mediÆval tales _with an introduction by henry morley_ ll. d., late professor of english literature at university college, london london: george routledge & sons, ltd. new york: e. p. dutton & co. introduction. this volume of "mediæval tales" is in four parts, containing severally, ( ) turpin's "history of charles the great and orlando," which is an old source of charlemagne romance; ( ) spanish ballads, relating chiefly to the romance of charlemagne, these being taken from the spirited translations of spanish ballads published in by john gibson lockhart; ( ) a selection of stories from the "gesta romanorum;" and ( ) the old translation of the original story of faustus, on which marlowe founded his play, and which is the first source of the faust legend in literature. * * * * * turpin's "history of charles the great and orlando" is given from a translation made by thomas rodd, and published by himself in , of "joannes turpini historia de vita caroli magni et rolandi." this chronicle, composed by some monk at an unknown date before the year , professed to be the work of a friend and secretary of charles the great, turpin, archbishop of rheims, who was himself present in the scenes that he describes. it was--like geoffrey of monmouth's nearly contemporary "history of british kings," from which were drawn tales of gorboduc, lear and king arthur--romance itself, and the source of romance in others. it is at the root of many tales of charlemagne and roland that reached afterwards their highest artistic expression in ariosto's "orlando furioso." the tale ascribed to turpin is of earlier date than the year , because in that year pope calixtus ii. officially declared its authenticity. but it was then probably a new invention, designed for edification, for encouragement of faith in the church, war against infidels, and reverence to the shrine of st. james of compostella. the church vouched for the authorship of turpin, archbishop of rheims, "excellently skilled in sacred and profane literature, of a genius equally adapted to prose and verse; the advocate of the poor, beloved of god in his life and conversation, who often hand to hand fought the saracens by the emperor's side; and who flourished under charles and his son lewis to the year of our lord eight hundred and thirty." but while this work gave impulse to the shaping of charlemagne romances with orlando (roland) for their hero, there came to be a very general opinion that, whether the author of the book were turpin or another, he too was a romancer. his book came, therefore, to be known as the "magnanime mensonge," a lie heroic and religious. no doubt turpin's "vita caroli magni et rolandi" was based partly on traditions current in its time. it was turned of old into french verse and prose; and even into latin hexameters. the original work was first printed at frankfort in , in a collection of four chronographers--"germanicarum rerum." mr. rodd's translation, here given, was made from the copy of the original given in spanheim's "lives of ecclesiastical writers." * * * * * publication of the songs and ballads of spain began at valencia in the year with a collection by fernando del castillo, who on his title-page professed to collect pieces "as well ancient as modern." from to there were nine editions of this "cancionero." a later collection made between and --the "cancionero de romances"--was made to consist wholly of ballads. a third edition of it, in , is the fullest and best known. the greatest collection followed in nine parts, published separately between and , at valencia, burgos, toledo, alcala, and madrid. this formed the great collection known as the "romancero general." * * * * * the chief hero of the spanish ballads is the cid campeador; and robert southey used these ballads as material for enriching the "chronicle of the cid," which has already been given in this library. songs of the cid were sung as early as the year , are of like date with the "magnanime mensonge" and geoffrey of monmouth's "history of british kings." in st. ferdinand gave allotments to two poets who had been with him during the siege of seville, and who were named nicolas and domingo abod "of the romances." there is also evidence from references to what "the _juglares_ sing in their chants and tell in their tales," that in the middle of the thirteenth century tales of charlemagne and of bernardo del carpio were familiar in the mouths of ballad-singers. the whole number of the old ballads of spain exceeds a thousand, and of these john gibson lockhart has translated some of the best into english verse. lockhart was born in , was the son of a scottish minister, was educated at the universities of glasgow and oxford, and was called to the bar at edinburgh in . next year he was one of the keenest of the company of young writers whose genius and lively audacity established the success of "blackwood's magazine." three years later, in , he married the eldest daughter of sir walter scott. lockhart's vigorous rendering of the spirit of the spanish romances was first published in , two years before he went to london to become editor of the "quarterly review." he edited the "quarterly" for about thirty years, and died in . * * * * * the "gesta romanorum;" is a mediæval compilation of tales that might be used to enforce and enliven lessons from the pulpit. each was provided with its "application." the french dominican, vincent of beauvais, tells in his "mirror of history" that in his time--the thirteenth century--it was the practice of preachers, to rouse languid hearers by quoting fables out of Æsop, and he recommends a sparing and discreet use of profane fancies in discussing sacred subjects. among the harleian mss. is an ancient collection of stories, romantic, allegorical and legendary, compiled by a preacher for the use of monastic societies. there were other such collections, but the most famous of all, widely used not only by the preachers but also by the poets, was the latin story-book known as the "gesta romanorum." its name, "deeds of the romans," was due to its fancy for assigning every story to some emperor who had or had not reigned in rome; the emperor being a convenient person in the application, which might sometimes begin with, "my beloved, the emperor is god." perhaps the germ of the collection may have been a series of applied tales from roman history. but if so, it was soon enriched with tales from the east, from the "clericalis disciplina," a work by petrus alfonsus, a baptized jew who lived in , and borrowed professedly from the arabian fabulists. mediæval tales of all kinds suitable for the purpose of the "gesta romanorum" were freely incorporated, and the book so formed became a well-known storehouse of material for poetic treatment. gower, shakespeare, schiller are some of the poets who have used tales which are among the thirty given in this volume. the "gesta romanorum" was first printed in , and after that date often reprinted. it was translated into dutch as early as the year . there was a translation of forty-three of its tales into english, by richard robinson, published in , of which there were six or seven editions during the next twenty-four years. a version of forty-five of its tales was published in as "a record of ancient histories." the fullest english translation was that by the rev. c. swan, published in . in this volume two or three tales are given in the earlier english form, the rest from mr. swan's translation, with a little revision of his english. mr. swan used book english, and was apt to write "an instrument of agriculture" where he would have said "a spade." i give here thirty of the tales, but of the "applications" have left only enough to show how they were managed. * * * * * in the volume of this library, which contains marlowe's "faustus" and goethe's "faust," reference has been made to the old german history of faustus, first published at frankfort in september , and reprinted with slight change in . there was again a reprint of it with some additions in . this book was written by a protestant in early days of the reformation, but shaped by him from mediæval tales of magic, with such notions of demons and their home as had entered deeply in the middle ages into popular belief. from it was produced within two years of its first publication marlowe's play of "faustus," which has already been given, and that english translation of the original book which will be found in the present volume. it was reprinted by mr. william j. thoms in his excellent collection of "early english prose romances," first published in , of which there was an enlarged second edition, in three volumes, in . that is a book of which all students of english literature would like to see a third and cheap edition. h. m. _october ._ turpin's history of charles the great and orlando. the history of charles the great and orlando. chapter i. _archbishop turpin's epistle to leopander._ turpin, by the grace of god, archbishop of rheims, the faithful companion of the emperor charles the great in spain, to leopander, dean of aix-la-chapelle, greeting. forasmuch as you requested me to write to you from vienne (my wounds being now cicatrized) in what manner the emperor charles delivered spain and gallicia from the yoke of the saracens, you shall attain the knowledge of many memorable events, and likewise of his praiseworthy trophies over the spanish saracens, whereof i myself was eyewitness, traversing france and spain in his company for the space of forty years; and i hesitate the less to trust these matters to your friendship, as i write a true history of his warfare. for indeed all your researches could never have enabled you fully to discover those great events in the chronicles of st. denis, as you sent me word: neither could you for certain know whether the author had given a true relation of those matters, either by reason of his prolixity, or that he was not himself present when they happened. nevertheless this book will agree with his history. health and happiness. chapter ii. _how charles the great delivered spain and gallicia from the saracens._ the most glorious christian apostle st. james, when the other apostles and disciples of our lord were dispersed abroad throughout the whole world, is believed to have first preached the gospel in gallicia. after his martyrdom, his servants, rescuing his body from king herod, brought it by sea to gallicia, where they likewise preached the gospel. but soon after, the gallicians, relapsing into great sins, returned to their former idolatry, and persisted in it till the time of charles the great, emperor of the romans, french, germans, and other nations. charles therefore, after prodigious toils in saxony, france, germany, lorraine, burgundy, italy, brittany, and other countries; after taking innumerable cities from sea to sea, which he won by his invincible arm from the saracens, through divine favour; and after subjugating them with great fatigue of mind and body to the christian yoke, resolved to rest from his wars in peace. but observing the starry way in the heavens, beginning at the friezeland sea, and passing over the german territory and italy, between gaul and aquitaine, and from thence in a straight line over gascony, bearne, and navarre, and through spain to gallicia, wherein till his time lay undiscovered the body of st. james; when night after night he was wont to contemplate it, meditating upon what it might signify, a certain beautiful resplendent vision appeared to him in his sleep, and, calling him son, inquired what he was attempting to discover. at which charles replied, "who art thou, lord?" "i am," answered the vision, "st. james the apostle, christ's disciple, the son of zebedee, and brother of john the evangelist, whom the lord was pleased to think worthy, in his ineffable goodness, to elect on the sea of galilee to preach the gospel to his people, but whom herod the king slew. my body now lies concealed in gallicia, long so grievously oppressed by the saracens, from whose yoke i am astonished that you, who have conquered so many lands and cities, have not yet delivered it. wherefore i come to warn you, as god has given you power above every other earthly prince, to prepare my way, and rescue my dominions from the moabites, that so you may receive a brighter crown of glory for your reward. the starry way in the heavens signifies that you, with a great army, will enter gallicia to fight the pagans, and, recovering it from them, will visit my church and shrine; and that all the people from the borders of the sea, treading in your steps, will ask pardon of god for their sins, and return in safety, celebrating his praise; that you likewise will acknowledge the wonders he hath done for you in prolonging your life to its present span. proceed then as soon as you are ready; i am your friend and helper; your name shall become famous to all eternity, and a crown of glory shall be your reward in heaven." thus did the blessed apostle appear thrice to the emperor, who, confiding in his word, assembled a great army, and entered spain to fight the infidels. chapter iii. _of the walls of pampeluna, that fell of themselves._ the first city charles besieged was pampeluna; he invested it three months, but was not able to take it, through the invincible strength of the walls. he then made this prayer to god: "o lord jesus christ, for whose faith i am come hither to fight the pagans; for thy glory's sake deliver this city into my hands; and o blessed st. james, if thou didst indeed appear to me, help me to take it." and now god and st. james, hearkening to his petition, the walls utterly fell to the ground of themselves; but charles spared the lives of the saracens that consented to be baptized; the rest he put to the edge of the sword. the report of this miracle induced all their countrymen to surrender their cities, and consent to pay tribute to the emperor. thus was the whole land soon subdued. the saracens were amazed to see the french well clothed, accomplished in their manners and persons, and strictly faithful to their treaties; they gave them therefore a peaceful and honourable reception, dismissing all thoughts of war. the emperor, after frequently visiting the shrine of st. james, came to ferrol, and, fixing his lance in the sea, returned thanks to god and the apostle for having brought him to this place, though he could then proceed no further. the pagan nations, after the first preaching of st. james and his disciples, were converted by archbishop turpin, and by the grace of god baptized; but those who refused to embrace the faith were either slain or made slaves by the christians. turpin then traversed all spain from sea to sea. chapter iv. _of the idol mahomet._ the emperor utterly destroyed the idols and images in spain, except the idol in andalusia, called salamcadis. cadis properly signifies the place of an island, but in arabic it means god. the saracens had a tradition that the idol mahomet, which they worshipped, was made by himself in his lifetime; and that by the help of a legion of devils it was by magic art endued with such irresistible strength, that it could not be broken. if any christian approached it he was exposed to great danger; but when the saracens came to appease mahomet, and make their supplications to him, they returned in safety. the birds that chanced to light upon it were immediately struck dead. there is, moreover, on the margin of the sea an ancient stone excellently sculptured after the saracenic fashion; broad and square at the bottom, but tapering upward to the height that a crow generally flies, having on the top an image of gold, admirably cast in the shape of a man, standing erect, with a certain great key in his hand, which the saracens say was to fall to the ground immediately after the birth of a king of gaul, who would overrun all spain with a christian army, and totally subdue it. wherefore it was enjoined them, whenever that happened, to fly the country, and bury their jewels in the earth. chapter v. _of the churches the king built._ charles remained three years in these parts, and with the gold given him by the kings and princes greatly enlarged the church of the blessed st. james, appointing an abbot and canons of the order of st. isidore, martyr and confessor, to attend it: he enriched it likewise with bells, books, robes, and other gifts. with the residue of the immense quantity of gold and silver, he built many churches on his return from spain; namely, of the blessed virgin in aix-la-chapelle, of st. james in thoulouse, and another in gascony, between the city commonly called aix, after the model of st. john's at cordova, in the jacobine road; the church likewise of st. james at paris, between the river seine and