Chapter VI: Wise Sayings of the Rabbis (10)

This is the title of an ancient Persian poem, composed in the reign of Núshírván, A.D. 531-579, of which some fragments only now remain, incorporated with an Arabian poem. In 1833, Von Hammer published a German translation, at Vienna: _Wamik und Asra; das ist, Glühende und die Blühende. Das älteste Persische romantische Gedicht. Jun fünftelsaft abgezogen_, von Joseph von Hammer (Wamik and Asra; that is, the Glowing and the Blowing. The most ancient Persian Romantic Poem. Transfer the Fifth, etc.) The hero and heroine, namely, Wamik and Asra, are personifications of the two great principles of heat and vegetation, the vivifying energy of heaven and the correspondent productiveness of earth.--This noble poem is the subject of a very interesting article in the _Foreign Quarterly Review_, vol. xviii, 1836-7, giving some of the more striking passages in English verse, of which the following may serve as a specimen:

'The Blowing One' Asra was justly named,
For she, in mind and form, a blossom stood;
Of beauty, youth, and grace divinely framed,
Of holiest spirit, filled with heavenly good.
The Spring, when warm, in fullest splendour showing,
Breathing gay wishes to the inmost core
Of youthful hearts, and fondest influence throwing,
Yet veiled its bloom, her beauty's bloom before;
For her the devotee his very creed forswore.
Her hair was bright as hyacinthine dyes;
Her cheek was blushing, sheen as Eden's rose;
The soft narcissus tinged her sleeping eyes,
And white her forehead, as the lotus shows
_'Gainst Summer's earliest sunbeams shimmering fair._

A curious story is related by Dawlat Sháh regarding this poem, which bears a close resemblance to the story of the destruction of the Alexandrian Library, by order of the fanatical khalíf 'Umar: One day when Amír Abdullah Tahir, governor of Khurasán under the Abbasside khalífs, was giving audience, a person laid before him a book, as a rare and valuable present. He asked: "What book is this?" The man replied: "It is the story of Wamik and Asra." The Amír observed: "We are the readers of the Kurán, and we read nothing except that sacred volume, and the traditions of the Prophet, and such accounts as relate to him, and we have therefore no use for books of this kind. They are besides compositions of infidels, and the productions of worshippers of fire, and are therefore to be rejected and contemned by us." He then ordered the book to be thrown into the water, and issued his command that whatever books could be found in the kingdom which were the composition of the Persian infidels should be immediately burnt.

ANOTHER FAMOUS ARABIAN LOVER.

Scarcely less celebrated than the story of Majnún and Laylá--among the Arabs, at least--is that of the poet Jamíl and the beauteous damsel Buthayna. It is said that Jamíl fell in love with her while he was yet a boy, and on attaining manhood asked her in marriage, but her father refused. He then composed verses in her honour and visited her secretly at Wádi-'l Kura, a delightful valley near Medína, much celebrated by the poets. Jamíl afterwards went to Egypt, with the intention of reciting to Abdu-'l Azíz Ibn Marwán a poem he had composed in his honour. This governor admitted Jamíl into his presence, and, after hearing his eulogistic verses and rewarding him generously, he asked him concerning his love for Buthayna, and was told of his ardent and painful passion. On this Abdu-'l Azíz promised to unite Jamíl to her, and bade him stay at Misr (Cairo), where he assigned him a habitation and furnished him with all he required. But Jamíl died there shortly after, A.H. 82 (A.D. 701).

The following narrative is given in the _Kitabal-Aghání_, on the authority of the famous poet and philologist Al-Asma'í, who flourished in the 8th century:

A person who was present at the death of Jamíl in Egypt relates that the poet called him and said: "If I give you all I leave after me, will you perform one thing which I shall enjoin you?" "By Allah, yes," said the other. "When I am dead," said Jamíl, "take this cloak of mine and put it aside, but keep everything else for yourself. Then go to Buthayna's tribe, and when you are near them, saddle this camel of mine and mount her; then put on my cloak and rend it, and mounting on a hill, shout out these verses: 'A messenger hath openly proclaimed the death of Jamíl. He hath now a dwelling in Egypt from which he will never return. There was a time when, intoxicated with love, he trained his mantle proudly in the fields and palm-groves of Wádi-'l Kura! Arise, Buthayna! and lament aloud: weep for the best of all thy lovers!'" The man did what Jamíl ordered, and had scarcely finished the verses when Buthayna came forth, beautiful as the moon when it appears from behind a cloud. She was muffled in a cloak, and on coming up to him said: "Man, if what thou sayest be true, thou hast killed me; if false, thou hast dishonoured me!" [i.e. by associating her name with that of a strange man, still alive.] He replied: "By Allah! I only tell the truth," and he showed her Jamíl's mantle, on seeing which she uttered a loud cry and smote her face, and the women of the tribe gathered around, weeping with her and lamenting her lover's death. Her strength at length failed her, and she swooned away. After some time she revived, and said [in verse]: "Never for an instant shall I feel consolation for the loss of Jamíl! That time shall never come. Since thou art dead, O Jamíl, son of Mamar! the pains of life and its pleasures are alike to me." And quoth the lover's messenger: "I never saw man or woman weep more than I saw that day."--Abridged from Ibn Khallikan's great Biographical Dictionary as translated by Baron De Slane, vol. i, pp. 331-326.

APOCRYPHAL LIFE OF ESOP, THE FABULIST.

