Some of these old jokemongers’ witticisms are capital—so good, in fact, that the parentage of many of them has been claimed by modern wits. No doubt we shall recognise some old friends as we read:
I. A pedant (for so we must probably translate, in conventional phrase, the pervading Scholastichus of the old jokemonger) wishing to teach his horse not to eat much, gave him no food. Eventually the horse died of starvation; and he complained to his friends, “I have suffered a great loss, for just when I had taught my horse to live upon nothing he died.”
II. A pedant having bought a cask of wine, sealed it. But his slave bored a hole and stole the wine. The master was amazed to find that, though his seals were unbroken, the wine gradually diminished. Someone suggested that he should examine whether it had been taken out from the bottom. “Fool,” he replied, “it isn’t the lower part that’s gone. It’s the upper.”
III. A pedant suffered shipwreck in a tempest, and seeing the passengers tie themselves to different articles on board, fastened himself to one of the anchors.
IV. Another had to cross a river, and went on board the ferry-boat on horseback. Somebody asked him why he did so, and he replied because he was in a hurry.
V. Yet another, anxious to know whether he looked well when he was asleep, stood before a looking-glass with his eyes shut to see.
VI. A landlord, who had a house to sell, went about amongst his friends, carrying a brick as a specimen.
In connection with these stories may be cited the following, from a Persian jest-book: A poor wrestler, who had passed all his life in forests, resolved to try his fortune in a great city, and as he drew near it he observed with wonder the crowds on the road, and thought, “I shall certainly not be able to know myself among so many people if I have not something about me that the others have not.” So he tied a pumpkin to his right leg and, thus decorated, entered the town. A young wag, perceiving the simpleton, made friends with him, and induced him to spend the night at his house. While he was asleep, the joker removed the pumpkin from his leg and tied it to his own, and then lay down again. In the morning, when the poor fellow awoke and found the pumpkin on his companion’s leg, he called to him, “Hey! get up, for I am perplexed in my mind. Who am I, and who are you? If I am myself, why is the pumpkin on your leg? And if you are yourself, why is the pumpkin not on my leg?”
Modern counterparts of the following jest are not far to seek: Quoth a man to a pedant, “The slave I bought of you has died.” Rejoined the other, “By the gods, I do assure you that he never once played me such a trick while I had him.” The old Greek pedant is transformed into an Irishman, in our collections of facetiæ, who applied to a farmer for work. “I’ll have nothing to do with you,” said the farmer, “for the last five Irishmen I had all died on my hands.” Quoth Pat, “Sure, sir, I can bring you characters from half a dozen gentlemen I’ve worked for that I never did such a thing.” And the jest is thus told in an old translation of Les Contes Facetieux de Sieur Gaulard: “Speaking of one of his Horses which broake his Neck at the descent of a Rock, he said, Truly it was one of the handsomest and best Curtalls in all the Country; he neuer shewed me such a trick before in all his life.”
Equally familiar is the jest of the pedant who was looking out for a place to prepare a tomb for himself, and on a friend indicating what he thought to be a suitable spot, “Very true,” said the pedant, “but it is unhealthy.” And we have the prototype of a modern “Irish” story in the following: A pedant sealed a jar of wine, and his slaves perforated it below and drew off some of the liquor. He was astonished to find his wine disappear while the seal remained intact. A friend, to whom he had communicated the affair, advised him to look and ascertain if the liquor had not been drawn off from below. “Why, you fool,” said he, “it is not the lower, but the upper, portion that is going off.”