montmartre, besides founding innumerable abbeys in all parts of the world. chapter vi. _of the king's return to france, and of argolander, king of the africans._ after the king's return from spain, a certain pagan king, called argolander, recovered the whole country with his army, driving the emperor's soldiers from the towns and garrisons, which led him to march back his troops, under their general, milo de angleris. chapter vii. _of the false executor._ but the judgment inflicted on a false executor deserves to be recorded, as a warning to those who unjustly pervert the alms of the deceased. when the king's army lay at bayonne, a certain soldier, called romaricus, was taken grievously ill, and, being at the point of death, received the eucharist and absolution from a priest, bequeathing his horse to a certain kinsman, in trust, to dispose of for the benefit of the priest and the poor. but when he was dead his kinsman sold it for a hundred pence, and spent the money in debauchery. but how soon does punishment follow guilt! thirty days had scarcely elapsed when the apparition of the deceased appeared to him in his sleep, uttering these words: "how is it you have so unjustly misapplied the alms entrusted to you for the redemption of my soul? do you not know they would have procured the pardon of my sins from god? i have been punished for your neglect thirty days in fire; to-morrow you shall be plunged in the same place of torment, but i shall be received into paradise." the apparition then vanished, and his kinsman awoke in extreme terror. on the morrow, as he was relating the story to his companions, and the whole army was conversing about it, on a sudden a strange uncommon clamour, like the roaring of lions, wolves, and calves, was heard in the air, and immediately a troop of demons seized him in their talons, and bore him away alive. what further? horse and foot sought him four days together in the adjacent mountains and valleys to no purpose; but the twelfth day after, as the army was marching through a desert part of navarre, his body was found lifeless, and dashed to pieces, on the summit of some rocks, a league above the sea, about four days' journey from the city. there the demons left the body, bearing the soul away to hell. let this be a warning, then, to all that follow his example to their eternal perdition. chapter viii. _of the war of the holy facundus, where the spears grew._ charles and milo, his general, now marched after argolander into spain, and found him in the fields of the river, where a castle stands in the meadows, in the best part of the whole plain, where afterwards a church was built in honour of the blessed martyrs facundus and primitivus; where likewise their bodies rest, an abbey was founded, and a city built. when the king's army advanced, argolander wished to decide the contest by set combat between twenties, forties, hundreds, thousands, or even by two champions only. charles willingly consented, and marched a hundred of his soldiers against a hundred saracens, when all of them were slain. argolander then sent two hundred, who shared the same fate. two thousand were then led against two thousand, part of whom were slain, and the rest fled. but on the third day argolander cast lots, and, knowing that evil fortune threatened the emperor, sent him word he would draw out his whole army on the open plain, on the morrow, which challenge was accepted. then did this miracle happen. certain of the christians, who carefully had been furbishing their arms against the day of battle, fixed their spears in the evening erect in the ground before the castle in the meadow, near the river, and found them early in the morning covered with bark and branches. those, therefore, that were about to receive the palm of martyrdom were greatly astonished at this event, ascribing it to divine power. then cutting off their spears close to the ground, the roots that remained shot out afresh, and became lofty trees, which may be still seen flourishing there, chiefly ash. all this denoted joy to the soul, but loss to the body; for now the battle commenced, and forty thousand christians were slain, together with milo, their general, the father of orlando. the king's horse was likewise slain under him; but charles resolutely continued the fight on foot, and with two thousand christians gallantly hewed his way through the saracens, cleaving many of them asunder from the shoulders to the waist. the following day both christians and saracens remained quietly in their camps, but the day after four marquisses brought four thousand fresh troops from italy to the king's assistance; whereupon argolander retreated with his army to leon, and charles led back his forces to france. and here it is proper to observe we should strive for christ's blessing; for as the soldiers prepared their arms against the day of battle, so we in like manner should prepare ours, namely, our virtues to resist our passions. for he that would oppose faith to infidelity, brotherly love to hatred, charity to avarice, humility to pride, chastity to lust, prayer to temptation, perseverance to instability, peace to strife, obedience to a carnal disposition, must fortify his soul with grace, and prepare his spear to flourish against the day of judgment. triumphant indeed will he be in heaven who conquers on earth! as the king's soldiers died for their faith, so should we die to sin, and live in holiness in this world, that we may receive the palm of glory in the next, which shall be the reward of those who fight manfully against their three grand adversaries, the world, the flesh, and the devil. chapter ix. _of king argolander's army._ argolander now assembled together innumerable nations of saracens, moors, moabites, parthians, africans, and persians: texephin, king of arabia; urabell, king of alexandria; avitus, king of bugia; ospin, king of algarve; facin, king of barbary; ailis, king of malclos; manuo, king of mecca; ibrahim, king of seville; and almanzor, king of cordova. then, marching to the city of agen, he took it, and sent word to charles he would give him sixty horse-load of gold, silver, and jewels, if he would acknowledge his right to the sceptre. but charles returned this answer, "that he would acknowledge him no otherwise than by slaying him whenever it should be his chance to meet him in battle." the emperor had by this time approached within four miles of agen, when, secretly dismissing his army, he proceeded with only sixty soldiers to the mountain near the city. there he left them, and changing his dress, came with his shield reversed, after the custom of messengers in time of war, accompanied by one soldier only to the city; and when the people inquired his business, he informed them he had brought a message from king charles to argolander, whereupon he was admitted into his presence, and addressed him in these words: "my king bids me say, you may expect to see him, provided you will come out with only sixty of your people to meet him." now argolander little thought it was charles himself to whom he was speaking, who all the while took especial note of his person, and of the weakest parts of the walls of the city, as well as of the auxiliary kings that were then within it. argolander then armed himself, and charles rejoined his sixty soldiers, and soon after the two thousand that at first accompanied him. but argolander came out with seven thousand men, thinking to slay the emperor, but was himself compelled to fly. the king then recruited his army, and besieged the city for six months. on the seventh his battering rams, wooden castles, and other engines, were ready to storm it; but argolander and the rest of the kings made their escape in the night through the common sewers, and, passing up the garonne, got clear off. charles entered the city in triumph the next day, and slew ten thousand of the remaining saracens. chapter x. _of the city of xaintonge, where the spears grew._ argolander now came to xaintonge, at that time under the dominion of the saracens; but charles pursuing him, summoned him to restore the city, which argolander refused, resolving first to fight, and that it should be the conqueror's reward. but on the eve of battle, when the battering rams were ready to attack the castle in the meadows, called taleburg, and that part of the city near the river carenton, certain of the christians fixed their spears in the ground before the castle, and on the morrow found them covered with bark and branches. those therefore that were to receive the crown of martyrdom perished in the fight, after slaying a multitude of the saracens, namely, about four thousand men. the king's horse was likewise slain under him, but valiantly placing himself at the head of his infantry, he slew so many of his enemies that they were forced back into the city, which charles invested on every side but the river, through which argolander made his escape, with the loss of the kings of algarve and bugia, and about four thousand of his army. chapter xi. _of argolander's flight, and of the king's warriors._ argolander fled beyond the passes of the pyrenees, and came to pampeluna, where he sent charles word he would stay for him. charles then returned to france, and with the utmost diligence summoned his troops from all parts to his assistance, proclaiming free pardon to all banished persons, on condition they would join him against the pagans. what further? he liberated all the prisoners; made the poor rich; clothed the naked; reconciled the disaffected; bestowed honours on the disinherited; preferred the most experienced to the best commands; making friends of enemies, and associating both the civilized and the barbarian in the war of spain, uniting them through the favour of god in the bond of love. then did i, turpin, absolve them from their sins, and give them my benediction. these are the names of the warriors that attended the king:--turpin, archbishop of rheims, who by the precepts of christ, and for his faith's sake, brought the people to fight valiantly, fighting likewise himself hand to hand with the saracens. orlando, general of the whole army, count of mans and lord of guienne, the king's nephew, son of milo de angleris and bertha the king's sister. his soldiers were four thousand. another orlando likewise, of whom we are silent. oliver, a general also, and a valiant soldier, renowned for strength and skill in war, led three thousand troops. aristagnus, king of brittany, seven thousand. another king of brittany, of whom little mention is made. angelerus, duke of aquitaine, brought four thousand valiant bowmen. at this time likewise there was in the city of poictiers another duke of aquitaine, but angelerus was the son of gascon, duke of the city of aquitaine, lying between limorge, bourges, and poictiers, which city augustus cæsar founded; and the rest of the cities, as well as xaintonge and angoulême, with their provinces, were subject to it; the whole country was also called aquitaine. but after the death of its lord, who perished with all his people in the fatal battle of ronceval, it was never fresh colonized, and fell utterly to ruin. gayfere, king of bordeaux, led three thousand warriors. galerus, galinus solomon, estolfo's friend and companion; baldwin, orlando's brother, galdebode, king of friezeland, led seven thousand heroes; ocellus, count of nantes, two thousand, who achieved many memorable actions, celebrated in songs to this day. lambert, count of berry, led two thousand men. rinaldo of the white thorn, vulterinus garinus, duke of lorraine, four thousand. hago, albert of burgundy, berard de miblis, gumard, esturinite, theodoric, juonius, beringaire, hato, and ganalon, who afterwards proved the traitor, attended the king into spain. the army of the king's own territory was forty thousand horse and foot innumerable. these were all famous heroes and warriors, mighty in battle, illustrious in worldly honour, zealous soldiers of christ, that spread his name far and near, wherever they came. for even as our lord and his twelve apostles subdued the world by their doctrine, so did charles, king of the french and emperor of the romans, recover spain to the glory of god. and now the troops, assembling in bordeaux, overspread the country for the space of two days' journey, and the noise they made was heard at twelve miles distance. arnold of berlanda first traversed the pass of the pyrenees, and came to pampeluna. then came astolfo, followed by aristagnus; angelerus, galdebode, ogier the king, and constantine, with their several divisions. charles and his troops brought up the rear, covering the whole land from the river of rume to the mountains, that lie three leagues beyond them on the compostella road. they now halted for eight days. in the interval charles sent argolander word, if he would restore the city he had built, he would return home, or otherwise wage cruel war against him: but argolander, finding he could not keep possession of the city, resolved to march out, rather than tamely perish in it. charles then granted him a truce to draw out his army and prepare for battle; expressing moreover his willingness to see him face to face, as argolander wished. chapter xii. _of the truce, and of the discourse between the king and argolander._ a truce thus being granted, argolander drew out his people from the city, and attended by sixty guards came into the king's presence, who was at this time encamped about a mile from pampeluna. the two armies occupied a spacious plain six miles square, separated by the main road to compostella. when charles perceived argolander, he addressed him in these words: "you are, then, he that have fraudulently taken possession of my territories in spain and gascony, which i conquered by the favour of god, and reduced to the faith of christ. you have perverted the princes from my allegiance, and slain the christians with the edge of the sword. availing yourself of my return to gaul, you have destroyed my towns and castles, and laid waste the territory with fire and sword. at present, therefore, you have the advantage of me." now when argolander heard the king speak in the arabic tongue, he was greatly pleased and astonished, for charles had learnt it in his youth in the city of thoulouse, where he had spent some time. argolander then answered in these terms: "i wonder you should reason thus, for the territory did not belong to you; neither was it your father's, grandfather's, or great-grandfather's. why then did you take possession of it?" "because," replied charles, "our lord jesus christ, the creator of heaven and earth, elected us in preference to others, and gave us dominion over all the earth: therefore i endeavoured to convert the saracens to the christian faith."