The origin of the Beast-Fable is still a vexed question among scholars, some of whom ascribe it to the doctrine of metempsychosis, or the transmigration of human souls into different animal forms; others, again, are of the opinion that beasts and birds were first adopted as characters of fictitious narratives, in order to safely convey reproof or impart wholesome counsel to the minds of absolute princes, who would signally resent "plain speaking."[127] Several nations of antiquity--notably the Greeks, the Hindús, the Egyptians--have been credited with the invention of the beast-fable, and there is no reason to believe that it may not have been independently devised in different countries. It is very certain, however, that Esop was not the inventor of this kind of narrative in Greece, while those fables ascribed to him, which have been familiar to us from our nursery days, are mostly spurious, and have been traced to ancient Oriental sources. The so-called Esopic apologue of the Lion and the House is found in an Egyptian papyrus preserved at Leyden.[128] Many of them are quite modern _rechauffés_ of Hindú apologues, such as the Milkmaid and her Pot of Milk, which gave rise to our popular saying, "Don't count your chickens until they be hatched." Nevertheless, genuine fables of Esop were current in Athens at the best period of its literary history, though it does not appear that they existed in writing during his lifetime. Aristophanes represents a character in one of his plays as learning Esop's fables from oral recitation. When first reduced to writing they were in prose, and Socrates is said to have turned some of them into verse, his example being followed by Babrius, amongst others, of whose version but few fables remain entire. The most celebrated of his Latin translators is Phædrus, who takes care to inform us that

If any thoughts in these Iambics shine,
The invention's Esop's, and the verse is mine.[129]

[127] The reader may with advantage consult the article
'Beast-Fable,' by Mr. Thos. Davidson, in _Chambers's
Encylopædia_, new edition.

[128] But this papyrus might be of as late a period as the
second century of our era.

[129] For the most complete history of the Esopic Fable, see
vol. i of Mr. Joseph Jacobs' edition of _The Fables of
Aesop, as first printed by Caxton in 1484, with those of
Avian, Alfonso, and Poggio_, recently published by Mr.
David Nutt; where a vast amount of erudite information
will be found on the subject in all its ramifications.
Mr. Jacobs, indeed, seems to have left little for future
gleaners: he has done his work in a thorough,
Benfey-like manner, and students of comparative
folk-lore are under great obligations to him for the
indefatigable industry he has devoted to the valuable
outcome of his wide-reaching learning.

Little is authentically known regarding the career of the renowned fabulist, who is supposed to have been born about B.C. 620, and, as in the case of Homer, various places are assigned as that of his nativity--Samos, Sardis, Mesembria in Thrace, and Cotiæium in Phrygia. He is said to have been brought as a slave to Athens when very young, and after serving several masters was enfranchised by Iadmon, the Samian. His death is thus related by Plutarch: Having gone to Delphos, by the order of Croesus, with a large quantity of gold and silver, to offer a costly sacrifice to Apollo and to distribute a considerable sum among the inhabitants, a quarrel arose between him and the Delphians, which induced him to return the money, and inform the king that the people were unworthy of the liberal benefaction he had intended for them. The Delphians, incensed, charged him with sacrilege, and, having procured his condemnation, precipitated him from a rock and caused his death.--The popular notion that Esop was a monster of ugliness and deformity is derived from a "Life" of the fabulist, prefixed to a Greek collection of fables purporting to be his, said to have been written by Maximus Planudes, a monk of the 14th century, which, however apocryphal, is both curious and entertaining, from whatever sources the anecdotes may have been drawn.

According to Planudes,[130] Esop was born at Amorium, in the Greater Phrygia, a slave, ugly exceedingly: he was sharp-chinned, snub-nosed, bull-necked, blubber-lipped, and extremely swarthy (whence his name, _Ais-ôpos_, or _Aith-ôpos_: burnt-face, blackamoor); pot-bellied, crook-legged, and crook-backed; perhaps uglier even than the Thersites of Homer; worst of all, tongue-tied, obscure and inarticulate in his speech; in short, everything but his mind seemed to mark him out for a slave. His first master sent him out to dig one day. A husbandman having presented the master with some fine fresh figs, they were given to a slave to be set before him after his bath. Esop had occasion to go into the house; meanwhile the other slaves ate the figs, and when the master missed them they accused Esop, who begged a moment's respite: he then drank some warm water and caused himself to vomit, and as he had not broken his fast his innocence was thus manifest. The same test discovered the thieves, who by their punishment illustrated the proverb:

Whoso against another worketh guile
Thereby himself doth injure unaware.[131]

[130] _Fabulae Romanenses Graece conscriptae ex recensione et
cum adnotationibus_, Alfredi Eberhard (Leipzig, 1872),
vol. i, p. 226 ff.

[131] It would have been well had the sultan Bayazíd compelled
his soldier to adopt this plan when accused by an old
woman of having drunk up all her supply of goat's milk.
The soldier declared his innocence, upon which Bayazíd
ordered his stomach to be cut open, and finding the milk
not yet digested, quoth he to the woman: "Thou didst not
complain without reason." And, having caused her to be
recompensed for her loss, "Now go thy way," he added,
"for thou hast had justice for the wrong done thee."

Next day the master goes to town. Esop works in the field, and entertains with his own food some travellers who had lost their way, and sets them on the right road again. They are really priests of Artemis, and having received their blessing he falls asleep, and dreams that Tychê (i.e. Fortune) looses his tongue, and gives him eloquence. Waking, he finds he can say _bous_, _onos_, _dikella_, (ox, ass, mattock). This is the reward of piety, for "well-doing is full of good hopes." Zenas, the overseer, is rebuked by Esop for beating a slave. This is the first time he has been heard to speak distinctly. Zenas goes to his master and accuses Esop of having blasphemed him and the gods, and is given Esop to sell or give away as he pleases. He sells him to a trader for three obols (4-1/2d.), Esop pleading that, if useless for aught else, he will do for a bugbear to keep his children quiet. When they arrive home the little ones begin to cry. "Was I not right?" quoth Esop, and the other slaves think he has been bought to avert the Evil Eye.

