CHAPTER XIV

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POPULAR LITERATURE AND ITS HEROES; BROTHER RUSH, TYLL EULENSPIEGEL, THE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM.--STORIES AND JEST-BOOKS.--SKELTON, SCOGIN, TARLTON, PEELE.

The people in the middle ages, as well as its superiors, had its comic literature and legend. Legend was the literature especially of the peasant, and in it the spirit of burlesque and satire manifested itself in many ways. Simplicity, combined with vulgar cunning, and the circumstances arising out of the exercise of these qualities, presented the greatest stimulants to popular mirth. They produced their popular heroes, who, at first, were much more than half legendary, such as the familiar spirit, Robin Goodfellow, whose pranks were a source of continual amusement rather than of terror to the simple minds which listened to those who told them. These stories excited with still greater interest as their spiritual heroes became incarnate, and the auditors were persuaded that the perpetrators of so many artful acts of cunning and of so many mischievous practical jokes, were but ordinary men like themselves. It was but a sign or symbol of the change from the mythic age to that of practical life. One of the earliest of these stories of mythic comedy transformed into, or at least presented under the guise of, humanity, is that of Brother Ruth. Although the earliest version of this story with which we are acquainted dates only from the beginning of the sixteenth century,[73] there is no reason for doubt that the story itself was in existence at a much more remote period.

[73] This earliest known version is in German verse, and was printed in 1515. An English version, in prose, was printed in 1620, and is reprinted in Thoms's "Collection of Early Prose Romances."

Rush was, in truth, a spirit of darkness, whose mission it was to wander on the earth tempting and impelling people to do evil. Perceiving that the internal condition of a certain abbey was well suited to his purpose, he presented himself at its gates in the disguise of a youth who wanted employment, and was received as an assistant in the kitchen, but he pleased the monks best by the skill with which he furnished them all with fair companions. At length he quarrelled with the cook, and threw him into the boiling caldron, and the monks, assuming that his death was accidental, appointed Rush to be cook in his place. After a service of seven years in the kitchen--which appears to have been considered a fair apprenticeship for the new honour which was to be conferred upon him--the abbot and convent rewarded him by making him a monk. He now followed still more earnestly his design for the ruin of his brethren, both soul and body, and began by raising a quarrel about a woman, which led, through his contrivance, to a fight, in which the monks all suffered grievous bodily injuries, and in which Brother Rush was especially active. He went on in this way until at last his true character was accidentally discovered. A neighbouring farmer, overtaken by night, took shelter in a hollow tree. It happened to be the night appointed by Lucifer to meet his agents on earth, and hear from them the report of their several proceedings, and he had selected this very oak as the place of rendezvous. There Brother Rush appeared, and the farmer, in his hiding-place, heard his confession from his own lips, and told it to the abbot, who, being as it would appear a magician, conjured him into the form of a horse, and banished him. Rush hurried away to England, where he laid aside his equine form, and entered the body of the king's daughter, who suffered great torments from his possession. At length some of the great doctors from Paris came and obliged the spirit to confess that nobody but the abbot of the distant monastery had any power over him. The abbot came, called him out of the maiden, and conjured him more forcibly than ever into the form of a horse.

Such is, in mere outline, the story of Brother Rush, which was gradually enlarged by the addition of new incidents. But the people wanted a hero who presented more of the character of reality, who, in fact, might be recognised as one of themselves; and such heroes appear to have existed at all times. They usually represented a class in society, and especially that class which consisted of idle sharpers, who lived by their wits, and which was more numerous and more familiarly known in the middle ages than at the present day. Folly and cunning combined presented a never-failing subject of mirth. This class of adventurers first came into print in Germany, and it is there that we find its first popular hero, to whom they gave the name of Eulenspiegel, which means literally "the owl's mirror," and has been since used in German in the sense of a merry fool. Tyll Eulenspiegel, and his story, are supposed to have belonged to the fourteenth century, though we first know them in the printed book of the commencement of the sixteenth, which is believed to have come from the pen of the well-known popular writer, Thomas Murner, of whom I shall have to speak more at length in another chapter. The popularity of this work was very great, and it was quickly translated into French, English, Latin, and almost every other language of Western Europe. In the English version the name also was translated, and appears under the form of Owleglass, or, as it often occurs with the superfluous aspirate, Howleglass.[74] According to the story, Tyll Eulenspiegel was the son of a peasant, and was born at a village called Kneitlingen, in the land of Brunswick. The story of his birth may be given in the words of the early English version, as a specimen of its quaint and antiquated language:--