--"it would be unworthy of us to submit to you," rejoined argolander, "when our own faith is best. we have mahomet, a prophet of god, whose precepts we obey. therefore we have a powerful god, who through his prophet has declared his will, and by him we live and reign." "o argolander," said the king, "how widely do you err! you follow the vain precepts of a man; we believe and worship father, son, and holy ghost: you worship mortal man. after death our souls are received into paradise, and enjoy everlasting life, but yours descend to the abyss of hell. wherefore our faith is evidently best. accept then baptism, or fight and perish." "far be it from me," said argolander, "to accept baptism, and deny mahomet and my god! but i will fight you on these terms: if your faith is best, you shall gain the victory, otherwise heaven shall give it to me; and let shame be the portion of the conquered, but eternal glory reward the conqueror. furthermore, if my people are subdued, and i survive the contest, i will receive baptism." these terms being mutually agreed, twenty christians were sent against twenty saracens, and the battle commenced. what further? nearly all the saracens fell. forty were then sent against forty, and they were defeated also. a hundred then fought together; but the saracens turned their backs from the face of the christians, and were all slain. are not these christians then types for us? does it not argue that we likewise should fight manfully against our sins; should face our spiritual enemies, and never ignobly yield to them, since they will infallibly lead us into perdition? he only, says the apostle, shall receive the crown that fights the good fight, and overcomes. two hundred saracens were then sent out, and were all slain; lastly a thousand, who shared the same fate. a truce being then granted, argolander promised to be baptized on the morrow with all his people, and, calling his kings and captains together, told them his intention, to which they likewise assented, few only refusing to follow his example. chapter xiii. _of the king's banquet, and of the poor, at whom argolander took so great offence that he refused to be baptized._ on the third day argolander attended the king, as he promised, and found him at dinner. many tables were spread at which the guests were sitting; some in military uniform; some in black; some in priests' habits; which argolander perceiving, inquired what they were? "those you see in robes of one colour," replied the king, "are priests and bishops of our holy religion, who expound the gospel to us, absolve us from our offences, and bestow heavenly benediction. those in black are monks and abbots; all of them holy men, who implore incessantly the divine favour in our behalf." but in the meantime argolander espying thirty poor men in mean habiliments, without either table or table-cloth, sitting and eating their scanty meals upon the ground, he inquired what they were? "these," replied the king, "are people of god, the messengers of our lord jesus, whom in his and his apostles names we feed daily." argolander then made this reply: "the guests at your table are happy; they have plenty of the best food set before them; but those you call the messengers of god, whom you feed in his name, are ill fed, and worse clothed, as if they were of no estimation. certainly he must serve god but indifferently who treats his messengers in this manner, and thus do you prove your religion false." argolander then refused to be baptized, and, returning to his army, prepared for battle on the morrow. charles, seeing the mischief his neglect of these poor men had occasioned, ordered them to be decently clothed and better fed. here then we may note the christian incurs great blame who neglects the poor. if charles, from inattention to their comfort, thereby lost the opportunity of converting the saracens, what will be the lot of those who treat them still worse? they will hear this sentence pronounced--"depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire; for i was an hungered, and ye gave me no meat; naked, and ye clothed me not." we must consider likewise that our faith in christ is of little value without good works. as the body, says the apostle, without the soul is dead, so is faith dead if it produce not good fruit. and as the pagan king refused baptism because he found something wrong after it, so our lord, i fear, will refuse our baptism at the day of judgment if superfluity of faults be found in us. chapter xiv. _of the battle of pampeluna, and argolander's death._ both armies now prepared for battle in the morning, contending for their different faiths. the king mustered one hundred and thirty thousand men, but argolander only one hundred thousand. the christians formed themselves into four squadrons; the saracens into five; whose first corps being speedily discomfited, they all joined in one phalanx, with argolander in the midst. the christians then surrounded them on all sides. first arnaldo de berlanda and his troops; then astolfo; next aristagnus, galdebode, ogier, and constantine; lastly the king himself, and his innumerable warriors. arnaldo was the first that broke in upon the enemy, overthrowing them right and left till he reached argolander himself in the centre, and slew him with his own hand. then ensued a great shout, and the christians, rushing in upon the saracens, slew them on all sides, making so great a slaughter that none escaped but the kings of seville and cordova, and a few of their troops. so great, indeed, was the effusion of blood, that the christians waded in it to their very knees. they slew likewise all the saracens left in the city. charles fought for the faith, and therefore triumphed over argolander. note then, o christian, that whatsoever thou undertakest thou likewise shalt accomplish if thou hast faith, for all things are possible to them that believe. greatly rejoiced at this victory, the king marched forward, and came to the bridge of arge in the compostella road. chapter xv. _of the christians that returned unlawfully to spoil the dead._ certain of the christians however, coveting the spoils of the dead, returned that same night to the field of battle, and loaded themselves with heaps of gold and silver. but as they were returning to the camp, almanzor, king of cordova, who had fled for refuge to the mountains with the saracens that made their escape, came pouring down, and slew them all to the number of a thousand men. these, then, are types of such as strive against sin, but afterwards relapse; who, when they have overcome, continue not stedfast, but seek unlawful pleasures, suffering themselves to be mastered in turn by their grand adversary. so likewise the religious, that forsake their vocations to re-engage in worldly concerns and profits, lose the reward of eternal life, and entail upon themselves everlasting perdition. chapter xvi. _of the war of furra._ the day after the king was informed that a certain king of navarre, called furra, designed to fight him at mount garzim. charles therefore prepared for battle; but desiring to know who should perish in it, he entreated the lord to show him; whereupon in the morning a red cross appeared on their shoulders behind. in order therefore to preserve them, he confined them in his oratory. then joining battle, furra and three thousand of his troops were slain. these were all saracens of navarre. the king now returned to his oratory, but found them all dead that he had left in it, to the number of one hundred and fifty men. "o holy band of christian warriors, though the sword slew you not, yet did you not lose the palm of victory, or the prize of martyrdom!" charles then made himself master of the mountain and castle of garzim, and subdued the whole country of navarre. chapter xvii. _of the war with ferracute, and of orlando's admirable dispute with him._ charles now received news that a certain giant, of the name of ferracute, of the race of goliath, was come to nager, sent thither by admiraldus, with twenty thousand turks of babylon, to fight him. this giant neither feared spear nor dart, and was stronger than forty men. charles therefore marched to nager, and ferracute, hearing of his arrival, sallied out from the city to challenge any warrior to single combat. charles then sent ogier the dacian, whom the giant no sooner perceived, than, leisurely approaching, he caught him up under his right arm, as easily as he would a lamb, and bore him off in sight of all his friends to the city; for the giant's stature was twelve cubits; his face a cubit long; his nose a palm; his arms and thighs four cubits; and his fingers three palms in length. rinaldo of the white thorn was next sent against him, but he seized him in like manner, and imprisoned him with ogier. the king then sent constantine and ocellus, but, seizing one under each arm, he bore them off likewise. he then sent twenty warriors by pairs against him, but they shared the same fate. charles dared not then venture to send more warriors: but orlando with the king's permission approached the giant, who seized him instantly by the right arm, and seated him upon his steed before him. but as he was bearing him to the city, orlando, recovering his strength, and trusting in the almighty, seized the giant by the beard, and tumbled him from his horse, so that both came to the ground together. orlando, then, thinking to slay the giant, drew his sword, and struck at him, but the blow fell upon his steed, and pierced him through. the giant being thus on foot, drew his enormous sword, which orlando perceiving, who had remounted his own charger, struck him on the sword arm, and, though he did not wound him, struck the sword out of his hand; which greatly enraging ferracute, he aimed a blow at orlando with his fist, but, missing him, hit his horse on the forehead, and laid him dead on the spot. and now the fight lasted till noon with fists and stones. the giant then demanded a truce till next day, agreeing to meet orlando without horse or spear. each warrior then retired to his post. next morning they accordingly met once more. the giant brought a sword, but orlando a long staff to ward off the giant's blows, who wearied himself to no purpose. they now began to batter each other with stones, that lay scattered about the field, till at last the giant begged a second truce, which being granted, he presently fell fast asleep upon the ground. orlando, taking a stone for a pillow, quietly laid himself down also. for such was the law of honour between the christians and saracens at that time, that no one on any pretence dared to take advantage of his adversary before the truce was expired, as in that case his own party would have slain him. when ferracute awoke, he found orlando awake also, who thereupon rose, and seated himself by the giant's side, inquiring how it came to pass he was so very strong? "because," replied the giant, "i am only vulnerable in the navel." ferracute spoke in the spanish language, which orlando understanding tolerably well, a conversation now followed between them, which ferracute recommenced by inquiring his name, which orlando told him. "and what race are you of?" said the giant. "of the race of the franks."--"what law do you follow?" "the law of christ, so far as his grace permits me."--"who is this christ in whom you profess to believe?" "the son of god, born of a virgin, who took upon him our nature, was crucified for us, rose again from the dead, and ascended into heaven, where he sitteth on the right hand of his father." "we believe," said ferracute, "that the creator of heaven and earth is one god, and that, as he was not made himself, so cannot another god spring from him. there is therefore only one god, not three, as i understand you christians profess." "you say well," said orlando; "there is but one god, but your faith is imperfect; for as the father is god, so likewise is the son, and so is the holy ghost. three persons, but one god."--"nay," said ferracute: "if each of these three persons be god, there must be three gods." "by no means," replied orlando; "he is both three and one. the three persons are co-eternal and co-equal. there is indeed distinction of person, but unity of essence, and equality of majesty. abraham saw three, but worshipped one. let us recur to natural things. when the harp sounds, there is the art, the strings, and the hand, yet but one harp. in the almond there is the shell, the coat, and the kernel. in the sun, the body, the beams, and the heat. in the wheel, the centre, the spokes, and the nave. in you, likewise, there is the body, the members, and the soul. in like manner may trinity in unity be ascribed to god." "i now comprehend," replied ferracute, "how god may be three in one, but i know not how he begot the son." "do you," answered orlando, "believe that god made adam?"--"i do." "adam himself was not, then, born of any, and yet he begot sons. so god the father is born of none, yet of his own ineffable grace begot the son from all eternity."--"your arguments," said the giant, "please me exceedingly, but still i am at a loss to know how he that was god became man." "the creator of heaven and earth, who made all things out of nothing, could certainly," said orlando, "engender his son of a pure virgin, by divine afflation."--"there lies the difficulty," returned ferracute, "how without human aid, as you affirm, he could spring from the womb." "surely," said orlando, "god, who formed adam from no seed, could form his son in like manner; and as from god the father he was without mother, so from his mother did he spring without an earthly father."--"it makes me blush," said the giant, "to think that a virgin should conceive without a man." "he," answered orlando, "that causes the worm in the bean, and many species of birds, beasts, and serpents, to engender without the help of the male, could procure god and man of a pure virgin without the help of man. for as his power enabled him to produce the first man from the ground, so could he produce the second from a virgin."--"i grant it," replied the giant; "he might be born of a virgin; but if he was the son of god, how could he die, for god never dies?" "that indeed is true," said orlando; "as god, he could not die; but when he took our nature upon him, and was made man, he became subject to death, for every man dies. as we believe his nativity, so may we likewise believe his passion and resurrection." "and what is it we are to believe of his resurrection?" inquired ferracute. "that he died, and rose again the third day."--the giant, hearing this, was greatly astonished, and exclaimed to orlando, "why do you talk so idly? it is impossible that a man, after he is once dead, can return to life again." "not only did the son of god rise from the dead," replied orlando, "but all the men that have died since the creation of the world shall rise again, and appear before his tribunal, where they shall be rewarded everyone according to his deeds, whether they be good or evil. that god, who makes the tree spring from the soil, and the grain of wheat to rot in the ground, that it may revive with fresh increase, can at the last day clothe the souls of men with their own bodies, and restore them to life. take the mystic example of the lion, which on the third day revives his dead cubs with his breath by licking them. what wonder, then, that god should after three days revive his son? nor ought it to seem strange that, as the son of god rose from the dead, many others of the dead should rise even before his own resurrection. if elijah and elisha by the power of god could perform this miracle, how much more easily could the father restore the son, whom it was indeed impossible that death could retain in his fetters. death fled at his sight, as he shall fly likewise at the sound of his voice, when the whole phalanx of the dead shall rise again."--"enough," said ferracute, "i clearly perceive all this; but how could he ascend into heaven?" "he that descended," answered orlando, "could easily ascend. he that rose of himself could enter the skies in triumph. does not the wheel of the mill descend low, and return to its height again? does not the bird in the air ascend and descend? can you not yourself come down from a mountain, and return thither? did not the sun yesterday rise in the east and set in the west, and yet rise again in the east to-day? to that place from whence the son of god descended, did he likewise ascend." "well," said ferracute, "to end our arguments, i will fight you on these terms: if the faith you profess be the true faith, you shall conquer; otherwise the victory shall be mine; and let the issue be eternal honour to the conqueror, but dishonour to the vanquished." "be it so!" said orlando: whereupon they immediately fell to blows. but the very first which the giant aimed at him would have certainly been fatal, if orlando had not nimbly leaped aside, and caught it on his staff, which was however cut in twain. the giant, seeing his advantage, then rushed in upon him, and both came to the ground together. orlando then, finding it impossible to escape, instantly implored the divine assistance, and, feeling himself re-invigorated, sprung upon his feet, when, seizing the giant's sword, he thrust it into his navel, and made his escape. ferracute, finding himself mortally wounded, called aloud upon mahomet; which the saracens hearing, sallied from the city, and bore him off in their arms. orlando returned safe to the camp; the christians then boldly attacked the city, and carried it by storm. the giant and his people were slain, his castle taken, and all the christian warriors liberated. chapter xviii. _the war of the masks._ soon after the emperor heard that ibrahim, king of seville, and almanzor, who escaped from the battle of pampeluna, had gathered together at cordova a body of troops from seven[ ] of the neighbouring cities of seville. thither then did the king pursue his march with six thousand men, and found the saracens, ten thousand strong, about three miles from the city. the king formed his army into three divisions. the first composed of his best troops, all cavalry; the two last, foot. the saracens formed theirs in a similar manner. but when the king in person advanced against the first squadrons of pagans, he found them all disguised in bearded masks, with horns upon their heads, like demons, making so strange a din with their hands upon their drums and other instruments, that the horses were terrified, and galloped back in spite of all their riders could do to prevent them. whereupon the foot retreated likewise to an adjacent mountain, where, uniting in one squadron, they stopped for the saracens, who would then advance no further, but gave our people time to pitch their tents, and