The merchant sets out for Asia with all his house-hold. Esop is offered the lightest load, as being a raw recruit. From among the bags, beds, and baskets he chooses a basket full of bread--"a load for two men." They laugh at his folly, but let him have his will, and he staggers under the burden to the wonder of his master. But at the first halt for _ariston_, or breakfast, the basket is half-emptied, and by the evening wholly so, and then Esop marches triumphantly ahead, all commending his wit. At Ephesus the merchant sells all his slaves, excepting a musician, a scribe, and Esop. Thence he goes to Samos, where he puts new garments on the two former (he had none left for Esop), and sets them out for sale, Esop between them. Xanthus, the philospher, lived at Samos. He goes to the slave market, and, seeing the three, praises the dealer's cunning in making the two look handsomer than they were by contrast with the ugly one. Asking the scribe and the musician what they know, their answer is, "Everything," upon which Esop laughs. The price of the musician (1000 obols, or six guineas) and of the scribe (three times that sum) prevents the philosopher from buying them, and he turns to Esop to see what he is made of. He gives him the customary salutation, "Khaire!" (Rejoice). "I wasn't grieving," retorts Esop. "I greet thee," says Xanthus. "And I thee," replies Esop. "What are thou?" "Black." "I don't mean that, but in what sort of place wast thou born?" "My mother didn't tell me whether in the second floor or the cellar." "What can you do?" "Nothing." "How?" "Why, these fellows here say they know how to do everything, and they haven't left me a single thing." "By Jove," cries Xanthus, "he has answered right well; for there is no man who knows everything. That was why he laughed, it is clear." In the end, Xanthus buys Esop for sixty obols (about 7s. 6d.) and takes him home, where his wife (who is "very cleanly") receives him only on sufferance.

One day Xanthus, meeting friends at the bath, sends Esop home to boil pease (idiomatically using the word in the singular), for his friends are coming to eat with him. Esop boils _one_ pea and sets it before Xanthus, who tastes it and bids him serve up. The water is then placed on the table, and Esop justifies himself to his distracted master, who then sends him for four pig's feet. While they boil, Xanthus slyly abstracts one, and when Esop discovers this he takes it for a plot against him of the other slaves. He runs into the yard, cuts a foot from the pig feeding there, and tosses it into the pot. Presently the other foot is put back, and Esop is confounded to see _five_ trotters on the boil. He serves them up, however, and when Xanthus asks him what the five mean he replies: "How many feet have two pigs?" Xanthus saying, "Eight," quoth Esop: "Then here are five, and the porker feeding below goes on three." On being reproached he urges: "But, master, there is no harm in doing a sum in addition and subtraction, is there?" For very shame Xanthus forbears whipping him.

One morning Xanthus gives a breakfast, for which Esop is sent to buy "the best and most useful." He buys tongues, and the guests (philosophers all) have nothing else. "What could be better for man than tongue?" quoth Esop. Another time he is ordered to get "the worst and most worthless"; again he brings tongues, and again is ready with a similar defence.[132] A guest reviles him, and Esop retorts that he is "malicious and a busybody." On hearing this Xanthus commands him to find some one who is not a busybody. In the road Esop finds a simple soul and brings him home to his master, who persuades his wife to bear with him in anything he should pretend to do to her; if the guest is a busybody (or one who meddles) Esop will get a beating. The plan fails; for the good man continues eating and takes no notice of the wife-cuffing going on, and when his host seems about to burn her, he only asks leave to bring his own wife to be also placed on the pile.

[132] This story is also found in the _Liber de Donis_ of
Etienne de Bourbon (No. 246), a Dominican monk of the
14th century; in the _Summa Praedicantium_ of John
Bromyard, and several other medieval monkish collections
of _exempla_, or stories designed for the use of
preachers: in these the explanation is that nothing can
be better and nothing worse than _tongue_.

At a symposium Xanthus takes too much wine, and in bravado wagers his house and all that it contains that he will drink up the waters of the sea. Out of this scrape Esop rescues him by suggesting that he should demand that all the rivers be stopped from flowing into the sea, for he did not undertake to drink them too, and the other party is satisfied.[133]

[133] This occurs in the several Asiatic versions of the Book
of Sindibád (Story of the Sandalwood Merchant); in the
_Gesta Romanorum_; in the old English metrical _Tale of
Beryn_; in one of the Italian _Novelle_ of Sacchetti;
and in the exploits of Tyl Eulenspiegel, the German
Rogue.

A party of scientific guests are coming to dinner one day, and Esop is set just within the door to keep out "all but the wise." When there is a knock at the door Esop shouts: "What does the dog shake?" and all save one go away in high dudgeon, thinking he means them; but this last answers: "His tail," and is admitted.

At a public festival an eagle carries off the municipal ring, and Esop obtains his freedom by order of the state for his interpretation of this omen--that some king purposes to annex Samos. This, it turns out, is Croesus, who sends to claim tribute. Hereupon Esop relates his first fable, that of the Wolf, the Dog, and the Sheep, and, going on an embassy to Croesus, that of the Grasshopper who was caught by the Locust-gatherer. He brings home "peace with honour." After this Esop travels over the world, showing his wisdom and wit. At Babylon he is made much of by the king. He then visits Egypt and confounds the sages in his monarch's behalf. Once more he returns to Greece, and at Delphi is accused of stealing a sacred golden bowl and condemned to be hurled from a rock. He pleads the fables of the Matron of Ephesus,[134] the Frog and the Mouse, the Beetle and the Eagle, the Old Farmer and his Ass-waggon, and others, but all is of no avail, and the villains break his neck.