"Yn the lande of Sassen, in the vyllage of Ruelnige, there dwelleth a man that was named Nicholas Howleglas, that had a wife named Wypeke, that lay a childbed in the same wyllage, and that chylde was borne to christening; and named Tyell Howleglass. And than the chyld was brought into a taverne, where the father was wyth his gosseppes and made good chere. Whan the mydwife had wel dronke, she toke the childe to bere it home, and in the wai was a litle bridg over a muddy water. And as the mydwife would have gone over the lytle brydge, she fel into the mudde with the chylde, for she had a lytel dronk to much wyne, for had not helpe come quickly, the had both be drowned in the mudde. And whan she came home with the childe, the made a kettle of warm water to be made redi, and therin they washed the child clen of the mudde. And thus was Howleglas thre tymes in one dai cristened, once at the churche, once in the mudde, and once in the warm water."

[74] The title of this English translation is, "Here beginneht a merye Jest of a man that was called Howleglas, and of many marveylous thinges and jestes that he dyd in his lyfe, in Eastlande, and in many other places." It was printed by Coplande, supposed about 1520. An edition of Eulenspiegel in English, by Mr. Kenneth Mackenzie, has recently been published by Messrs. Trübner & Co., of Paternoster Row.

It will be seen that the English translator was not very correct in his geography or in his names. The child, having thus escaped destruction, grew rapidly, and displayed an extraordinary love of mischief, with various other evil propensities, as well as a cunning beyond his age, in escaping the risks to which these exposed him. At a very early age, he displayed a remarkable talent for setting the other children by the ears, and this was his favourite amusement during life. His mother, who was now a widow, contemplating the extraordinary cunning of her child, which, as she thought, must necessarily ensure his advancement in the world, resolved that he should no longer remain idle, and put him apprentice to a baker; but his wicked and restless disposition defeated all the good intentions of his parent, and Eulenspiegel was obliged to leave his master in consequence of his mal-practices. One day his mother took him to a church-dedication, and the child drank so much at the feast on that occasion, that he crept into an empty beehive and fell asleep, while his mother, thinking he had gone home, returned without him. In the night-time two thieves came into the garden to steal the bees, and they agreed to take first the hive which was heaviest. This, as may be supposed, proved to be the hive in which Eulenspiegel was hidden, and they fixed it on a pole which they carried on their shoulders, one before and one behind, the hive hanging between them. Eulenspiegel, awakened by the movement, soon discovered the position in which he was placed, and hit upon a plan for escaping. Gently lifting the lid of the hive, he put out his arm and plucked the hair of the man before, who turned about and accused his companion of insulting him. The other asserted that he had not touched him, and the first, only half satisfied, continued to bear his share of the burthen, but he had not advanced many steps when a still sharper pull at his hair excited his great anger, and from wrathful words the two thieves proceeded to blows. While they were fighting, Eulenspiegel crept out of the hive and ran away.

After leaving the baker, Eulenspiegel became a wanderer in the world, gaining his living by his trickery and deception, and engaging himself in all sorts of strange and ludicrous adventures. He ended everywhere by creating discord and strife. He became at different times a blacksmith, a shoemaker, a tailor, a cook, a drawer of teeth, and assumed a variety of other characters, but remained in each situation only long enough to make it too hot for him, and to be obliged to secure his retreat. He intruded himself into all classes of society, and invariably came to similar results. Many of his adventures, indeed, are so droll that we can easily understand the great popularity they once enjoyed. But they are not merely amusing--they present a continuous satire upon contemporary society, upon a social condition in which every pretender, every reckless impostor, every private plunderer or public depredator, saw the world exposed to him in its folly and credulity as an easy prey.