encamp that night. charles then called a council of his captains, and agreed to tie bandages over their horses' eyes, and to stuff their ears, in order to disconcert this stratagem on the morrow. admirable experiment! for now we fought the enemy from morning till night, and slew a great number, though it was by no means a general slaughter; for the saracens, again joining in martial array, brought forward a castle, drawn by eight oxen, with a certain red banner waving upon it, which so long as they saw present, it was their rule never to fly. the king, knowing this, armed himself with a strong breast-plate, a mighty spear, and invincible sword, and, aided by divine assistance, hewed his way through his enemies, overturning them to right and left, till he reached the car, when, cutting the flag-pole with his sword, the saracens instantly fled in all directions. prodigious shouts were made by both armies. we then slew eight thousand moors, together with ibrahim, king of seville. almanzor made good his retreat into the city, but submitted to charles the day after, consenting to be baptized, and to do homage for his dominions. the king now divided the conquered countries of spain amongst his soldiers. navarre and bearn he gave to the inhabitants of brittany; castile to the franks; nadres and saragossa to the apulians; arragon to the ponthieuse; andalusia, on the sea-coast, to the germans; and portugal to the dacians and flemings. but the french would not settle in the mountain parts of gallicia. thus there seemed to be no more foes in spain to hurt the emperor. chapter xix. _of the council the emperor summoned; and of his journey to compostella._ charles then sent away the greatest part of his troops, and came to gallicia, where he behaved very liberally to the christians he found there, but either put to death or banished those that had revolted to the moorish faith. he then appointed bishops and prelates in every city, and, assembling a council of the chief dignitaries in compostella, decreed that the church of st. james should be henceforth considered as the metropolitan, instead of iria, as it was no city, subjecting iria likewise to compostella. in the same council i, turpin, archbishop of rheims, together with forty other bishops and prelates, dedicated, by the king's command, the church and altar of st. james, with extraordinary splendour and magnificence. all spain and gallicia were made subject to this holy place: it was moreover endowed with four pieces of money from every house throughout the kingdom, and at the same time totally freed from the royal jurisdiction; being from that hour styled the apostolic see, as the body of the holy apostle laid entombed within it. here likewise the general councils of spain are held; the bishops ordained, and the kings crowned by the hand of the metropolitan bishop, to the apostle's honour. here too, when any crying sin is committed, or innovations made in the faith and precepts of our lord, through the meritoriousness of this venerable edifice the grievance is discovered, and atonement made. as the eastern apostolic see was established by st. john, the brother of st. james, at ephesus, so was the western established by st. james. and those sees are undoubtedly the true sees. ephesus on the right hand of christ's earthly kingdom, and compostella on the left, both which fell to the share of the sons of zebedee, according to their request. there are, then, three sees which are deservedly held pre-eminent, even as our lord gave the pre-eminence to the three apostles, peter, james, and john, who first established them. and certainly these three places should be deemed more sacred than others, where they preached, and their bodies lie enshrined. rome claims the superiority from peter, prince of the apostles. compostella holds the second place from st. james, the elder brother of st. john, and first inheritor of the crown of martyrdom. he dignified it with his preaching, consecrated it with his sepulchre, and ceases not to exalt it by miracles and dispensations of mercy. the third see justly is ephesus; for there st. john wrote his gospel, "in the beginning was the word," assembling there likewise the bishops of the neighbouring cities, whom he calls angels in the apocalypse. he established that church by his doctrines and miracles, and there his body was entombed. if, therefore, any difficulty should occur that cannot elsewhere be resolved, let it be brought before these sees, and it shall, by divine grace, be decided. as gallicia was freed in these early ages from the saracen yoke, by the favour of god and st. james, and by the king's valour, so may it continue firm in the orthodox faith till the consummation of ages! chapter xx. _of the emperor's person and courage._ the emperor was of a ruddy complexion, with brown hair; of a well-made handsome form, but a stern visage. his height was about eight of his own feet, which were very long. he was of a strong robust make; his legs and thighs very stout, and his sinews firm. his face was thirteen inches long; his beard a palm; his nose half a palm; his forehead a foot over. his lion-like eyes flashed fire like carbuncles; his eyebrows were half a palm over. when he was angry, it was a terror to look upon him. he required eight spans for his girdle, besides what hung loose. he ate sparingly of bread; but a whole quarter of lamb, two fowls, a goose, or a large portion of pork; a peacock, crane, or a whole hare. he drank moderately of wine and water. he was so strong, that he could at a single blow cleave asunder an armed soldier on horseback from the head to the waist, and the horse likewise. he easily vaulted over four horses harnessed together; and could raise an armed man from the ground to his head, as he stood erect upon his hand. he was liberal, just in his decrees, and fluent of speech. four days in the year, especially during his residence in spain, he held a solemn assembly at court, adorning himself with his royal crown and sceptre; namely, on christmas-day, at easter, whitsuntide, and on the festival of st. james. a naked sword, after the imperial fashion, was then borne before him. a hundred and twenty orthodox soldiers matched nightly round his couch, in three courses of forty each. a drawn sword was laid at his right hand, and a lighted candle at his left. although many would delight to read his great actions, they would be too tedious to relate. how he invested galifer, admiral of coleto, where he was banished, with the military order, and, in return for his kindness, slew bramantes, his enemy, the proud saracen king; how many kingdoms and countries he conquered; abbeys he founded; bodies of the saints and relics he enshrined in gold; how he was made emperor of rome, and visited the holy supulchre, bringing back with him the wood of the holy cross, wherewith he endowed the shrine of st. james; of all this i shall say no more: the hand and the pen would sooner fail than the history. but what befel his army at his return to france, we now briefly proceed to tell. chapter xxi. _of the treachery of ganalon; the battle of ronceval, and the sufferings of the christian warriors._ when this famous emperor had thus recovered spain to the glory of our lord and st. james, after a season he returned to pampeluna, and encamped there, with his army. at that time there were in saragossa two saracen kings, marsir, and beligard, his brother, sent by the soldan of babylon from persia to spain. charles had bowed them to his dominion, and they served him always, but only with feigned fidelity. for the king having sent ganalon to require them to be baptized, and to pay tribute, they sent him thirty horse-load of gold, silver, and jewels; forty load of wine likewise for his soldiers, and a thousand beautiful saracen women. but at the same time they covenanted with ganalon to betray the king's army into their hands for twenty horse-load of gold and silver; which wicked compact being accordingly made, ganalon returned to the king with intelligence that marsir would embrace the christian faith, and was preparing to follow him into france to receive baptism there, and would then hold all spain under oath of fealty to him. the old soldiers would accept the wine only, but the young men were highly gratified with the present of the women. charles, confiding in ganalon, now began his march through the pass of the mountains, in his return to france; giving the command of the rear to his nephew, orlando, count of mans and lord of guienne, and to oliver, count of auvergne, ordering them to keep the station of ronceval with thirty thousand men, whilst he passed it with the rest of the army. but many, who had on the night preceding intoxicated themselves with wine, and been guilty of fornication with the saracen women, and other women that followed the camp from france, incurred the penalty of death. what more shall we say? when charles had safely passed the narrow strait that leads into gascony, between the mountains, with twenty thousand of his warriors, turpin, the archbishop, and ganalon, and while the rear kept guard, early in the morning marsir and beligard, rushing down from the hills, where, by ganalon's advice, they had lain two days in ambush, formed their troops into two great divisions, and with the first of twenty thousand men attacked our army, which making a bold resistance, fought from morning to the third hour, and utterly destroyed the enemy. but a fresh body of thirty thousand saracens now poured furiously down upon the christians, already faint and exhausted with fighting so long, and smote them from high to low, so that scarcely one escaped. some were transpierced with lances; some killed with clubs; others beheaded, burnt, flayed alive, or suspended on trees: only orlando, baldwin, and theodoric, were left; the two last gained the woods, and finally escaped. after this terrible slaughter the saracens retreated a league from the field of battle. and here it may be asked, why god permitted those to perish who in no wise had defiled themselves with women? it was, indeed, to prevent them from committing fresh sins at their return home and to give them a crown of glory in reward for their toils. however neither is it to be doubted but those who were guilty of this fault amply atoned for it by their death. in that awful hour they confessed his name, bewailing their sins, and the all-merciful god forgot not their past labours for the sake of christ, for whose faith they lost their lives. the company of women is evidently baneful to the warrior: those earthly princes darius and mark antony were attended by their women, and perished; for lust at once enervates the soul and the body. those who fell into intoxication and lasciviousness typify the priests that war against vice, but suffer themselves to be overcome by wine and sensual appetites till they are slain by their enemy the devil, and punished with eternal death. chapter xxii. _of the death of marsir, and the flight of beligard._ as orlando was returning after the battle was over to view the saracen army, he met a certain black saracen, who had fled from the field, and concealed himself in the woods, whom he seized and bound to a tree with four bands. then, ascending a lofty hill, he surveyed the moorish army, and seeing likewise many christians retreating by the ronceval road he blew his horn, and was joined by about a hundred of them, with whom he returned to the saracen, and promised to give him his life if he would show him marsir; which having performed, he set him at liberty. animating his little band, orlando was soon amidst the thickest of the enemy, and finding one of larger stature than the rest, he hewed him and his horse in twain, so that the halves fell different ways. marsir and his companions then fled in all directions, but orlando, trusting in the divine aid, rushed forward, and overcoming all opposition, slew marsir on the spot. by this time every one of the christians was slain, and orlando himself sorely wounded in five places by lances, and grievously battered likewise with stones. beligard, seeing marsir had fallen, retired from the field with the rest of the saracens; whilst theodoric and baldwin, and some few other christians, made their way through the pass, towards which orlando, wandering, came likewise to the foot of it, and, alighting from his steed, stretched himself on the ground, beneath a tree, near a block of marble, that stood upright in the meadows of ronceval. here drawing his sword, durendal, which signifies a hard blow, a sword of exquisite workmanship, fine temper, and resplendent brightness, which he would sooner have lost his arm than parted with, as he held it in his hand, regarding it earnestly, addressed it in these words: "o sword of unparalleled brightness, excellent dimensions, admirable temper, and hilt of the whitest ivory, decorated with a splendid cross of gold, topped by a berylline apple, engraved with the sacred name of god, endued with keenness and every other virtue, who now shall wield thee in battle? who shall call thee master? he that possessed thee was never conquered, never daunted at the foe; phantoms never appalled him. aided by omnipotence, with thee did he destroy the saracen, exalt the faith of christ, and acquire consummate glory. oft hast thou vindicated the blood of jesus, against pagans, jews, and heretics; oft hewed off the hand and foot of the robber, fulfilling divine justice. o happy sword, keenest of the keen; never was one like thee! he that made thee, made not thy fellow! not one escaped with life from thy stroke! if the slothful timid soldier should now possess thee, or the base saracen, my grief would be unspeakable! thus, then, do i prevent thy falling into their hands."--he then struck the block of marble thrice, which cleft it in the midst, and broke the sword in twain. chapter xxiii. _of the sound of orlando's horn; of his confession, and death._ he now blew a loud blast with his horn, to summon any christian concealed in the adjacent woods to his assistance, or to recal his friends beyond the pass. this horn was endued with such power, that all other horns were split by its sound; and it is said that orlando at that time blew it with such vehemence, that he burst the veins and nerves of his neck. the sound reached the king's ears, who lay encamped in the valley still called by his name, about eight miles from ronceval, towards gascony, being carried so far by supernatural power. charles would have flown to his succour, but was prevented by ganalon, who, conscious of orlando's sufferings, insinuated it was usual with him to sound his horn on light occasions. "he is, perhaps," said he, "pursuing some wild beast, and the sound echoes through the woods; it will be fruitless, therefore, to seek him." o wicked traitor, deceitful as judas! what dost thou merit? orlando now grew very thirsty, and cried for water to baldwin, who just then approached him; but unable to find any, and seeing him so near his end, he blessed him, and, again mounting his steed, galloped off for assistance to the army. immediately after theodoric came up, and, bitterly grieving to see him in this condition, bade him strengthen his soul by confessing his faith. orlando had that morning received the blessed eucharist, and confessed his sins before he went to battle, this being the custom with all the warriors at that time, for which purpose bishops and monks attended the army to give them absolution. the martyr of christ then cast up his eyes to heaven, and cried, "o lord jesus, for whose sake i came into these barbarous regions; through thy aid only have i conquered innumerable pagans, enduring blows and wounds, reproach, derision, and fatigue, heat and cold, hunger and thirst. to thee do i commit my soul in this trying hour. thou, who didst suffer on the cross for those who deserved not thy favour, deliver my soul, i beseech thee, from eternal death! i confess myself a most grievous sinner, but thou mercifully dost forgive our sins; thou pitiest every one, and hatest nothing which thou hast made, covering the sins of the penitent in whatsoever day they turn unto thee with true contrition. o thou, who didst spare thy enemies, and the woman taken in adultery; who didst pardon mary magdalen, and look with compassion on the weeping peter; who didst likewise open the gate of paradise to the thief that confessed thee upon the cross; have mercy upon me, and receive my soul into thy everlasting rest! "thou art he who preventest our bodies from perishing in the grave, changing them to greater glory; thou, o lord, art he, who hast said, 'thou rather wouldst the sinner should live than die.' i believe in thee with my whole heart, and confess thee with my lips; therefore i beseech thee to receive me into the enjoyment of a better life when this is ended. let my sense and intellects be in the same measure improved as the shadow differs from the substance." and now, grasping the flesh and skin near his heart (as theodoric afterwards related), he continued his speech with bitter groanings. "o lord jesus christ, son of god, and of the blessed virgin, with my inmost soul do i confess that thou, my redeemer, dost live, and that at the day of judgment i shall rise, and in my flesh behold thee, my god and my saviour!" and thrice, thus grasping his breast, did he repeat those words; and, laying his hand upon his eyes in like manner, he said, "and these eyes shall behold thee!" uncovering them, he again looked up to heaven, and, signing himself with the sign of the cross, he uttered, "all earthly things are vain and unprofitable; i am now taught of christ, that eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive, the good things that god hath prepared for them that love him." then, stretching his hands to heaven, he uttered this prayer for them that perished in the battle:-- "let thy bowels of compassion, o lord, be open to thy faithful servants, who have this day perished by the hand of the barbarians. hither did they come to vindicate thy faith; for thy sake are they fallen. do thou, o lord, mercifully blot out their offences, accounting them worthy to be delivered from the pains of hell. send thy archangels to rescue their souls from darkness, and bear them to the regions of light, where thy blessed martyrs eternally live and reign with thee, who dost live and reign with god the father and the holy spirit, to all ages. amen!"