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 cure of Brou, which is well worthy of reproduction, in Les Contes; ou, les Nouvelles Recreations 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 Chateaudun 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 cure came to the Passion he said it in his own peculiar manner, and made the whole church ring when he said, “Quem, quaeritis?” 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 cure, 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 Cure,” 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 cure.  “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 cure?  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 cure 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