The middle ages possessed another class of these popular satirical histories, which were attached to places rather than to persons. There were few countries which did not possess a town or a district, the inhabitants of which were celebrated for stupidity, or for roguery, or for some other ridiculous or contemptible quality. We have seen, in a former chapter, the people of Norfolk enjoying this peculiarity, and, at a later period, the inhabitants of Pevensey in Sussex, and more especially those of Gotham in Nottinghamshire, were similarly distinguished. The inhabitants of many places in Germany bore this character, but their grand representatives among the Germans were the Schildburgers, a name which appears to belong entirely to the domain of fable. Schildburg, we are told, was a town "in Misnopotamia, beyond Utopia, in the kingdom of Calecut." The Schildburgers were originally so renowned for their wisdom, that they were continually invited into foreign countries to give their advice, until at length not a man was left at home, and their wives were obliged to assume the charge of the duties of their husbands. This became at length so onerous, that the wives held a council, and resolved on despatching a solemn message in writing to call the men home. This had the desired effect; all the Schildburgers returned to their own town, and were so joyfully received by their wives that they resolved upon leaving it no more. They accordingly held a council, and it was decided that, having experienced the great inconvenience of a reputation of wisdom, they would avoid it in future by assuming the character of fools. One of the first evil results of their long neglect of home affairs was the want of a council-hall, and this want they now resolved to supply without delay. They accordingly went to the hills and woods, cut down the timber, dragged it with great labour to the town, and in due time completed the erection of a handsome and substantial building. But, when they entered their new council-hall, what was their consternation to find themselves in perfect darkness! In fact, they had forgotten to make any windows. Another council was held, and one who had been among the wisest in the days of their wisdom, gave his opinion very oracularly; the result of which was that they should experiment on every possible expedient for introducing light into the hall, and that they should first try that which seemed most likely to succeed. They had observed that the light of day was caused by sunshine, and the plan proposed was to meet at mid-day when the sun was brightest, and fill sacks, hampers, jugs, and vessels of all kinds, with sunshine and daylight, which they proposed afterwards to empty into the unfortunate council-hall. Next day, as the clock struck one, you might see a crowd of Schildburgers before the council-house door, busily employed, some holding the sacks open, and others throwing the light into them with shovels and any other appropriate implements which came to hand. While they were thus labouring, a stranger came into the town of Schildburg, and, hearing what they were about, told them they were labouring to no purpose, and offered to show them how to get the daylight into the hall. It is unnecessary to say more than that this new plan was to make an opening in the roof, and that the Schildburgers witnessed the effect with astonishment, and were loud in their gratitude to their new comer.

The Schildburgers met with further difficulties before they completed their council-hall. They sowed a field with salt, and when the salt-plant grew up next year, after a meeting of the council, at which it was stiffly disputed whether it ought to be reaped, or mowed, or gathered in in some other manner, it was finally discovered that the crop consisted of nothing but nettles. After many accidents of this kind, the Schildburgers are noticed by the emperor, and obtain a charter of incorporation and freedom, but they profit little by it. In trying some experiments to catch mice, they set fire to their houses, and the whole town is burnt to the ground, upon which, in their sorrow, they abandon it altogether, and become, like the Jews of old, scattered over the world, carrying their own folly into every country they visit.

The earliest known edition of the history of the Schildburgers was printed in 1597,[75] but the story itself is no doubt older. It will be seen at once that it involves a satire upon the municipal towns of the middle ages. A similar series of adventures, only a little more clerical, bore the title of "Der Pfarrherrn vom Kalenberg," or the Parson of Kalenberg, and was first, as far as we know, published in the latter half of the sixteenth century. The first known edition, printed in 1582, is in prose. Von der Hagen, who reprinted a subsequent edition in verse, in a volume already quoted, seems to think that in its first form the story belongs to the fourteenth century.

[75] It was reprinted by Von der Hagen, in a little volume entitled "Narrenbuch; herausgegeben durch Friedrich Heinrich von der Hagen." 12mo., Halle, 1811.

The Schildburgers of Germany were represented in England by the wise men of Gotham. Gotham is a village and parish about seven miles to the south-west of Nottingham, and, curiously enough, a story is told according to which the folly of the men of Gotham, like that of the Schildburgers, was at first assumed. It is pretended that one day king John, on his way to Nottingham, intended to pass through the village of Gotham, and that the Gothamites, under the influence of some vague notion that his presence would be injurious to them, raised difficulties in his way which prevented his visit. The men of Gotham were now apprehensive of the king's vengeance, and they resolved to try and evade it by assuming the character of simpletons. When the king's officers came to Gotham to inquire into the conduct of the inhabitants, they found them engaged in the most extraordinary pursuits, some of them seeking to drown an eel in a pond of water, others making a hedge round a tree to confine a cuckoo which had settled in it, and others employing themselves in similar futile pursuits. The commissioners reported the people of Gotham to be no better than fools, and by this stratagem they escaped any further persecution, but the character they assumed remained attached to them.