--immediately after this confession and prayer, his soul winged its flight from his body, and was borne by angels to paradise, where he reigns in transcendent glory, united by his meritorious deeds to the blessed choir of martyrs. chapter xxiv. _of orlando's rank and virtue._ no longer it becomes the heart to mourn a hero of immortal joys possessed; of noble rank, and noble parents born, for nobler deeds in heaven with glory blest. to none inferior, thine was native worth; thy feet still tending to the temple's bounds; a glorious model to the wondering earth, a faithful balsam to thy country's wounds. the clergy's refuge, and the widow's friend, bounteous to guests, and liberal to the poor; to heaven thy parting steps may safely bend, whose works have opened wide salvation's door. thy tongue the fount of heavenly eloquence, that still would slake the thirst, and never pall, endowed with graceful wit, and manly sense, proclaimed thee common father, friend of all. blest chief, farewell! but not the marbled urn that holds thy ashes can thy soul contain: our wondering eyes to heaven above we turn, where thou for ever dost triumphant reign. chapter xxv. _archbishop turpin's vision, and the king's lamentation for orlando._ what more shall we say? whilst the soul of the blessed orlando was leaving his body, i, turpin, standing near the king in the valley of charles, at the moment i was celebrating the mass of the dead, namely, on the th day of june, fell into a trance, and, hearing the angelic choir sing aloud, i wondered what it might be. now, when they had ascended on high, behold, there came after them a phalanx of terrible ones, like warriors returning from the spoil, bearing their prey. presently i inquired of one of them what it meant, and was answered, "we are bearing the soul of marsir to hell, but yonder is michael bearing the horn-winder to heaven." when mass was over, i told the king what i had seen; and whilst i was yet speaking, behold baldwin rode up on orlando's horse, and related what had befallen him, and where he had left the hero in the agonies of death, beside a stone in the meadows at the foot of the mountain; whereupon the whole army immediately marched back to ronceval. the king himself first discovered the hero, lying in the form of a cross, and began to lament over him with bitter sighs and sobs, wringing his hands, and tearing his hair and beard. "o right arm," cried he, "of thy sovereign's body; honour of the french; sword of justice, inflexible spear, inviolable breast-plate, shield of safety; a judas maccabeus in probity, a samson in strength; in death like saul and jonathan; brave, experienced soldier, great and noble defender of the christians, scourge of the saracens; a wall to the clergy, the widow's and orphan's friend, just and faithful in judgment!--renowned count of the french, valiant captain of our armies, why did i leave thee here to perish? how can i behold thee dead, and not die myself? why hast thou left me sorrowful and alone? a poor miserable king! but thou art exalted to the kingdom of heaven, and dost enjoy the company of angels and martyrs. without cease i shall lament over thee, as david did over saul and jonathan, and his son absalom. thy soul is fled to happier scenes above, and left us mourning to lament thee here; blest in thy god and saviour's fav'ring love, who wipes from every eye the trickling tear. six lustres and eight years thou dwelledst below, but snatched from earth to heaven, thou reign'st on high, where feasts divine immortal spirits know, and joys transcendent fill the starry sky." thus did charles mourn for orlando to the very last day of his life. on the spot where he died he encamped; and caused the body to be embalmed with balsam, myrrh, and aloes. the whole camp watched it that night, honouring his corse with hymns and songs, and innumerable torches and fires kindled on the adjacent mountains. chapter xxvi. _how the sun stood still for three days; the slaughter of four thousand saracens; and the death of ganalon._ early on the next day they came to the field of battle in ronceval, and found the bodies of their friends, many of them still alive, but mortally wounded. oliver was lying on his face, pinioned to the ground in the form of a cross, and flayed from the neck to his finger-ends; pierced also with darts and javelins, and bruised with clubs. the mourning was now dismal; every one wept for his friend, till the groves and valleys resounded with wailing. charles solemnly vowed to pursue the pagans till he found them; and, marching in pursuit with his whole army, the sun stood still for three days, till he overtook them on the banks of the ebro, near saragossa, feasting and rejoicing for their success. attacking them valiantly, he then slew four thousand, and dispersed the rest. what further? we now returned to ronceval, bearing with us the sick and wounded to the spot where orlando fell. the emperor then made strict inquiries after the treachery of ganalon, which began to be universally rumoured about. trial was ordained by single combat, pinabel for ganalon, and theodoric for the accuser; when, the latter gaining the victory, the treason was proved. ganalon was now sentenced to be torn to pieces by four wild horses, which was accordingly his end. chapter xxvii. _the embalming of the dead._ they now embalmed the dead bodies of their friends; some with myrrh and balsam, some with salt, taking out the bowels, and filling the bodies with aromatic drugs, or with salt only. some were buried on the spot; others conveyed to france; but many that became putrid and offensive were buried on the road. wooden carriages were made for the dead, but the sick and wounded were borne away on litters upon their shoulders. chapter xxviii. _of the consecrated cemeteries of arles and bordeaux._ two chief burying grounds were now consecrated at arles and bordeaux by seven bishops: maximin of aix, trophimus of arles, paul of narbonne, saturnine of thoulouse, frontorne of perigord, martial of limoges, and eutropius of xaintonge; where the major part of the warriors were interred that fell in the battles of ronceval and mount garzim. chapter xxix. _of the burial of orlando and his companions at blaye and other places._ charles deferred the burial of orlando till he came to blaye. his body was laid upon gold tapestry on two mules, covered with a pall, and at length honourably interred in the church of st. roman, which he had formerly built, and endowed with regular canons. his helmet was placed upon his head, and his ivory horn at his feet. but the body was afterwards translated to st. severin in bordeaux, the chief city of these provinces, where it was joyfully welcomed, as it had liberally tasted his munificence. at blaye likewise was buried oliver, and galdebode, king of friezeland; ogier, king of dacia; aristagnus, king of brittany; garin, duke of lorraine; and many other warriors. happy town, graced with the sepulchres of so many heroes! at bordeaux, in the cemetery of st. severin, were buried gayfere, king of bordeaux; angelerus, duke of aquitaine; lambert, prince of bourges; galerius galin; rinaldo of the white thorn; walter of the olive trees; vulterinus, and five thousand of their soldiers. ocellus, count of nantes, and most of the inhabitants of brittany, were buried in that city. charles gave twelve thousand pieces of silver and talents of gold for the repose of their souls, and fed the poor for many miles round the city of blaye; endowing the church likewise with rich vestments and silver ornaments, for the love he bore orlando; freeing the canons from all service but prayers for him and his companions. he moreover clothed and entertained thirty poor men on the anniversary of their martyrdom, establishing minstrels, masses, and other solemnities, which the canons were not to neglect on that day, as they hoped to merit a crown of glory, which they promised to perform. chapter xxx. _of those buried at arles._ after this the king and his army proceeded by the way of gascony and thoulouse, and came to arles, where we found the army of burgundy, which had left us in the hostile valley, bringing their dead by the way of morbihan and thoulouse, to bury them in the plain of arles. here we performed the rites of estolfo, count of champagne; of solomon; sampson, duke of burgundy; arnold of berlanda; alberic of burgundy; gumard, esturinite, hato, juonius, berard, berengaire, and naaman, duke of bourbon, and of ten thousand of their soldiers. constantine, governor of rome, and other romans, were conveyed thither by sea, and buried in apulia. the king gave twelve thousand pieces of silver, and as many talents of gold, for the repose of their souls, and to the poor of arles. chapter xxxi. _of the council held at st. denis._ we then came to vienne, where i remained to be healed of the scars and wounds i received in spain. the king, much fatigued, at length arrived at paris; and, assembling a council of his chief princes and bishops at st. denis, returned thanks to god for his victory over the pagans, and gave all france as a manor to that church, in the same way as st. paul and st. clement had formerly endowed the bishopric of rome. the french bishops were likewise to be ordained there, and not made subject to the see of rome. then, standing by the tomb of st. denis, he entreated the lord for all who had died in his cause. the very next night st. denis appeared to the king in his sleep, assuring him that full pardon of sin was granted to all that followed him, and had fought and perished in the wars with the saracens; that they likewise should recover of their wounds who had bestowed money on the church; which being made known by the king, very liberal offerings were made by the people, who thus acquired the name of franks; and the whole land, formerly called gaul, was now changed to france, as being freed from all servitude, and having dominion over other nations. the king then went to aix-la-chapelle, in the county of liege, to bathe and drink the waters, where he liberally endowed st. mary's church with gold and silver, ordering it to be painted with ancient and modern histories, and his palace to be decorated with the representation of his wars in spain; with emblems of the seven liberal arts and other excellent embellishments. chapter xxxii. _of the king's death._ soon after, the king's approaching death was revealed to me; for, behold, as i was praying in the church of vienne, i fell into a trance, as i was singing psalms, and saw innumerable companies of soldiers pass before me by the lorraine road. a certain one, black as an ethiop, followed them, of whom i inquired whither he was going, and received for answer that he was awaiting the death of charles to take possession of his soul. "i conjure you, then," said i, "by the name of the lord jesus, to return when you have completed your errand." when i had rested some time, and begun to explain the psalms, behold they returned back, and, speaking to the same person i before addressed, i inquired whom he had been seeking, and was answered, "the gallician;" but the stones and timber of the churches he founded balanced so greatly in his favour, that his good works outweighed his bad, and his soul was snatched from us, and at this the demon vanished. thus i understood charles died that day, and was carried into the bosom of god and st. james. but as i had requested him, before we parted at vienne, to send me notice of his decease in case it preceded mine, being then grievously sick, and remembering his promise, he encharged a certain learned soldier to bring me word the moment he died. what more need i add? the messenger arrived on the fifteenth day after it happened. he had, indeed, been grievously afflicted with illness from the hour he left spain, and suffered still more in mind than in body for the friends he lost on the unfortunate th of june. on the same day that i saw the vision, namely, on the th of february, in the year of our lord , he departed this life, and was sumptuously buried in the round church of st. mary, which he had himself built; and this sign i was credibly informed happened yearly for three years together before his death,--"the sun and moon became dark, and his name, charles the prince, inscribed on the church, was totally obliterated of itself; and the portico likewise, between the church and the palace, fell to the very foundation." the wooden bridge also which he built six years before over the rhine at mentz was destroyed by fire, self-kindled. and the same day, as a traveller was on his journey, he saw a great flame, like the flame of a funeral pile, pass from right to left before him; which terrifying him greatly, he fell from his horse, but was presently relieved by his friends. we therefore believe that he now enjoys the crown of the blessed martyrs, whose labours he imitated, whose pattern and example he followed. whereby we may understand, that whoever builds a church to god's glory, provides for himself a residence in his kingdom. for this cause was charles snatched from the hands of demons, and borne by good angels to heavenly habitations. ballad romance touching the days of charlemagne and of the cid campeador with the ballad of count alarcos _from the spanish ballads translated by_ john gibson lockhart. contents. part i. the moor calaynos the escape of gayferos melisendra the march of bernardo del carpio lady alda's dream the admiral guarinos the complaint of the count of saldenha the funeral of the count of saldenha bernardo and alphonso part ii. the young cid ximena demands vengeance the cid and the five moorish kings the cid's courtship the cid's wedding the cid and the leper bavieca the excommunication of the cid part iii. count alarcos and the infanta solis part i. the moor calaynos. in the following version i have taken liberty to omit a good many of the introductory stanzas of the famous _coplas de calainos_. the reader will remember that this ballad is alluded to in don quixote, where the knight's nocturnal visit to toboso is described. it is generally believed to be among the most ancient, and certainly was among the most popular, of all the ballads in the cancionero. i. "i had six moorish nurses, but the seventh was not a moor, the moors they gave me milk enow, but the christian gave me lore; and she told me ne'er to listen, though sweet the words might be, till he that spake had proved his troth, and pledged a gallant fee."-- ii. "fair damsel," quoth calaynos, "if thou wilt go with me, say what may win thy favour, and thine that gift shall be. fair stands the castle on the rock, the city in the vale, and bonny is the red red gold, and rich the silver pale."-- iii. "fair sir," quoth she, "virginity i never will lay down for gold, nor yet for silver, for castle, nor for town; but i will be your leman for the heads of certain peers-- and i ask but three--rinaldo's--roland's--and olivier's."-- iv. he kissed her hand where she did stand, he kissed her lips also, and "bring forth," he cries, "my pennon, for to paris i must go."