow? and your

fairest daughter, and mine, my god-daughter Ellen?

_Silence._ Alas, a black ouzel, cousin Shallow.

_Shallow._ By yea and nay, sir; I dare say, my cousin William is

become a good scholar: he is at Oxford still, is he not?

_Silence._ Indeed, sir, to my cost.

_Shallow._ He must then to the inns of court shortly. I was once

of Clement’s inn; where, I think, they will talk of mad Shallow yet.

_Silence._ You were called lusty Shallow then, cousin.

_Shallow._ I was called anything, and I would have done anything

indeed, and roundly too. There was I, and little John Doit of

Staffordshire, and black George Bare, and Francis Pickbone, and Will

Squele, a Cotswold man, you had not four such swinge-bucklers in all

the inns of court again; and, I may say to you, we knew where the

bonarobas were, and had the best of them all at commandment. Then was

Jack Falstaff, now Sir John, a boy, and page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of

Norfolk.

_Silence._ This Sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon about

soldiers?

_Shallow._ The same Sir John, the very same: I saw him break

Schoggan’s head at the court-gate, when he was a crack, not thus

high; and the very same day did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a

fruiterer, behind Gray’s-inn. O, the mad days that I have spent! and to

see how many of mine old acquaintances are dead!

_Silence._ We shall all follow, cousin.

_Shallow._ Certain, ’tis certain, very sure, very sure: death (as

the Psalmist saith) is certain to all, all shall die.--How a good yoke

of bullocks at Stamford fair?

_Silence._ Truly cousin, I was not there.

_Shallow._ Death is certain. Is old Double of your town living yet?

_Silence._ Dead, sir.

_Shallow._ Dead! see, see! he drew a good bow; and dead? he shot

a fine shoot. John of Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money on

his head. Dead! he would have clapped i’ th’ clout at twelve score; and

carried you a forehand shaft a fourteen and a half, that it would have

done a man’s heart good to see.--How a score of ewes now?