[134] Taken from Petronius Arbiter. The story is widely
spread. It is found in the _Seven Wise Masters_,
and--_mutatis mutandis_--is well known to the Chinese.
Planudes takes some liberties with his original,
substituting for the soldier guarding the suspended
corpse of a criminal, who "comforts" the sorrowing
widow, a herdsman with his beasts, which he loses in
prosecuting his amour.

* * * * *

Such are some of the apocryphal sayings and doings of Esop the fabulist--the manner of his death being the only circumstance for which there is any authority. The idea of his bodily deformity is utterly without foundation, and may have been adopted as a foil to his extraordinary shrewdness and wit, as exhibited in the anecdotes related of him by Planudes. That there was nothing uncouth in the person of Esop is evident from the fact that the Athenians erected a fine statue of him, by the famed sculptor Lysippus.--The Latin collection of the fables ascribed to Esop was first printed at Rome in 1473 and soon afterwards translated into most of the languages of Europe. About the year 1480 the Greek text was printed at Milan. From a French version Caxton printed them in English at Westminster in 1484, with woodcuts: "Here begynneth the Book of the subtyl History and Fables of Esope. Translated out of Frenssche into Englissche, by William Caxton," etc. In this version Planudes' description of Esop's personal appearance is reproduced:[135] He was "deformed and evil shapen, for he had a great head, large visage, long jaws, sharp eyes, a short neck, curb backed, great belly, great legs, and large feet; and yet that which was worse, he was dumb and could not speak; but, notwithstanding all this, he had a great wit and was greatly ingenious, subtle in cavillection and joyous in words"--an inconsistency which is done away in a later edition by the statement that afterwards he found his tongue.--It is curious to find the Scottish poet Robert Henryson (15th century), in one of the prologues to his metrical versions of some of the Fables, draw a very different portrait of Esop.[136] He tells us that one day in the midst of June, "that joly sweit seasoun," he went alone to a wood, where he was charmed with the "noyis of birdis richt delitious," and "sweit was the smell of flowris quhyte and reid," and, sheltering himself under a green hawthorn from the heat of the sun, he fell asleep:

And, in my dreme, methocht come throw the schaw[137]
The fairest man that ever befoir I saw.

His gowne wes of ane claith als quhyte as milk,
His chymeris[138] wes of chambelote purpour broun;
His hude[139] of scarlet, bordourit[140] weill with silk,
On hekellit-wyis,[141] untill his girdill doun;
His bonat round, and of the auld fassoun,[142]
His beird was quhyte, his ene was greit and gray,
With lokker[143] hair, quilk ouer his schulderis lay.

Ane roll of paper in his hand he bair,
Ane swannis pen stikkand[144] under his eir,
Ane inkhorne, with ane prettie gilt pennair,[145]
Ane bag of silk, all at his belt can beir:
Thus was he gudelie graithit[146] in his geir.
Of stature large, and with ane feirfull[147] face;
Evin quhair I lay, he came ane sturdie pace.

[135] Mr. Jacobs was obliged to omit the Life of Esop in his
reprint of Caxton's text of the Fables, as it would have
unduly increased the bulk of his second volume. But
those interested in the genealogy of popular tales and
fables will be glad to have Mr. Jacobs' all but
exhaustive account of the so-called Esopic fables,
together with his excellent synopsis of parallels, in
preference to the monkish collection of spurious
anecdotes of the fabulist, of which the most noteworthy
are given in the present paper.

[136] Robert Henryson was a schoolmaster in Dunfermline in the
latter part of the 15th century. His _Moral Fables_,
edited by Dr. David Irving, were printed for the
Maitland Club in 1832, and his complete works (Poems and
Fables) were edited by Dr. David Laing, and published in
1865. His _Testament of Cresseid_, usually considered as
his best performance, is a continuation of Chaucer's
_Troilus and Cresseide_, which was derived from the
Latin of an unknown author named Lollius. Henryson was
the author of the first pastoral poem composed in the
English (or Scottish) language--that of _Robin and
Makyn_. "To his power of poetical conception," Dr. Laing
justly remarks, "he unites no inconsiderable skill in
versification: his lines, if divested of their uncouth
orthography, might be mistaken for those of a more
modern poet."

[137] _Schaw_, a wood, a covert.

[138] _Chymeris_, a short, light gown.

[139] _Hude_, hood.

[140] _Bordourit_, embroidered.

[141] _Hekellit-wise_, like the feathers in the neck of a cock.

[142] _Fassoun_, fashion.

[143] _Lokker_, (?) gray.

[144] _Stikkand_, sticking.

[145] _Pennair_, pen-case.

[146] _Graithit_, apparelled, arrayed.

[147] _Feirfull_, awe-inspiring, dignified.