-- i wot ye saw them rearing his banner broad right soon, whereon revealed his bloody field its pale and crescent moon. v. that broad bannere the moore did rear, ere many days were gone, in foul disdain of charlemagne, by the church of good saint john; in the midst of merry paris, on the bonny banks of seine, shall never scornful paynim that pennon rear again. vi. his banner he hath planted high, and loud his trumpet blown, that all the twelve might hear it well around king charles's throne; the note he blew right well they knew; both paladin and peer had the trumpet heard of that stern lord in many a fierce career. vii. it chanced the king, that fair morning, to the chace had made him bowne, with many a knight of warlike might, and prince of high renown; sir reynold of montalban, and claros' lord, gaston, behind him rode, and bertram good, that reverend old baron. viii. black d'ardennes' eye of mastery in that proud troop was seen, and there was urgel's giant force, and guarinos' princely mien; gallant and gay upon that day was baldwin's youthful cheer, but first did ride, by charles's side, roland and olivier. ix. now in a ring around the king, not far in the greenwood, awaiting all the huntsman's call, it chanced the nobles stood; "now list, mine earls, now list!" quoth charles, "yon breeze will come again, some trumpet-note methinks doth float from the bonny banks of seine."-- x. he scarce had heard the trumpet, the word he scarce had said, when among the trees he near him sees a dark and turbaned head; "now stand, now stand at my command, bold moor," quoth charlemagne, "that turban green, how dare it be seen among the woods of seine."-- xi. "my turban green must needs be seen among the woods of seine," the moor replied, "since here i ride in quest of charlemagne-- for i serve the moor calaynos, and i his defiance bring to every lord that sits at the board of charlemagne your king. xii. "now lordlings fair, if anywhere in the wood ye've seen him riding, o tell me plain the path he has ta'en--there is no cause for chiding; for my lord hath blown his trumpet by every gate of paris-- long hours in vain, by the bank of seine, upon his steed he tarries."-- xiii. when the emperor had heard the moor, full red was his old cheek, "go back, base cur, upon the spur, for i am he you seek-- go back, and tell your master to commend him to mahoun, for his soul shall dwell with him in hell, or ere yon sun go down. xiv. "mine arm is weak, my hairs are grey," (thus spake king charlemagne,) "would for one hour i had the power of my young days again, as when i plucked the saxon from out his mountain den-- o soon should cease the vaunting of this proud saracen! xv. "though now mine arm be weakened, though now my hairs be grey, the hard-won praise of other days cannot be swept away-- if shame there be, my liegemen, that shame on you must lie-- go forth, go forth, good roland; to-night this moor must die."-- xvi. then out and spake rough roland--"ofttimes i've thinned the ranks of the hot moor, and when all was o'er have won me little thanks; some carpet knight will take delight to do this doughty feat, whom damsels gay shall well repay with their smiles and whispers sweet!"-- xvii. then out and spake sir baldwin--the youngest peer was he, the youngest and the comeliest--"let none go forth but me; sir roland is mine uncle, and he may in safety jeer, but i will show the youngest may be sir roland's peer."-- xviii. "nay, go not thou," quoth charlemagne, "thou art my gallant youth, and braver none i look upon; but thy cheek it is too smooth; and the curls upon thy forehead they are too glossy bright;-- some elder peer must couch his spear against this crafty knight."-- xix. but away, away goes baldwin, no words can stop him now, behind him lies the greenwood, he hath gained the mountain's brow, he reineth first his charger, within the churchyard green, where, striding slow the elms below, the haughty moor is seen. xx. then out and spake calaynos--"fair youth, i greet thee well; thou art a comely stripling, and if thou with me wilt dwell, all for the grace of thy sweet face, thou shalt not lack thy fee, within my lady's chamber a pretty page thou'lt be."-- xxi. an angry man was baldwin, when thus he heard him speak, "proud knight," quoth he, "i come with thee a bloody spear to break."-- o, sternly smiled calaynos, when thus he heard him say,-- o loudly as he mounted his mailèd barb did neigh. xxii. one shout, one thrust, and in the dust young baldwin lies full low-- no youthful knight could bear the might of that fierce warrior's blow; calaynos draws his falchion, and waves it to and fro, "thy name now say, and for mercy pray, or to hell thy soul must go."-- xxiii. the helpless youth revealed the truth. then said the conqueror-- "i spare thee for thy tender years, and for thy great valour; but thou must rest thee captive here, and serve me on thy knee, for fain i'd tempt some doughtier peer to come and rescue thee." xxiv. sir roland heard that haughty word, (he stood behind the wall,) his heart, i trow, was heavy enow, when he saw his kinsman fall; but now his heart was burning, and never a word he said, but clasped his buckler on his arm, his helmet on his head. xxv. another sight saw the moorish knight, when roland blew his horn, to call him to the combat in anger and in scorn; all cased in steel from head to heel, in the stirrup high he stood, the long spear quivered in his hand, as if athirst for blood. xxvi. then out and spake calaynos--"thy name i fain would hear; a coronet on thy helm is set; i guess thou art a peer."-- sir roland lifted up his horn, and blew another blast, "no words, base moor," quoth roland, "this hour shall be thy last."-- xxvii. i wot they met full swiftly, i wot the shock was rude; down fell the misbeliever, and o'er him roland stood; close to his throat the steel he brought, and plucked his beard full sore-- "what devil brought thee hither?--speak out or die, false moor!"-- xxviii. "o! i serve a noble damsel, a haughty maid of spain, and in evil day i took my way, that i her grace might gain; for every gift i offered, my lady did disdain, and craved the ears of certain peers that ride with charlemagne."-- xxix. then loudly laughed rough roland--"full few will be her tears, it was not love her soul did move, when she bade thee beard the peers."-- with that he smote upon his throat, and spurned his crest in twain, "no more," he cries, "this moon will rise above the woods of seine." the escape of gayferos. the story of gayfer de bourdeaux is to be found at great length in the romantic chronicle of charlemagne; and it has supplied the spanish minstrels with subjects for a long series of ballads. in that which follows, gayferos, yet a boy, is represented as hearing from his mother the circumstances of his father's death; and as narrowly escaping with his own life, in consequence of his stepfather's cruelty. i. before her knee the boy did stand, within the dais so fair, the golden shears were in her hand, to clip his curlèd hair; and ever as she clipped the curls, such doleful words she spake, that tears ran from gayferos' eyes, for his sad mother's sake. ii. "god grant a beard were on thy face, and strength thine arm within, to fling a spear, or swing a mace, like roland paladin! for then, i think, thou wouldst avenge thy father that is dead, whom envious traitors slaughtered within thy mother's bed. iii. "their bridal-gifts were rich and rare, that hate might not be seen; they cut me garments broad and fair--none fairer hath the queen."-- then out and spake the little boy--"each night to god i call, and to his blessèd mother, to make me strong and tall!"-- iv. the count he heard gayferos, in the palace where he lay;-- "now silence, silence, countess! it is falsehood that you say; i neither slew the man, nor hired another's sword to slay;-- but, for that the mother hath desired, be sure the son shall pay!" v. the count called to his esquires, (old followers were they, whom the dead lord had nurtured for many a merry day)-- he bade them take their old lord's heir, and stop his tender breath-- alas! 'twas piteous but to hear the manner of that death. vi. "list, esquires, list, for my command is offspring of mine oath-- the stirrup-foot and the hilt-hand see that ye sunder both;-- that ye cut out his eyes 'twere best--the safer he will go-- and bring a finger and the heart, that i his end may know."-- vii. the esquires took the little boy aside with them to go; yet, as they went, they did repent--"o god! must this be so? how shall we think to look for grace, if this poor child we slay, when ranged before christ jesu's face at the great judgment day?"-- viii. while they, not knowing what to do, were standing in such talk, the countess' little lap-dog bitch by chance did cross their walk; then out and spake one of the 'squires, (you may hear the words he said,) "i think the coming of this bitch may serve us in good stead-- ix. "let us take out the bitch's heart, and give it to galvan; the boy may with a finger part, and be no worser man."-- with that they cut the joint away, and whispered in his ear, that he must wander many a day, nor once those parts come near. x. "your uncle grace and love will show; he is a bounteous man;"-- and so they let gayferos go, and turned them to galvan. the heart and the small finger upon the board they laid, and of gayferos' slaughter a cunning story made. xi. the countess, when she hears them, in great grief loudly cries: meantime the stripling safely unto his uncle hies:-- "now welcome, my fair boy," he said, "what good news may they be come with thee to thine uncle's hall?"--"sad tidings come with me-- xii. "the false galvan had laid his plan to have me in my grave; but i've escaped him, and am here, my boon from thee to crave: rise up, rise up, mine uncle, thy brother's blood they've shed; rise up--they've slain my father within my mother's bed."[ ] melisendra. the following is a version of another of the ballads concerning gayferos. it is the same that is quoted in the chapter of the puppet-show in don quixote. "'child, child,' said don quixote, 'go on directly with your story, and don't keep us here with your excursions and ramblings out of the road. i tell you there must be a formal process, and legal trial, to prove matters of fact.'--'boy,' said the master from behind the show, 'do as the gentleman bids you. don't run so much upon flourishes, but follow your plain song, without venturing on counterpoints, for fear of spoiling all'--'i will, sir,' quoth the boy, and so proceeding: 'now, sirs, he that you see there a-horseback, wrapt up in the gascoign-cloak, is don gayferos himself, whom his wife, now revenged on the moor for his impudence, seeing from the battlements of the tower, takes him for a stranger, and talks with him as such, according to the ballad, 'quoth melisendra, if perchance, sir traveller, you go for france, for pity's sake, ask when you're there, for gayferos, my husband dear.' "'i omit the rest, not to tire you with a long story. it is sufficient that he makes himself known to her, as you may guess by the joy she shows; and, accordingly, now see how she lets herself down from the balcony, to come at her loving husband, and get behind him; but, unhappily, alas! one of the skirts of her gown is caught upon one of the spikes of the balcony, and there she hangs and hovers in the air miserably, without being able to get down. but see how heaven is merciful, and sends relief in the greatest distress! now don gayferos rides up to her, and, not fearing to tear her rich gown, lays hold on it, and at one pull brings her down; and then at one lift sets her astride upon his horse's crupper, bidding her to sit fast, and clap her arms about him, that she might not fall; for the lady melisendra was not used to that kind of riding. "'observe now, gallants, how the horse neighs, and shows how proud he is of the burden of his brave master and fair mistress. look, now, how they turn their backs, and leave the city, and gallop it merrily away towards paris. peace be with you, for a peerless couple of true lovers! may ye get safe and sound into your own country, without any lett or ill chance in your journey, and live as long as nestor, in peace and quietness among your friends and relations.'--'plainness, boy!' cried master peter, 'none of your flights, i beseech you, for affectation is the devil.'--the boy answered nothing, but going on: 'now, sirs,' quoth he, 'some of those idle people, that love to pry into everything, happened to spy melisendra as she was making her escape, and ran presently and gave marsilius notice of it; whereupon he straight commanded to sound an alarm; and now mind what a din and hurly-burly there is, and how the city shakes with the ring of the bells backwards in all the mosques!'--'there you are out, boy,' said don quixote; 'the moors have no bells, they only use kettle-drums, and a kind of shaulms like our waits or hautboys; so that your ringing of bells in sansueña is a mere absurdity, good master peter.'--'nay, sir,' said master peter, giving over ringing, 'if you stand upon these trifles with us, we shall never please you. don't be so severe a critic. are there not a thousand plays that pass with great success and applause, though they have many greater absurdities, and nonsense in abundance? on, boy, on, let there be as many impertinences as motes in the sun; no matter, so i get the money.'--'well said,' answered don quixote.--'and now, sirs,' quoth the boy, 'observe what a vast company of glittering horse comes pouring out of the city, in pursuit of the christian lovers; what a dreadful sound of trumpets, and clarions, and drums, and kettle-drums there is in the air. i fear they will overtake them, and then will the poor wretches be dragged along most barbarously at the tails of their horses, which would be sad indeed.' "don quixote, seeing such a number of moors, and hearing such an alarm, thought it high time to assist the flying lovers; and starting up, 'it shall never be said while i live,' cried he aloud, 'that i suffered such a wrong to be done to so famous a knight and so daring a lover as don gayferos. forbear, then, your unjust pursuit, ye base-born rascals! stop, or prepare to meet my furious resentment!' then drawing out his sword, to make good his threats, at one spring he gets to the show, and with a violent fury lays at the moorish puppets, cutting and slashing in a most terrible manner: some he overthrows, and beheads others; maims this, and cleaves that in pieces. among the rest of his merciless strokes, he thundered one down with such a mighty force, that had not master peter luckily ducked and squatted down, it had certainly chopped off his head as easily as one might cut an apple." i. at sansueña,[ ] in the tower, fair melisendra lies, her heart is far away in france, and tears are in her eyes; the twilight shade is thickening laid on sansueña's plain, yet wistfully the lady her weary eyes doth strain. ii. she gazes from the dungeon strong, forth on the road to paris, weeping, and wondering why so long her lord gayferos tarries, when lo! a knight appears in view--a knight of christian mien, upon a milk-white charger he rides the elms between. iii. she from her window reaches forth her hand a sign to make, "o, if you be a knight of worth, draw near for mercy's sake; for mercy and sweet charity, draw near, sir knight to me, and tell me if ye ride to france, or whither bowne ye be. iv. "o, if ye be a christian knight, and if to france you go, i pr'ythee tell gayferos that you have seen my woe; that you have seen me weeping, here in the moorish tower, while he is gay by night and day, in hall and lady's bower. v. "seven summers have i waited, seven winters long are spent, yet word of comfort none he speaks, nor token hath he sent; and if he is weary of my love, and would have me wed a stranger, still say his love is true to him--nor time nor wrong can change her."