This explanation is, of course, very late and very apocryphal; but there can be little doubt that the character of the wise men of Gotham is one of considerable antiquity. The story is believed to have been drawn up in its present form by Andrew Borde, an English writer of the reign of Henry VIII. It was reprinted a great number of times under the form of those popular books called chap-books, because they were hawked about the country by itinerant booksellers or chap-men. The acts of the Gothamites displayed a greater degree of simplicity even than those of the Schildburgers, but they are less connected. Here is one anecdote told in the unadorned language of the chap-books, in explanation of which it is only necessary to state that the men of Gotham admired greatly the note of the cuckoo. "On a time the men of Gotham fain would have pinn'd in the cuckow, that she might sing all the year; and, in the midst of the town, they had a hedge made round in compass, and got a cuckow and put her into it, and said, 'Sing here, and you shall lack neither meat nor drink all the year.' The cuckow, when she perceived herself encompassed with the hedge, flew away. 'A vengeance on her,' said these wise men, 'we did not make our hedge high enough.'" On another occasion, having caught a large eel which offended them by its voracity, they assembled in council to deliberate on an appropriate punishment, which ended in a resolution that it should be drowned, and the criminal was ceremoniously thrown into a great pond. One day twelve men of Gotham went a-fishing, and on their way home they suddenly discovered that they had lost one of their number, and each counted in his turn, and could find only eleven. In fact, each forgot to count himself. In the midst of their distress--for they believed their companion to be drowned--a stranger approached, and learnt the cause of their sorrow. Finding they were not to be convinced of their mistake by mere argument, he offered, on certain conditions, to find the lost Gothamite, and he proceeded as follows. He took one by one each of the twelve Gothamites, struck him a hard blow on the shoulder, which made him scream, and at each cry counted one, two, three, &c. When it came to twelve, they were all satisfied that the lost Gothamite had returned, and paid the man for the service he had rendered them.

As a chap-book, this history of the men of Gotham became so popular, that it gave rise to a host of other books of similar character, which were compiled at a later period under such titles--formerly well known to children--as, "The Merry Frolicks, or the Comical Cheats of Swalpo;" "The Witty and Entertaining Exploits of George Buchanan, commonly called the King's Fool;" "Simple Simon's Misfortunes;" and the like. Nor must it be forgotten that the history of Eulenspiegel was the prototype of a class of popular histories of larger dimensions, represented in our own literature by "The English Rogue," the work of Richard Head and Francis Kirkman, in the reign of Charles II., and various other "rogues" belonging to different countries, which appeared about that time, or not long afterwards. The earliest of these books was "The Spanish Rogue, or Life of Guzman de Alfarache," written in Spanish by Mateo Aleman in the latter part of the sixteenth century. Curiously enough, some Englishman, not knowing apparently that the history of Eulenspiegel had appeared in English under the name of Owlglass, took it into his head to introduce him among the family of rogues which had thus come into fashion, and, in 1720, published as "Made English from the High Dutch," what he called "The German Rogue, or the Life and Merry Adventures, Cheats, Stratagems, and Contrivances of Tiel Eulespiegle."

The fifteenth century was the period during which mediæval forms generally were changing into forms adapted to another state of society, and in which much of the popular literature which has been in vogue during modern times took its rise. In the fourteenth century, the fabliaux of the jougleurs were already taking what we may perhaps term a more literary form, and were reduced into prose narratives. This took place especially in Italy, where these prose tales were called _novelle_, implying some novelty in their character, a word which was transferred into the French language under the form of _nouvelles_, and was the origin of our modern English _novel_, applied to a work of fiction. The Italian novelists adopted the Eastern plan of stringing these stories together on the slight framework of one general plot, in which are introduced causes for telling them and persons who tell them. Thus the Decameron of Boccaccio holds towards the fabliaux exactly the same position as that of the "Arabian Nights" to the older Arabian tales. The Italian novelists became numerous and celebrated throughout Europe, from the time of Boccaccio to that of Straparola, at the commencement of the sixteenth century, and later. The taste for this class of literature appears to have been introduced into France at the court of Burgundy, where, under duke Philippe le Bon, a well-known courtier and man of letters named Antoine de La Sale, who had, during a sojourn in Italy, become acquainted with one of the most celebrated of the earlier Italian collections, the "Cento Novello," or the Hundred Novels, compiled a collection in French in imitation of them, under the title of "Les Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles," or the Hundred new Novels, one of the purest examples of the French language in the fifteenth century.[76] The later French story-books, such as the Heptameron of the queen of Navarre, and others, belong chiefly to the sixteenth century. These collections of stories can hardly be said to have ever taken root in this island as a part of English literature.