The Arabian sage Lokinan is represented by tradition to have been a black slave, and of hideous appearance, from which, and from the identity of the apologues in the Arabian collection that bears his name as the author with the so-called Esopic fables, some writers have supposed that Esop and Lokman are simply different names of one and the same individual. But the fables ascribed to Lokman have been for the most part (if not indeed entirely) derived from the Greek; and there is no authority whatever that Lokman composed any apologues. Various traditions exist regarding Lokman's origin and history. It is said that he was an Ethiopian, and was sold as a slave to the Israelites during the reign of David. According to one version, he was a carpenter; another describes him as having been originally a tailor; while a third account states that he was a shepherd. If the Arabs may be credited, he was nearly related to the patriarch Job. Among the anecdotes which are recounted of his amiable disposition is the following: His master once gave him a bitter lemon to eat. Lokman ate it all, upon which his master, greatly astonished, asked him: "How was it possible for you to eat so unpalatable a fruit?" Lokman replied: "I have received so many favours from you, that it is no wonder I should once in my life eat a bitter melon from your hand." Struck with this generous answer, the master, it is said, immediately gave him his freedom.--A man of eminence among the Jews, observing a great crowd around Lokman, eagerly listening to his discourse, asked him whether he was not the black slave who lately tended the sheep of such a person, to which Lokman replying in the affirmative, "How was it possible," continued his questioner, "for thee to attain so exalted a degree of wisdom and piety?" Lokman answered: "By always speaking the truth; keeping my word; and never intermeddling in affairs that did not concern me."--Being asked from whom he had learned urbanity, he replied: "From men of rude manners, for whatever I saw in them that was disagreeable I avoided doing myself." And when asked from whom he had acquired his philosophy, he said: "From the blind, who never advance a step until they have tried the ground." Lokman is also credited with this apothegm: "Be a learned man, a disciple of the learned, or an auditor of the learned; at least, be a lover of knowledge and desirous of improvement."--In Persian and Turkish tales Lokman sometimes figures as a highly skilled physician, and "wise as Lokman" is proverbial throughout the Muhammedan world.

_ADDITIONAL NOTE._

DRINKING THE SEA DRY, p. 306.

The same jest is also found in _Aino Folk-Tales_, translated by Prof. Basil Hall Chamberlain, and published in the _Folk-Lore Journal_, 1888, as follows:

There was the Chief of the Mouth of the River and the Chief of the Upper Current of the River. The former was very vain-glorious, and therefore wished to put the latter to shame or to kill him by engaging him in an attempt to perform something impossible. So he sent for him and said: "The sea is a useful thing, in so far as it is the original home of the fish which come up the river. But it is very destructive in stormy weather, when it beats wildly upon the beach. Do you now drink it dry, so that there may be rivers and dry land only. If you cannot do so, then forfeit all your possessions." The other said, greatly to the vain-glorious man's surprise: "I accept the challenge." So, on their going down to the beach, the Chief of the Upper Current of the River took a cup and scooped up a little of the sea-water with it, drank a few drops, and said: "In the sea-water itself there is no harm. It is some of the rivers flowing into it that are poisonous. Do you, therefore, first close the mouths of all the rivers both in Aino-land and in Japan, and prevent them from flowing into the sea, and then I will undertake to drink the sea dry." Hereupon the Chief of the Mouth of the River felt ashamed, acknowledged his error, and gave all his treasures to his rival.

* * * * *

Such an idea as this of first "stopping the rivers" might well have been conceived independently by different peoples, but surely not by such a race so low in the scale of humanity as the Ainos, who must have got the story from the Japanese, who in their turn probably derived it from some Indian-Buddhist source--perhaps a version of the Book of Sindibád. Of course, the several European versions and variants have been copied out of one book into another, and independent invention is out of the question.

IGNORANCE OF THE CLERGY IN THE MIDDLE AGES.

_Orl._ Whom ambles Time withal?

_Ros._ With a priest that lacks Latin; for he sleeps easily,
because he cannot study, lacking the burden of lean and wasteful
learning.--_As You Like It_.

During the 7th and 8th centuries the state of letters throughout Christian Europe was so low that very few of the bishops could compose their own discourses, and some of those Church dignitaries thought it no shame to publicly acknowledge their inability to write their own names. Numerous instances occur in the Acts of the Councils of Ephesus and Chalcedon of an inscription in these words: "I, ----, have subscribed by the hand of ----, because I cannot write"; and such a bishop having thus confessed that he could not write, there followed: "I, ----, whose name is underwritten, have therefore subscribed for him."

Alfred the Great--who was twelve years of age before a tutor could be found competent to teach him the alphabet--complained, towards the close of the 9th century, that "from the Humber to the Thames there was not a priest who understood the liturgy in his mother-tongue, or could translate the easiest piece of Latin"; and a correspondent of Abelard, about the middle of the 12th century, complimenting him upon a resort to him of pupils from all countries, says that "even Britain, distant as she is, sends her savages to be instructed by you."

Henri Etienne, in the Introduction to his Apology for Herodotus,[148] says that "the most brutish and blockish ignorance was to be found in friars' cowls, especially mass-mongering priests, which we are the less to wonder at, considering that which Menot twits them in the teeth withal, that instead of books there was nothing to be found in their chambers but a sword, or a long-bow, or a cross-bow, or some such weapon. But how could they send _ad ordos_ such ignorant asses? You must note, sir, that they which examined them were as wise as woodcocks themselves, and therefore judged of them as penmen of pikemen and blind men of colours. Or were it that they had so much learning in their budgets as that they could make a shift to know their inefficiency, yet to pleasure those that recommended them they suffered them to pass. One is famous among the rest, who being asked by the bishop sitting at the table: 'Es tu dignus?' answered, 'No, my Lord, but I shall dine anon with your men.' For he thought that _dignus_ (that is, worthy) signified to dine."

[148] This is a work distinct from Henri Etienne's _Apologia
pour Herodote_. An English translation of it was
published at London in 1807, and at Edinburgh in 1808,
under the title of "_A World of Wonders_; or, an
Introduction to a Treatise touching the Conformitie of
Ancient and Modern Wonders; or, a Preparative Treatise
to the Apology for Herodotus," etc. For this book (the
"Introduction") Etienne had to quit France, fearing the
wrath of the clerics. His _Apologie pour Herodote_ has
not been rendered into English--and why not, it would be
hard to say.

