Most learned and veracious Job!
A collection of stories, printed by John Rastell considerably more than a century before the date of the work last quoted, and not long ago discovered by the lamented Rev. I. I. Conybeare, next attracts our notice. It is no other than The Hundred Merry Tales, the opprobrium of Benedick, or as it is imprinted “A. C. Mery Talys.” This curious and important addition to the stock of Shaksperiana had, as it is stated in the advertisement of the private reprint (Chiswick, 1815), been converted into the pasteboard which formed the covers of an old book. As far as the pleasantry is concerned generally, we do not wonder at Benedick’s wincing under Beatrice’s imputation that he got his wit out of it.
But though there is much matter of fact in the book, there are also many queer tales, some of which have passed for new—“Old Simon,” for instance. One of them, the forty sixth tale, is instructive, inasmuch as it shows what Chief Justices were in those days.
The story is headed “Of the Welcheman that delyuered the letter to the ape.”
The first lines are wanting, but there is enough to make it appear that a master sends his Welsh retainer with a letter to the Chief Justice, in order to obtain favour for a criminal who had been in the writer’s service, with directions to the said Welshman to return with an answer. The tale then proceeds thus:—
“This Welcheman came to the Chefe Justyce place, and at the gate saw an ape syttynge there in a cote made for hym, as they use to apparell apes for disporte. This Welcheman dyd of his cappe and made curtsye to the ape, and sayd—‘My mayster recommendeth him to my lorde youre father, and sendeth him here a letter.’ This ape toke this letter and opened it, and lokyd thereon, and after lokyd vpon the man, makynge many mockes and moyes as the propertyes of apes is to do. This Welcheman, because he understood him nat, came agayne to his mayster accordynge to his commandes, and told hym he delyuered the letter unto my lorde chefe iustice sonne, who was at the gate in a furred cote. Anone his moyster asked him what answere he broughte? The man sayd he gaue him an answere, but it was other Frenche or Laten, for he understode him nat. ‘But, syr,’ quod he, ‘ye need nat to fere, for I saw in his countenance so much that I warrante you he wyll do your errande to my lorde his father.’ This gentylman in truste thereof made not anye further suite. For lacke whereof his seruant that had done the felonye within a monthe after was rayned at the kynge’s benche, and caste, and afterwarde hanged.”
And what does the reader think the moral is? Some reflection, perhaps, upon the impunity of those attached to the great, with a hint at God’s judgment against unjust judges? No such thing:—“By this ye may see that every wyse man ought to take hede that he sende nat a folyssche seruante vpon a hasty message that is a matter of nede.” Not a bad specimen of the morality of the good old times.
Those who would amuse themselves with more monkeyana of ancient date, will find some choice passages in Erasmus, Porta, and others; and may learn how a monkey may occasionally supersede the use of a comb—what a horror monkeys have of tortoises and snails—how violent is the antipathy between the cock and the ape—and how both of these were added to the serpent and introduced into the deadly sack wherein the matricide was inclosed to suffer the frightful punishment awarded to his unnatural act. But we beg to offer the following trifle, showing how a monkey can behave at a dinner-table:—
In a country town, no matter where, there lived the worthiest and most philosophical of old bachelors, with a warm heart and a sound head, from whose well-powdered exterior dangled that most respectable ornament a queue. Long did this august appendage, now no longer seen, linger among the Benchers of the inns of court. Two worthies we have yet in our eye—Ultimi Caudatorum! with what veneration do we look up to ye! with what fear and trembling did we regard the progress of the influenza!—the destroying angel has passed by, and the tails still depend from your “frosty pows,” blessings on ’em!
Pardon the digression; and return we to our bachelor, who entertained a monkey of such good breeding and so much discretion, that Jacko was permitted to make one at the dinner-table, where he was seated in a high child’s chair next to his master, and took off his glass of perry and water in the same time and measure with his patron, and in as good a style as Dominie Sampson himself could have performed the feat. Now, his master’s housekeeper made the best preserved apricots in the county, and when the said apricots were enshrined in a tart, the golden fruit set off by the superincumbent trellis, a more tempting piece of pâtisserie could hardly be laid before man or monkey. One of these tarts enriched the board at a small dinner-party, and was placed nearly opposite to Jacko, who occupied his usual station. The host helped one and another to some of this exquisite tart, but he forgot poor Jacko, who had been devouring it with his eyes, and was too well-bred to make any indecorous snatch at the attraction, as most monkeys would have done. At last Jacko could stand it no longer, so looking to the right and left, and finally fixing his eyes on the guests opposite, he quietly lifted up his hand behind his master’s back, and gave his tail such a tug as made the powder fly, withdrew his hand in an instant, and sat with a vacant expression of the greatest innocence. People don’t like to have their tails pulled. His master gave him a look, and Jacko gave him another, but even the eloquent expression of Hogarth’s monkey on the offending bear’s back fell short of it. It said as plainly as look could speak—“Don’t be angry—don’t thrash me—they did not see it—I beg your pardon, but I must have a bit of that apricot tart:”—he was forgiven and helped.