[76] I am obliged to pass over this part of the subject very rapidly. For the history of that remarkable book, the "Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles," I would refer the reader to the preface to my own edition, "Les Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles, publiées d'après le seul manuscrit connu, avec Introduction et Notes, par M. Thomas Wright." 2 vols, 12mo., Paris, 1858.

But there arose partly out of these stories a class of books which became greatly multiplied, and were, during a long period, extremely popular. With the household fool, or jester, instead of the old jougleur, the stories had been shorn of their detail, and sank into the shape of mere witty anecdotes, and at the same time a taste arose for what we now class under the general term of jests, clever sayings, what the French call _bons mots_, and what the English of the sixteenth century termed "quick answers." The word _jest_ itself arose from the circumstance that the things designated by it arose out of the older stories, for it is a mere corruption of gestes, the Latin _gesta_, in the sense of narratives of acts or deeds, or tales. The Latin writers, who first began to collect them into books, included them under the general name of _facetiæ_. The earlier of these collections of facetiæ were written in Latin, and of the origin of the first with which we are acquainted, that by the celebrated scholar Poggio of Florence, a curious anecdote is told. Some wits of the court of pope Martin V., elected to the papacy in 1417, among whom were the pope's two secretaries, Poggio and Antonio Lusco, Cincio of Rome, and Ruzello of Bologna, appropriated to themselves a private corner in the Vatican, where they assembled to chat freely among themselves. They called it their _buggiale_, a word which signifies in Italian, a place of recreation, where they tell stories, make jests, and amuse themselves with discussing satirically the doings and characters of everybody. This was the way in which Poggio and his friends entertained themselves in their buggiale, and we are assured that in their talk they neither spared the church nor the pope himself or his government. The facetiæ of Poggio, in fact, which are said to be a selection of the good things said in these meetings, show neither reverence for the church of Rome nor respect for decency, but they are mostly stories which had been told over and over again, long before Poggio came into the world. It was perhaps this satire upon the church and upon the ecclesiastics which gave much of their popularity to these facetiæ at a time when a universal agitation of men's minds on religious affairs prevailed, which was the great harbinger of the Reformation; and the next Latin books of facetiæ came from men such as Henry Bebelius, who were zealous reformers themselves.

Many of the jests in these Latin collections are put into the mouths of jesters, or domestic fools, _fatui_, or _moriones_, as they are called in the Latin; and in England, where these jest-books in the vernacular tongue became more popular perhaps than in any other country, many of them were published under the names of celebrated jesters, as the "Merie Tales of Skelton," "The Jests of Scogin," "Tarlton's Jests," and "The Jests of George Peele."

John Skelton, poet-laureat of his time, appears to have been known in the courts of Henry VII. and Henry VIII. quite as much in the character of a jester as in that of a poet. Poet-laureat was then a title or degree given in the university of Oxford. His "Merye Tales" are all personal of himself, and we should be inclined to say that his jests and his poetry are equally bad. The former picture him as holding a place somewhere between Eulenspiegel and the ordinary court-fool. We may give as a sample of the best of them the tale No. 1.--

"_How Skelton came home late to Oxford from Abington._

"Skelton was an Englysheman borne as Skogyn was, and hee was educated and 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 the Tabere, whyche is now the Angell, and hee dyd drynke, and went to bed. About midnight he was so thyrstie or drye that he was constrained to call to the tapster for drynke, and the tapster harde him not. Then hee cryed to hys oste and hys ostes, and to the ostler, for drinke, and no man would 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 every man bustle hymselfe upward, and some of them were naked, and 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, and 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, and poynted hys fynger to hys mouth, saying, Fetch me some drynke to quenche the fyer and the heate and the drinesse in my mouthe. And so they dyd."