Etienne gives another example, which, however, belongs rather to the class of simpleton stories: A young man going to the bishop for admission into holy orders, to test his _learning_, was asked by the prelate, "Who was the father of the Four Sons of Aymon?"[149] and not knowing what answer to make, this promising candidate was refused as inefficient. Returning home, and explaining why he had not been ordained, his father told him that he must be an ass if he could not tell who was the father of the four sons of Aymon. "See, I pray thee," quoth he, "yonder is Great John, the smith, who has four sons; if a man should ask thee who was their father, wouldst thou not say it was Great John, the smith?" "Yes," said the brilliant youth; "now I understand it." Thereupon he went again before the bishop, and being asked a second time, "Who was the father of the Four Sons of Aymon?" he promptly replied: "Great John, the smith."[150]

[149] One of the Charlemagne Romances, translated by Caxton
from the French, and printed by him about the year 1489,
under the title of _The Right Pleasaunt and Goodly
Historie of the Four Sonnes of Aymon_. It has been
reprinted for the Early English Text Society, ably
edited by Miss Octavia Richardson.

[150] A slightly different version is found in _A Hundred Mery
Talys_, No. lxix, "Of the franklyns sonne that cam to
take orders." The bishop says that Noah had three sons,
Shem, Ham, and Japheth;--who was the father of Japheth?
When the "scholar" returns home and tells his father how
he had been puzzled by the bishop, he endeavours to
enlighten his son thus: "Here is Colle, my dog, that
hath three whelps; must not these three whelps have
Colle for their sire?" Going back to the bishop, he
informs his lordship that the father of Japheth was
"Colle, my father's dogge."

The same author asks who but the churchmen of those days of ignorance corrupted and perverted the text of the New Testament? Thus, in the parable of the lost piece of money, _evertit domum_, "she overturned the house," was substituted for _everrit domum_, "she _swept_ the house." And in the Acts of the Apostles, where Saul (or Paul) is described as being let down from the house on the wall of Damascus in a basket, for _demissus per sportam_ was substituted _demissus per portam_, a correction which called forth a rather witty Latin epigram to this effect:

This way the other day did pass
As jolly a carpenter as ever was;
So strangely skilful in his trade,
That of a _basket_ a _door_ he made.

Among the many curious anecdotes told in illustration of the gross ignorance of the higher orders of the clergy in medieval times the two following are not the least amusing:

About the year 1330 Louis Beaumont was bishop of Durham. He was an extremely illiterate French nobleman, so incapable of reading that he could not, although he had studied them, read the bulls announced to the people at his consecration. During that ceremony the word "metropoliticæ" occurred. The bishop paused, and tried in vain to repeat it, and at last remarked: "Suppose that said." Then he came to "enigmate," which also puzzled him. "By St. Louis!" he exclaimed in indignation, "it could be no gentleman who wrote that stuff!"

Our second anecdote is probably more generally known: Andrew Forman, who was bishop of Moray and papal legate for Scotland, at an entertainment given by him at Rome to the Pope and cardinals, blundered so in his Latinity when he said grace that his Holiness and the cardinals lost their gravity. The disconcerted bishop concluded his blessing by giving "a' the fause carles to the de'il," to which the company, not understanding his Scotch Latinity, said "Amen!"

When such was the condition of the bishops, it is not surprising to find that few of the ordinary priests were acquainted with even the rudiments of the Latin tongue, and they consequently mumbled over masses which they did not understand. A rector of a parish, we are told, going to law with his parishioners about paving the church, cited these words, _Paveant illi, non paveam ego_, which, ascribing them to St. Peter, he thus construed: "They are to pave the church, not I"--and this was allowed to be good law by a judge who was himself an ecclesiastic.

We have an amusing example of the ignorance of the lower orders of churchmen during the "dark ages" in No. xii of _A Hundred Mery Talys_, as follows: "The archdekyn of Essex, that had ben longe in auctorite, in a tyme of vysytacyon, whan all the prestys apperyd before hym, called aside iii. of the yonge prestys which were acusyd that th[e]y could not wel say theyr dyvyne service, and askyd of them, when they sayd mas, whether they sayd corpus meus or corpum meum. The fyrst prest sayde that he sayd corpus meus. The second sayd that he sayd corpum meum. And than he asked of the thyrd how he sayde; whyche answered and sayd thus: Sir, because it is so great a dout, and dyvers men be in dyvers opynyons, therfore, because I wolde be sure I wolde not offende, whan I come to the place I leve it clene out and say nothynge therfore. Wherfore the bysshoppe than openly rebuked them all thre. But dyvers that were present thought more defaut in hym, because he hym selfe beforetyme had admytted them to be prestys." And assuredly they were right in so thinking, and the worthy archdeacon (or bishop, as he is also styled), who had probably passed the three young men "for value received" from their fathers, should have refrained from publicly examining them afterwards.

The covetousness and irreverence of the churchmen in former times are well exemplified in another tale given in the same old jest-book, No. lxxi, which, with spelling modernised, goes thus: "Sometime there dwelled a priest in Stratford-on-Avon, of small learning, which undevoutly sang mass and oftentimes twice on one day. So it happened on a time, after his second mass was done in short space, not a mile from Stratford there met him divers merchantmen, which would have heard mass, and desired him to sing mass and he should have a groat, which answered them and said: 'Sirs, I will say mass no more this day; but I will say you two gospels for one groat, and that is dog-cheap for a mass in any place in England.'" The story-teller does not inform us whether the pious merchants accepted of the business-like compromise offered by "Mass John."