-- vi. the knight on stirrup rising, bids her wipe her tears away,-- "my love, no time for weeping, no peril save delay-- come, boldly spring, and lightly leap--no listening moor is near us, and by dawn of day we'll be far away,"--so spake the knight gayferos. vii. she has made the sign of the cross divine, and an ave she hath said, and she dares the leap both wide and deep--that damsel without dread; and he hath kissed her pale pale cheek, and lifted her behind, saint denis speed the milk-white steed--no moor their path shall find. the march of bernardo del carpio. of bernardo del carpio, we find little or nothing in the french romances of charlemagne. he belongs exclusively to spanish history, or rather perhaps to spanish romance; in which the honour is claimed for him of slaying the famous orlando, or roland, the nephew of charlemagne, in the fatal field of roncesvalles. the continence which procured for alonzo, who succeeded to the precarious throne of the christians, in the asturias, about , the epithet of the chaste, was not universal in his family. by an intrigue with sancho diaz, count of saldaña, or saldenha, donna ximena, sister of this virtuous prince, bore a son. some historians attempt to gloss over this incident, by alleging that a private marriage had taken place between the lovers: but king alphonso, who was well-nigh sainted for living only in platonic union with his wife bertha, took the scandal greatly to heart. he shut up the peccant princess in a cloister, and imprisoned her gallant in the castle of luna, where he caused him to be deprived of sight. fortunately, his wrath did not extend to the offspring of their stolen affections, the famous bernardo del carpio. when the youth had grown up to manhood, alphonso, according to the spanish chroniclers, invited the emperor charlemagne into spain, and having neglected to raise up heirs for the kingdom of the goths in the ordinary manner, he proposed the inheritance of his throne as the price of the alliance of charles. but the nobility, headed by bernardo del carpio, remonstrated against the king's choice of a successor, and would on no account consent to receive a frenchman as heir of their crown. alphonso himself repented of the invitation he had given charlemagne, and when that champion of christendom came to expel the moors from spain, he found the conscientious and chaste alphonso had united with the infidels against him. an engagement took place in the renowned pass of roncesvalles, in which the french were defeated, and the celebrated roland, or orlando, was slain. the victory was ascribed chiefly to the prowess of bernardo del carpio. the following ballad describes the enthusiasm excited among the leonese, when bernard first raised his standard to oppose the progress of charlemagne's army. i. with three thousand men of leon, from the city bernard goes, to protect the soil hispanian from the spear of frankish foes from the city which is planted in the midst between the seas, to preserve the name and glory of old pelayo's victories. ii. the peasant hears upon his field the trumpet of the knight, he quits his team for spear and shield, and garniture of might, the shepherd hears it 'mid the mist--he flingeth down his crook, and rushes from the mountain like a tempest-troubled brook. iii. the youth who shows a maiden's chin, whose brows have ne'er been bound the helmet's heavy ring within, gains manhood from the sound; the hoary sire beside the fire forgets his feebleness, once more to feel the cap of steel a warrior's ringlets press. iv. as through the glen his spears did gleam, these soldiers from the hills, they swelled his host, as mountain-stream receives the roaring rills; they round his banner flocked, in scorn of haughty charlemagne, and thus upon their swords are sworn the faithful sons of spain. v. "free were we born," 'tis thus they cry, "though to our king we owe the homage and the fealty behind his crest to go; by god's behest our aid he shares, but god did ne'er command, that we should leave our children heirs of an enslavèd land. vi. "our breasts are not so timorous, nor are our arms so weak, nor are our veins so bloodless, that we our vow should break, to sell our freedom for the fear of prince or paladin,-- at least we'll sell our birthright dear, no bloodless prize they'll win. vii. "at least king charles, if god decrees he must be lord of spain, shall witness that the leonese were not aroused in vain; he shall bear witness that we died, as lived our sires of old, nor only of numantium's pride shall minstrel tales be told. viii. "the lion[ ] that hath bathed his paws in seas of libyan gore, shall he not battle for the laws and liberties of yore? anointed cravens may give gold to whom it likes them well, but steadfast heart and spirit bold alphonso ne'er shall sell." lady alda's dream. the following is an attempt to render one of the most admired of all the spanish ballads. en paris esta doña alda, la esposa de don roldan, trecientas damas con ella, para la accompañar, todas visten un vestido, todas calçan un calçar, &c. in its whole structure and strain it bears a very remarkable resemblance to several of our own old ballads--both english and scottish. i. in paris sits the lady that shall be sir roland's bride, three hundred damsels with her, her bidding to abide; all clothed in the same fashion, both the mantle and the shoon, all eating at one table, within her hall at noon: all, save the lady alda, she is lady of them all, she keeps her place upon the dais, and they serve her in her hall; the thread of gold a hundred spin, the lawn a hundred weave, and a hundred play sweet melody within alda's bower at eve. ii. with the sound of their sweet playing, the lady falls asleep, and she dreams a doleful dream, and her damsels hear her weep; there is sorrow in her slumber, and she waketh with a cry, and she calleth for her damsels, and swiftly they come nigh. "now, what is it, lady alda," (you may hear the words they say,) "bringeth sorrow to thy pillow, and chaseth sleep away?"-- "o, my maidens!" quoth the lady, "my heart it is full sore! i have dreamt a dream of evil, and can slumber never more. iii. "for i was upon a mountain, in a bare and desert place, and i saw a mighty eagle, and a falcon he did chase; and to me the falcon came, and i hid it in my breast, but the mighty bird, pursuing, came and rent away my vest; and he scattered all the feathers, and blood was on his beak, and ever, as he tore and tore, i heard the falcon shriek;-- now read my vision, damsels, now read my dream to me, for my heart may well be heavy that doleful sight to see."-- iv. out spake the foremost damsel was in her chamber there-- (you may hear the words she says), "o! my lady's dream is fair-- the mountain is st. denis' choir; and thou the falcon art, and the eagle strong that teareth the garment from thy heart, and scattereth the feathers, he is the paladin-- that, when again he comes from spain, must sleep thy bower within;-- then be blithe of cheer, my lady, for the dream thou must not grieve, it means but that thy bridegroom shall come to thee at eve."-- v. "if thou hast read my vision, and read it cunningly,"-- thus said the lady alda, "thou shalt not lack thy fee." but woe is me for alda! there was heard, at morning hour, a voice of lamentation within that lady's bower, for there had come to paris a messenger by night, and his horse it was a-weary, and his visage it was white; and there's weeping in the chamber and there's silence in the hall, for sir roland had been slaughtered in the chase of roncesval. the admiral guarinos. this is a translation of the ballad which don quixote and sancho panza, when at toboso, overheard a peasant singing, as he was going to his work at daybreak.--"iba cantando," says cervantes, "aquel romance que dice, mala la vistes franceses la caça de roncesvalles." i. the day of roncesvalles was a dismal day for you, ye men of france, for there the lance of king charles was broke in two. ye well may curse that rueful field, for many a noble peer, in fray or fight, the dust did bite, beneath bernardo's spear. ii. there captured was guarinos, king charles's admiral; seven moorish kings surrounded him, and seized him for their thrall; seven times, when all the chase was o'er, for guarinos lots they cast; seven times marlotes won the throw, and the knight was his at last. iii. much joy had then marlotes, and his captive much did prize, above all the wealth of araby, he was precious in his eyes. within his tent at evening he made the best of cheer, and thus, the banquet done, he spake unto his prisoner. iv. "now, for the sake of alla, lord admiral guarinos be thou a moslem, and much love shall ever rest between us. two daughters have i--all the day thy handmaid one shall be, the other (and the fairer far) by night shall cherish thee. v. "the one shall be thy waiting-maid, thy weary feet to lave, to scatter perfumes on thy head, and fetch thee garments brave; the other--she the pretty--shall deck her bridal bower, and my field and my city they both shall be her dower. vi. "if more thou wishest, more i'll give--speak boldly what thy thought is."-- thus earnestly and kindly to guarinos said marlotes;-- but not a moment did he take to ponder or to pause, thus clear and quick the answer of the christian captain was: vii. "now, god forbid! marlotes, and mary, his dear mother, that i should leave the faith of christ, and bind me to another. for women--i've one wife in france, and i'll wed no more in spain; i change not faith, i break not vow, for courtesy or gain."-- viii. wroth waxed king marlotes, when thus he heard him say, and all for ire commanded, he should be led away; away unto the dungeon keep, beneath its vault to lie, with fetters bound in darkness deep, far off from sun and sky. ix. with iron bands they bound his hands. that sore unworthy plight might well express his helplessness, doomed never more to fight. again, from cincture down to knee, long bolts of iron he bore, which signified the knight should ride on charger never more. x. three times alone, in all the year, it is the captive's doom, to see god's daylight bright and clear, instead of dungeon-gloom; three times alone they bring him out, like samson long ago, before the moorish rabble-rout to be a sport and show. xi. on three high feasts they bring him forth, a spectacle to be, the feast of pasque, and the great day of the nativity, and on that morn, more solemn yet, when the maidens strip the bowers, and gladden mosque and minaret with the first fruits of the flowers. xii. days come and go of gloom and show. seven years are come and gone, and now doth fall the festival of the holy baptist john; christian and moslem tilts and jousts, to give it homage due; and rushes on the paths to spread they force the sulky jew. xiii. marlotes, in his joy and pride, a target high doth rear, below the moorish knights must ride and pierce it with the spear; but 'tis so high up in the sky, albeit much they strain, no moorish lance so far may fly, marlotes' prize to gain. xiv. wroth waxed king marlotes, when he beheld them fail, the whisker trembled on his lip, and his cheek for ire was pale; and heralds proclamation made, with trumpets, through the town,-- "nor child shall suck, nor man shall eat, till the mark be tumbled down." xv. the cry of proclamation, and the trumpet's haughty sound, did send an echo to the vault where the admiral was bound. "now, help me god!" the captive cries, "what means this din so loud? oh, queen of heaven! be vengeance given on these thy haters proud! xvi. "o! is it that some pagan gay doth marlotes' daughter wed, and that they bear my scorned fair in triumph to his bed? or is it that the day is come--one of the hateful three, when they, with trumpet, fife, and drum, make heathen game of me?"-- xvii. these words the jailer chanced to hear, and thus to him he said, "these tabors, lord, and trumpets clear, conduct no bride to bed; nor has the feast come round again, when he that has the right, commands thee forth, thou foe of spain, to glad the people's sight. xviii. "this is the joyful morning of john the baptist's day, when moor and christian feasts at home, each in his nation's way; but now our king commands that none his banquet shall begin, until some knight, by strength or sleight, the spearman's prize do win."-- xix. then out and spake guarinos, "o! soon each man should feed, were i but mounted once again on my own gallant steed. o! were i mounted as of old, and harnessed cap-a-pee, full soon marlotes' prize i'd hold, whate'er its price may be. xx. "give me my horse, mine old grey horse, so be he is not dead, all gallantly caparisoned, with plate on breast and head, and give the lance i brought from france, and if i win it not, my life shall be the forfeiture--i'll yield it on the spot."-- xxi. the jailer wondered at his words. thus to the knight said he, "seven weary years of chains and gloom have little humbled thee; there's never a man in spain, i trow, the like so well might bear; an' if thou wilt, i with thy vow will to the king repair."-- xxii. the jailer put his mantle on, and came unto the king, he found him sitting on the throne, within his listed ring; close to his ear he planted him, and the story did begin, how bold guarinos vaunted him the spearman's prize to win. xxiii. that, were he mounted but once more on his own gallant grey, and armed with the lance he bore on the roncesvalles' day, what never moorish knight could pierce, he would pierce it at a blow, or give with joy his life-blood fierce, at marlotes' feet to flow. xxiv. much marvelling, then said the king, "bring sir guarinos forth, and in the grange go seek ye for his grey steed of worth; his arms are rusty on the wall--seven years have gone, i judge, since that strong horse has bent his force to be a carrion drudge. xxv. "now this will be a sight indeed, to see the enfeebled lord essay to mount that ragged steed, and draw that rusty sword; and for the vaunting of his phrase he well deserves to die, so, jailer, gird his harness on, and bring your champion nigh."-- xxvi. they have girded on his shirt of mail, his cuisses well they've clasped, and they've barred the helm on his visage pale, and his hand the lance hath clasped, and they have caught the old grey horse, the horse he loved of yore, and he stands pawing at the gate--caparisoned once more. xxvii. when the knight came out the moors did shout, and loudly laughed the king, for the horse he pranced and capered, and furiously did fling; but guarinos whispered in his ear, and looked into his face, then stood the old charger like a lamb, with a calm and gentle grace. xxviii. o! lightly did guarinos vault into the saddle-tree, and slowly riding down made halt before marlotes' knee; again the heathen laughed aloud--"all hail, sir knight," quoth he, "now do thy best, thou champion proud. thy blood i look to see."-- xxix. with that guarinos, lance in rest, against the scoffer rode, pierced at one thrust his envious breast, and down his turban trode. now ride, now ride, guarinos--nor lance nor rowel spare-- slay, slay, and gallop for thy life.--the land of france lies _there_! the complaint of the count of saldenha. this ballad is intended to represent the feelings of don sancho, count of saldenha or saldaña, while imprisoned by king alphonso, and, as he supposed, neglected and forgotten, both by his wife, or rather mistress, donna ximena, and by his son, the famous bernardo del carpio. i. the count don sancho diaz, the signior of saldane, lies weeping in his prison, for he cannot refrain:-- king alphonso and his sister, of both doth he complain, but most of bold bernardo, the champion of spain. ii. "the weary years i durance brook, how many they have been, when on these hoary hairs i look, may easily be seen; when they brought me to this castle, my curls were black, i ween, woe worth the day! they have grown grey these rueful walls between. iii. "they tell me my bernardo is the doughtiest lance in spain, but if he were my loyal heir, there's blood in every vein whereof the voice his heart would hear--his hand would not gainsay;-- though the blood of kings be mixed with mine, it would not have all the sway. iv. "now all the three have scorn of me--unhappy man am i! they leave me without pity--they leave me here to die. a stranger's feud, albeit rude, were little dole or care, but he's my own, both flesh and bone; his scorn is ill to bear. v. "from jailer and from castellain i hear of hardiment and chivalry in listed plain on joust and tourney spent;-- i hear of many a battle, in which thy spear is red, but help from thee comes none to me where i am ill bested. vi. "some villain spot is in thy blood to mar its gentle strain, else would it show forth hardihood for him from whom 'twas ta'en; thy hope is young, thy heart is strong, but yet a day may be, when thou shalt weep in dungeon deep, and none thy weeping see." the funeral of the count of saldenha. the ballads concerning bernardo del carpio are, upon the whole, in accordance with his history as given in the _coronica general_. according to the chronicle, bernardo being at last wearied out of all patience by the cruelty of which his father was the victim, determined to quit the court of his king, and seek an alliance among the moors. having fortified himself in the castle of carpio, he made continual incursions into the territory of leon, pillaging and plundering wherever he came. the king at length besieged him in his stronghold, but the defence was so gallant, that there appeared no prospect of success; whereupon many of the gentlemen in alphonso's camp entreated the king to offer bernardo immediate possession of his father's person, if he would surrender his castle. bernardo at once consented; but the king gave orders to have count sancho diaz taken off instantly in his prison. "when he was dead they clothed him in splendid attire, mounted him on horseback, and so led him towards salamanca, where his son was expecting his arrival. as they drew nigh the city, the king and bernardo rode out to meet them; and when bernardo saw his father approaching, he exclaimed,--'o god! is the count of saldaña indeed coming?'