Another of these "Merye Tales" of Skelton contains a satire upon the practice which prevailed in the sixteenth and early part of the seventeenth centuries of obtaining letters-patent of monopoly from the crown, and also on the bibulous propensities of Welshmen--

"_How the Welshman dyd desyre Skelton to ayde hym in hys sute to the kynge for a patent to sell drynke._

"Skelton, when he was in London, went to the kynges courte, where there did come to hym a Welshman, saying, Syr, it is so, that manye dooth come upp of my country to the kynges court, and some doth get of the kyng by patent a castell, and some a parke, and some a forest, and some one fee and some another, and they dooe lyve lyke honest men; and I shoulde lyve as honestly as the best, if I myght have a patyne for good dryncke, wherefore I dooe praye yow to write a fewe woords for mee in a lytle byll to geve the same to the kynges handes, and I wil geve you well for your laboure. I am contented, sayde Skelton. Syt downe then, sayde the Welshman, and write. What shall I wryte? sayde Skelton. The Welshman sayde wryte _dryncke_. Nowe, sayde the Welshman, write _more dryncke_. What now? sayde Skelton. Wryte nowe, _a great deale of dryncke_. Nowe, sayd the Welshman, putte to all thys dryncke _a littell crome of breade_, and _a great deale of drynke_ to it, and reade once agayne. 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_. Than 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 longe as I dooe lyve. Well then, sayde Skelton, when you have thys signed of the kyng, then wyll I labour for a patent to have bread, that you wyth your drynke and I with the bread may fare well, and seeke our livinge with bagge and staffe."

These two tales are rather favourable specimens of the collection published under the name of Skelton, which, as far as we know, was first printed about the middle of the sixteenth century. The collection of the jests of Scogan, or, as he was popularly called, Scogin, which is said to have been compiled by Andrew Borde, was probably given to the world a few years before, but no copies of the earlier editions are now known to exist. Scogan, the hero of these jests, is described as occupying at the court of Henry VII. a position not much different from that of an ordinary court-fool. Good old Holinshed the chronicler says of him, perhaps a little too gently, that he was "a learned gentleman and student for a time in Oxford, of a pleasant wit, and bent to merrie devices, in respect whereof he was called into the court, where, giving himselfe to his naturall inclination of mirth and pleasant pastime, he plaied manie sporting parts, although not in such uncivil manner as hath beene of him reported." This allusion refers most probably to the jests, which represent him as leading a life of low and coarse buffoonery, in the course of which he displayed a considerable share of the dishonest and mischievous qualities of the less real Eulenspiegel. He is even represented as personally insulting the king and queen, and as being consequently banished over the Channel, to show no more respect to the majesty of the king of France. Scogin's jests, like Skelton's, consist in a great measure of those practical jokes which appear in all former ages to have been the delight of the Teutonic race. Many of them are directed against the ignorance and worldliness of the clergy. Scogin is described as being at one time himself a teacher in the university, and on one occasion, we are told, a husbandman sent his son to school to him that he might be made a priest. The whole story, which runs through several chapters, is an excellent caricature on the way in which men vulgarly ignorant were intruded into the priesthood before the Reformation. At length, after much blundering, the scholar came to be ordained, and his examination is reported as follows:--

"_How the scholler said Tom Miller of Oseney was Jacob's father._

"After this, the said scholler did come to the next orders, and brought a present to the ordinary from Scogin, but the scholler's father paid for all. Then said the ordinary to the scholler, I must needes oppose you, and for master Scogin's sake, I will oppose you in a light matter. Isaac had two sons, Esau and Jacob. Who was Jacob's father? The scholler stood still, and could not tell. Well, said the ordinary, I cannot admit you to be priest untill the next orders, and then bring me an answer. The scholler went home with a heavy heart, bearing a letter to master Scogin, how his scholler could not answer to this question: Isaac had two sons, Esau and Jacob; who was Jacob's father? Scogin said to his scholler, Thou foole and asse-head! Dost thou not know Tom Miller of Oseney? Yes, said the scholler! Then, said Scogin, thou knowest he had two sonnes, Tom and Jacke; who is Jacke's father? The scholler said, Tom Miller. Why, said Scogin, thou mightest have said that Isaac was Jacob's father. Then said Scogin, Thou shalt arise betime in the morning, and carry a letter to the ordinary, and I trust he will admit thee before the orders shall be given. The scholler rose up betime in the morning, and carried the letter to the ordinary. The ordinary said, For Master Scogin's sake I will oppose you no farther than I did yesterday. Isaac had two sons, Esau and Jacob; who was Jacob's father? Marry, said the scholler, I can tell you now that was Tom Miller of Oseney. Goe, foole, goe, said the ordinary, and let thy master send thee no more to me for orders, for it is impossible to make a foole a wise man."