Hagiolatry was quite as much in vogue among the priesthood in medieval times as mariolatry has since been the special characteristic of the Romish Church, to the subordination (one might almost say, the suppression) of the only true object of worship; in proof of which, here is a droll anecdote from another early English collection, _Mery Tales, Wittie Questions, and Quicke Answeres, very pleasant to be readde_ (No. cxix): "A friar, preaching to the people, extolled Saint Francis above [all] confessors, doctors, virgins, martyrs, prophets--yea, and above one more than prophets, John the Baptist, and finally above the seraphical order of angels; and still he said, 'Yet let us go higher.' So when he could go no farther, except he should put Christ out of his place, which the good man was half afraid to do, he said aloud, 'And yet we have found no fit place for him.' And, staying a little while, he cried out at last, saying, 'Where shall we place the holy father?' A froward fellow standing among the audience,[151] said, 'If thou canst find none other, then set him here in my place, for I am weary,' and so he went his way."--This "froward fellow's" unexpected reply will doubtless remind the reader of the old man's remark in the mosque, about the "calling of Noah," _ante_, pp. 66, 67.[152]

[151] There were no pews in the churches in those "good old
times."

[152] _Apropos_ of saint-worship, quaint old Thomas Fuller
relates a droll story in his _Church History_, ed. 1655,
p. 278: A countryman who had lived many years in the
Hercinian woods, in Germany, at last came into a
populous city, demanding of the people therein, what God
they did worship. They answered him, that they
worshipped Jesus Christ. Whereupon the wild wood-man
asked the names of the several churches in the city,
which were all called by sundry saints, to whom they
were consecrated. "It is strange," said he, "that you
should worship Jesus Christ, and he not have a temple in
all the city dedicated to him."

Probably not less than one third of the jests current in Europe in the 16th century turned on the ignorance of the Romish clergy--such, for instance, as that of the illiterate priest who, finding _salta per tria_ (skip over three leaves) written at the foot of a page in his mass-book, deliberately jumped down three of the steps before the altar, to the great astonishment of the congregation; or that of another who, finding the title of the day's service indicated only by the abbreviation _Re._, read the mass of the Requiem instead of the service of the Resurrection; or that of yet another, who being so illiterate as to be unable to pronounce readily the long words in his ritual always omitted them, and pronounced the word Jesus, which he said was much more devotional.

There is a diverting tale of a foolish curé of Brou, which is well worthy of reproduction, in _Les Contes; ou, les Nouvelles Récréations et Joyeux Devis_, by Bonaventure des Periers--one of the best story-books of the 16th century (Bonaventure succeeded the celebrated poet Clement Marot as _valet-de-chambre_ to Margaret, queen of Navarre):

It happened that a lady of rank and importance, on her way to Châteaudun to keep there the festival of Easter, passed through Brou on Good Friday, about ten o'clock in the morning, and, wishing to hear service, she went into the church. When the curé came to the Passion he said it in his own peculiar manner, and made the whole church ring when he said, "_Quem, quæritis_?" But when it came to the reply, "_Jesum, Nazarenum_,"[153] he spoke as low as he possibly could, and in this manner he continued the Passion. The lady, who was very devout and, for a woman, well-informed, in the Holy Scriptures [the reader will understand this was early in the 16th century], and attentive to ecclesiastical ceremonies, felt scandalised at this mode of chanting, and wished that she had never entered the church. She had a mind to speak to the curé, and tell him what she thought of it, and for this purpose sent for him to come to her after service. When he was come, "Monsieur le Curé," she said to him, "I don't know where you have learned to officiate on a day like this, when the people ought to be all humility. But to hear you perform the service is enough to drive away anybody's devotion." "How so, madame?" said the curé. "How so?" responded the lady. "You have said a Passion contrary to all rules of decency. When our Lord speaks you cry as if you were in the town-hall, and when it is Caiaphas, or Pilate, or the Jews, you speak softly like a young bride. Is this becoming in one like you? Are you fit to be a curé? If you had what you deserve, you would be turned out of your benefice, and then you would be made to know your fault." When the curé had very attentively listened to the good lady, "Is this what you have to say to me, madame?" said he. "By my soul! it is very true what you say, and the truth is, there are many people who talk of things which they do not understand. Madame, I believe I know my office as well as another, and beg all the world to know that God is as well served in this parish according to its condition as in any place within a hundred leagues of it. I know very well that the other curés chant the Passion quite differently. I could easily chant it like them if I would; but they don't understand their business at all. I should like to know if it becomes those rogues of Jews to speak as loud as our Lord? No, no, madame; rest assured that in my parish it is my will that God be master, and he shall be as long as I live, and let others do in their parishes according to their understanding."

[153] "Jesus, therefore, knowing all things that should come
upon him, went forth, and said unto them, 'Whom seek
ye?' They answered him, 'Jesus of Nazareth.'"--_Gospel
of S. John_, xviii, 4, 5.

This is another of Des Periers' comical tales at the expense of the clerical orders: There was a priest of a village who was as proud as might be because he had seen a little more than his Cato. And this made him set up his feathers and talk very grand, using words that filled his mouth in order to make people think him a great doctor. Even at confession he made use of terms which astonished the poor people. One day he was confessing a poor working man, of whom he asked: "Here, now, my friend, tell me, art thou not ambitious?" The poor man said, "No," thinking this was a word which belonged to great lords, and almost repented of having come to confess to this priest; for he had already heard that he was such a great clerk and that he spoke so grandly that nobody understood him, which he knew by the word _ambitious_; for although he might have heard it somewhere, yet he knew not at all what it meant. The priest went on to ask: "Art thou not a gourmand?" Said the labourer, who understood as little as before: "No." "Art thou not superbe" [proud]? "No." "Art thou not iracund" [passionate]? "No." The priest, seeing the man always answer, "No," was somewhat surprised. "Art thou not concupiscent?" "No." "And what are thou, then?" said the priest. "I am," said he, "a mason--here's my trowel."