Scogin's scholar was, however, made a priest, and some of the stories which follow describe the ludicrous manner in which he exercised the priesthood. Two other stories illustrate Scogin's supposed position at court:--

"_How Scogin told those that mocked him that he had a wall-eye._

"Scogin went up and down in the king's hall, and his hosen hung downe, and his coat stood awry, and his hat stood a boonjour, so every man did mocke Scogin. Some said he was a proper man, and did wear his rayment cleanly; some said the foole could not put on his owne rayment; some said one thing, and some said another. At last Scogin said, Masters, you have praised me wel, but you did not espy one thing in me. What is that, Tom? said the men. Marry, said Scogin, I have a wall-eye. What meanest thou by that? said the men. Marry, said Scogin, I have spyed a sort of knaves that doe mocke me, and are worse fooles themselves."

"_How Scogin drew his sonne up and downe the court._

"After this Scogin went from the court, and put off his foole's garments, and came to the court like an honest man, and brought his son to the court with him, and within the court he drew his sonne up and downe by the heeles. The boy cried out, and Scogin drew the boy in every corner. At last every body had pity on the boy, and said, Sir, what doe you meane, to draw the boy about the court? Masters, said Scogin, he is my sonne, and I doe it for this cause. Every man doth say, that man or child which is drawne up in the court shall be the better as long as hee lives; and therefore I will every day once draw him up and downe the court, after that hee may come to preferment in the end."

The appreciation of a good joke cannot at this time have been very great or very general, for Scogin's jests were wonderfully popular during at least a century, from the first half of the sixteenth century. They passed through many editions, and are frequently alluded to by the writers of the Elizabethan age. The next individual whose name appears at the head of a collection of his jests, was the well-known wit, Richard Tarlton, who may be fairly considered as court fool to Queen Elizabeth. His jests belong to the same class as those of Skelton and Scogin, and if possible, they present a still greater amount of dulness. Tarlton's jests were soon followed by the "merrie conceited jests" of George Peele, the dramatist, who is described in the title as "gentleman, sometimes student in Oxford;" and it is added that in these jests "is shewed the course of his life, how he lived; a man very well knowne in the city of London and elsewhere." In fact, Peele's jests are chiefly curious for the striking picture they give us of the wilder shades of town life under the reigns of Elizabeth and James I.

During the period which witnessed the publication in England of these books, many other jest-books appeared, for they had already become an important class of English popular literature. Most of them were published anonymously, and indeed they are mere compilations from the older collections in Latin and French. All that was at all good, even in the jests of Skelton, Scogin, Tarlton, and Peele, had been repeated over and over again by the story-tellers and jesters of former ages. Two of the earlier English collections have gained a greater celebrity than the rest, chiefly through adventitious circumstances. One of these, entitled "A Hundred Merry Tales," has gained distinction among Shakespearian critics as the one especially alluded to by the great poet in "Much Ado about Nothing," (Act ii., Sc. 1), where Beatrice complains that somebody had said "that I had my good wit out of the Hundred Merry Tales." The other collection alluded to was entitled "Mery Tales, Wittie Questions, and Quicke Answeres, very pleasant to be readde," and was printed in 1567. Its modern fame appears to have arisen chiefly from the circumstance that, until the accidental discovery of the unique and imperfect copy of the "Hundred Merry Tales," it was supposed to be the book alluded to by Shakespeare. Both these collections are mere compilations from the "Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles," "Poggio," "Straparola," and other foreign works.[77] The words put into the mouth of Beatrice are correctly descriptive of the use made of these jest-books. It had become fashionable to learn out of them jests and stories, in order to introduce them into polite conversation, and especially at table; and this practice continued to prevail until a very recent period. The number of such jest-books published during the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries, was quite extraordinary. Many of these were given anonymously; but many also were put forth under names which possessed temporary celebrity, such as Hobson the carrier, Killigrew the jester, the friend of Charles II., Ben Jonson, Garrick, and a multitude of others. It is, perhaps, unnecessary to remind the reader that the great modern representative of this class of literature is the illustrious Joe Miller.

[77] A neat and useful edition of these two jest-books, with the other most curious books of the same class, published during the Elizabethan period, has recently been published in two volumes, by Mr. W. C. Hazlitt.

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