* * * * *

Readers acquainted with the _fabliaux_ of the minstrels (the Trouvères) of Northern France know that those light-hearted gentry very often launched their satirical shafts at the churchmen of their day. One of the _fabliaux_ in Barbazan's collection relates how a doltish, thick-headed priest was officiating in his church on Good Friday, and when about to read the service for that day he discovered that he had lost his book-mark ("_mais il ot perdu ses festuz_.")[154] Then he began to go back and turn over the leaves, but until Ascension Day he found not the Passion service. And the assembled peasants fretted and complained that he made them fast too long, since it was time for the festival. "Had he but said them the service," interjects the _fableur_, "should I make you a longer story?" So much did they grumble on all sides, that the priest began on them and fell to saying very rapidly, first in a loud and then in a low tone of voice, "_Dixit Dominus Domino meo_" (the Lord said unto my Lord); "but," says the _fableur_, "I cannot find here any sequel." The priest having read the text as chance might lead him, read the vespers for Sunday;--and you must know he travailed hard, that the offerings should be worth something to him. Then he fell to crying, "Barabbas!"--no crier could have cried a ban so loud as he cried to them; and everyone began to confess his sins aloud (i.e., struck up "_mea culpa_") and cried, "Mercy!" The priest, who read on the sequence of his Psalter, once more began to cry out, saying, "Crucify him!" So that both men and women prayed God that he would defend them from torment. But it sorely vexed the clerk, who said to the priest, "Make an end"; but he answered, "Make no end, friend, till 'unto the marvellous works'"--referring to a passage in the Psalter. The clerk then said that a long Passion service boots nothing, and that it is never a gain to keep the people too long. And as soon as the offerings of the people were collected he finished the Passion.--"By this tale," adds the _raconteur_, "I would show you how--by the faith of Saint Paul!--it as well befits a fool to talk folly and sottishness as it becomes a wise man to speak wisely. And he is a fool who believes me not."[155]--A commentary, this, which recalls the old English saying, that "it is as great marvel to see a woman weep as to see a goose go barefoot."

[154] _Festueum_, the split straw so used in the Middle Ages.

[155] See Méon's edition of Barbazan's _Fabliaux et Contes_,
ed. 1808, tome ii, p. 442, and a prose _extrait_ in Le
Grand d'Aussy's collection, ed. 1781, tome iv, p. 101,
"Du Prêtre qui dit la Passion."

* * * * *

They were bold fellows, those Trouvères. Not content with making the ignorance and the gross vices of the clerical orders the subjects of their _fabliaux_, they did not scruple to ridicule their superstitious teachings, as witness the satire on saint-worship, entitled "Du vilain [i.e., peasant] qui conquist Paradis par plait," the substance of which is as follows: A poor peasant dies suddenly, and his soul escapes at a moment when neither angel nor demon was on the watch, so that, unclaimed and left to his own discretion, the peasant follows St. Peter, who happened to be on his way to Paradise, and enters the gate with him unperceived. When the saint finds that the soul of such a low person has found its way into Paradise he is angry, and rudely orders the peasant out. But the latter accuses St. Peter of denying his Saviour, and, conscience-stricken, the gate-keeper of heaven applies to St. Thomas, who undertakes to drive away the intruder. The peasant, however, disconcerts St. Thomas by reminding him of his disbelief, and St. Paul, who comes next, fares no better--he had persecuted the saints. At length Christ hears of what had occurred, and comes himself. The Saviour listens benignantly to the poor soul's pleading, and ends by forgiving the peasant his sins, and allowing him to remain in Paradise.[156]

[156] See Méon's Barbazan, 1808, tome iv, p. 114; also Le
Grand, 1781, tome ii, p. 190: "Du Vilain qui gagna
Paradis en plaidant."

* * * * *

There exists a very singular English burlesque of the unprofitable sermons of the preaching friars in the Middle Ages, which is worthy of Rabelais himself, and of which this is a modernised extract:

_Mollificant olera durissima crusta._--"Friends, this is to say to your ignorant understanding, that hot plants and hard crusts make soft hard plants. The help and the grace of the gray goose that goes on the green, and the wisdom of the water wind-mill, with the good grace of a gallon pitcher, and all the salt sausages that be sodden in Norfolk upon Saturday, be with us now at our beginning, and help us in our ending, and quit you of bliss and both your eyes, that never shall have ending. Amen. My dear curst creatures, there was once a wife whose name was Catherine Fyste, and she was crafty in court, and well could carve. Hence she sent after the four Synods of Rome to know why, wherefore, and for what cause that Alleluja was closed before the cup came once round. Why, believest thou not, forsooth, that there stood once a cock on St. Paul's steeple-top, and drew up the strapples of his breech? How provest thou that tale? By all the four doctors of Wynberryhills--that is to say, Vertas, Gadatryne, Trumpas, and Dadyltrymsert--the which four doctors say there was once an old wife had a cock to her son, and he looked out of an old dove-cot, and warned and charged that no man should be so hardy either to ride or go on St. Paul's steeple-top unless he rode on a three-footed stool, or else that he brought with him a warrant of his neck"--and so on, in this fantastical style.

* * * * *