--'look where he is,' replied the cruel king; 'and now go and greet him whom you have so long desired to see.' bernardo went forward and took his father's hand to kiss it; but when he felt the dead weight of the hand, and saw the livid face of the corpse, he cried aloud, and said,--'ah, don sandiaz, in an evil hour didst thou beget me!--thou art dead, and i have given my stronghold for thee, and now i have lost all.'" i. all in the centre of the choir bernardo's knees are bent, before him for his murdered sire yawns the old monument. ii. his kinsmen of the carpio blood are kneeling at his back, with knightly friends and vassals good, all garbed in weeds of black. iii. he comes to make the obsequies of a basely slaughtered man, and tears are running down from eyes whence ne'er before they ran. iv. his head is bowed upon the stone; his heart, albeit full sore, is strong as when in days bygone he rode o'er frank and moor; v. and now between his teeth he mutters, that none his words can hear; and now the voice of wrath he utters, in curses loud and clear. vi. he stoops him o'er his father's shroud, his lips salute the bier; he communes with the corse aloud, as if none else were near. vii. his right hand doth his sword unsheath, his left doth pluck his beard;-- and while his liegemen held their breath, these were the words they heard:-- viii. "go up, go up, thou blessed ghost, into the arms of god; go, fear not lest revenge be lost, when carpio's blood hath flowed; ix. "the steel that drank the blood of france, the arm thy foe that shielded, still, father, thirsts that burning lance, and still thy son can wield it." bernardo and alphonso. the incident recorded in this ballad may be supposed to have occurred immediately after the funeral of the count of saldenha. as to what was the end of the knight's history, we are left almost entirely in the dark, both by the chronicle and by the romancero. it appears to be intimated, that after his father's death, he once more "took service" among the moors, who are represented in several of the ballads as accustomed to exchange offices of courtesy with bernardo. i. with some good ten of his chosen men, bernardo hath appeared before them all in the palace hall, the lying king to beard; with cap in hand and eye on ground, he came in reverend guise, but ever and anon he frowned, and flame broke from his eyes. ii. "a curse upon thee," cries the king, "who comest unbid to me; but what from traitor's blood should spring, save traitors like to thee? his sire, lords, had a traitor's heart; perchance our champion brave made think it were a pious part to share don sancho's grave." iii. "whoever told this tale the king hath rashness to repeat," cries bernard, "here my gage i fling before the liar's feet! no treason was in sancho's blood, no stain in mine doth lie-- below the throne what knight will own the coward calumny? iv. "the blood that i like water shed, when roland did advance, by secret traitors hired and led, to make us slaves of france;-- the life of king alphonso i saved at roncesval,-- your words, lord king, are recompense abundant for it all. v. "your horse was down--your hope was flown--i saw the falchion shine, that soon had drunk your royal blood, had not i ventured mine; but memory soon of service done deserteth the ingrate, and ye've thanked the son for life and crown by the father's bloody fate. vi. "ye swore upon your kingly faith, to set don sancho free, but curse upon your paltering breath, the light he ne'er did see; he died in dungeon cold and dim, by alphonso's base decree, and visage blind, and stiffened limb, were all they gave to me. vii. "the king that swerveth from his word hath stained his purple black, no spanish lord will draw the sword behind a liar's back; but noble vengeance shall be mine, an open hate i'll show-- the king hath injured carpio's line, and bernard is his foe." viii. "seize--seize him!"--loud the king doth scream--"there are a thousand here-- let his foul blood this instant stream--what! caitiffs, do ye fear? seize--seize the traitor!"--but not one to move a finger dareth,-- bernardo standeth by the throne, and calm his sword he bareth. ix. he drew the falchion from the sheath, and held it up on high, and all the hall was still as death:--cries bernard, "here am i, and here is the sword that owns no lord, excepting heaven and me; fain would i know who dares his point--king, condé, or grandee." x. then to his mouth the horn he drew--(it hung below his cloak) his ten true men the signal knew, and through the ring they broke; with helm on head, and blade in hand, the knights the circle brake, and back the lordlings 'gan to stand, and the false king to quake. xi. "ha! bernard," quoth alphonso, "what means this warlike guise? ye know full well i jested--ye know your worth i prize."-- but bernard turned upon his heel, and smiling passed away-- long rued alphonso and his realm the jesting of that day. part ii. the young cid. the ballads in the collection of escobar, entitled "romancero e historia del muy valeroso cavallero el cid ruy diaz de bivar," are said by mr. southey to be in general possessed of but little merit. notwithstanding the opinion of that great scholar and poet, i have had much pleasure in reading them; and have translated a very few, which may serve, perhaps, as a sufficient specimen. the following is a version of that which stands fifth in escobar:-- cavalga diego laynez al buen rey besar la mano, &c. i. now rides diego laynez, to kiss the good king's hand, three hundred men of gentry go with him from his land, among them, young rodrigo, the proud knight of bivar; the rest on mules are mounted, he on his horse of war. ii. they ride in glittering gowns of soye,--he harnessed like a lord; there is no gold about the boy, but the crosslet of his sword; the rest have gloves of sweet perfume,--he gauntlets strong of mail; they broidered caps and flaunting plume,--he crest untaught to quail. iii. all talking with each other thus along their way they passed, but now they've come to burgos, and met the king at last; when they came near his nobles, a whisper through them ran,-- "he rides amidst the gentry that slew the count lozan."-- iv. with very haughty gesture rodrigo reined his horse, right scornfully he shouted, when he heard them so discourse,-- "if any of his kinsmen or vassals dare appear, the man to give them answer, on horse or foot, is here."-- v. "the devil ask the question!" thus muttered all the band;-- with that they all alighted, to kiss the good king's hand,-- all but the proud rodrigo, he in his saddle stayed,-- then turned to him his father (you may hear the words he said). vi. "now, light, my son, i pray thee, and kiss the good king's hand, he is our lord, rodrigo; we hold of him our land."-- but when rodrigo heard him, he looked in sulky sort,-- i wot the words he answered they were both cold and short. vii. "had any other said it, his pains had well been paid, but thou, sir, art my father, thy word must be obeyed."-- with that he sprung down lightly, before the king to kneel, but as the knee was bending, out leapt his blade of steel. viii. the king drew back in terror, when he saw the sword was bare; "stand back, stand back, rodrigo, in the devil's name beware, your looks bespeak a creature of father adam's mould, but in your wild behaviour you're like some lion bold." ix. when rodrigo heard him say so, he leapt into his seat, and thence he made his answer, with visage nothing sweet,-- "i'd think it little honour to kiss a kingly palm, and if my fathers kissed it, thereof ashamed i am."-- x. when he these words had uttered, he turned him from the gate, his true three hundred gentles behind him followed straight; if with good gowns they came that day, with better arms they went; and if their mules behind did stay, with horses they're content. ximena demands vengeance. this ballad, the sixth in escobar, represents ximena gomez as, in person, demanding of the king vengeance for the death of her father, whom the young rodrigo de bivar had fought and slain. i. within the court at burgos a clamour doth arise, of arms on armour clashing, and screams, and shouts, and cries; the good men of the king, that sit his hall around, all suddenly upspring, astonished at the sound. ii. the king leans from his chamber, from the balcony on high-- "what means this furious clamour my palace-porch so nigh?" but when he looked below him, there were horsemen at the gate, and the fair ximena gomez, kneeling in woeful state. iii. upon her neck, disordered, hung down the lady's hair, and floods of tears were streaming upon her bosom fair. sore wept she for her father, the count that had been slain; loud cursèd she rodrigo, whose sword his blood did stain. iv. they turned to bold rodrigo, i wot his cheek was red;-- with haughty wrath he listened to the words ximena said-- "good king, i cry for justice. now, as my voice thou hearest, so god befriend the children, that in thy land thou rearest. v. "the king that doth not justice hath forfeited his claim, both to his kingly station, and to his kingly name; he should not sit at banquet, clad in the royal pall, nor should the nobles serve him on knee within the hall. vi. "good king, i am descended from barons bright of old, that with castilian pennons, pelayo did uphold; but if my strain were lowly, as it is high and clear, thou still shouldst prop the feeble, and the afflicted hear. vii. "for thee, fierce homicide, draw, draw thy sword once more, and pierce the breast which wide i spread thy stroke before; because i am a woman, my life thou needst not spare,-- i am ximena gomez, my slaughtered father's heir. viii. "since thou hast slain the knight that did our faith defend, and still to shameful flight all the almanzors send, 'tis but a little matter that i confront thee so, come, champion, slay his daughter, she needs must be thy foe."-- ix. ximena gazed upon him, but no reply could meet; his fingers held the bridle; he vaulted to his seat. she turned her to the nobles, i wot her cry was loud, but not a man durst follow; slow rode he through the crowd. the cid and the five moorish kings. the reader will find the story of this ballad in mr. southey's "chronicle of the cid." "and the moors entered castile in great power, for there came with them five kings," &c. book i. sect. . i. with fire and desolation the moors are in castile, five moorish kings together, and all their vassals leal; they've passed in front of burgos, through the oca-hills they've run, they've plundered belforado, san domingo's harm is done. ii. in najara and lograno there's waste and disarray:-- and now with christian captives, a very heavy prey, with many men and women, and boys and girls beside, in joy and exultation to their own realms they ride. iii. for neither king nor noble would dare their path to cross, until the good rodrigo heard of this skaith and loss; in old bivar the castle he heard the tidings told, (he was as yet a stripling, not twenty summers old.) iv. he mounted bavieca, his friends he with him took, he raised the country round him, no more such scorn to brook; he rode to the hills of oca, where then the moormen lay, he conquered all the moormen, and took from them their prey. v. to every man had mounted he gave his part of gain, dispersing the much treasure the saracens had ta'en; the kings were all the booty himself had from the war, them led he to the castle, his stronghold of bivar. vi. he brought them to his mother, proud dame that day was she:-- they owned him for their signior, and then he set them free: home went they, much commending rodrigo of bivar, and sent him lordly tribute, from their moorish realms afar. the cid's courtship. see mr. southey's "chronicle of the cid" (book i. sect. v) for this part of the cid's story, as given in the general chronicle of spain. i. now, of rodrigo de bivar great was the fame that run, how he five kings had vanquished, proud moormen every one; and how, when they consented to hold of him their ground, he freed them from the prison wherein they had been bound. ii. to the good king fernando, in burgos where he lay, came then ximena gomez, and thus to him did say:-- "i am don gomez' daughter, in gormaz count was he; him slew rodrigo of bivar in battle valiantly. iii. "now am i come before you, this day a boon to crave, and it is that i to husband may this rodrigo have; grant this, and i shall hold me a happy damosell, much honoured shall i hold me, i shall be married well. iv. "i know he's born for thriving, none like him in the land; i know that none in battle against his spear may stand; forgiveness is well pleasing in god our saviour's view. and i forgive him freely, for that my sire he slew."-- v. right pleasing to fernando was the thing she did propose; he writes his letter swiftly, and forth his foot-page goes; i wot, when young rodrigo saw how the king did write, he leapt on bavieca--i wot his leap was light. vi. with his own troop of true men forthwith he took the way, three hundred friends and kinsmen, all gently born were they; all in one colour mantled, in armour gleaming gay, new were both scarf and scabbard, when they went forth that day. vii. the king came out to meet him, with words of hearty cheer; quoth he, "my good rodrigo, you are right welcome here; this girl ximena gomez would have ye for her lord, already for the slaughter her grace she doth accord. viii. "i pray you be consenting, my gladness will be great; you shall have lands in plenty, to strengthen your estate."-- "lord king," rodrigo answers, "in this and all beside command, and i'll obey you. the girl shall be my bride."-- ix. but when the fair ximena came forth to plight her hand, rodrigo, gazing on her, his face could not command: he stood and blushed before her;--thus at the last said he-- "i slew thy sire, ximena, but not in villany:-- x. "in no disguise i slew him, man against man i stood; there was some wrong between us, and i did shed his blood. i slew a man, i owe a man; fair lady, by god's grace, an honoured husband thou shalt have in thy dead father's place." the cid's wedding. the following ballad, which contains some curious traits of rough and antique manners, is not included in escobar's collection. there is one there descriptive of the same event, but apparently executed by a much more modern hand. i. within his hall of burgos the king prepares the feast: he makes his preparation for many a noble guest. it is a joyful city, it is a gallant day, 'tis the campeador's wedding, and who will bide away? ii. layn calvo, the lord bishop, he first comes forth the gate, behind him comes ruy diaz, in all his bridal state; the crowd makes way before them as up the street they go;-- for the multitude of people their steps must needs be slow. iii. the king had taken order that they should rear an arch, from house to house all over, in the way where they must march; they have hung it all with lances, and shields, and glittering helms, brought by the campeador from out the moorish realms. iv. they have scattered olive branches and rushes on the street, and the ladies fling down garlands at the campeador's feet; with tapestry and broidery their balconies between, to do his bridal honour, their walls the burghers screen. v. they lead the bulls before them all covered o'er with trappings; the little boys pursue them with hootings and with clappings; the fool, with cap and bladder, upon his ass goes prancing, amidst troops of captive maidens with bells and cymbals dancing. vi. with antics and with fooleries, with shouting and with laughter, they fill the streets of burgos--and the devil he comes after, for the king has hired the horned fiend for sixteen maravedis, and there he goes, with hoofs for toes, to terrify the ladies. vii. then comes the bride ximena--the king he holds her hand; and the queen, and, all in fur and pall, the nobles of the land; all down the street the ears of wheat are round ximena flying, but the king lifts off her bosom sweet whatever there is lying. viii. quoth suero, when he saw it, (his thought you understand,) "'tis a fine thing to be a king; but heaven make me a hand!" the king was very merry, when he was told of this, and swore the bride ere eventide, must give the boy a kiss. ix. the king went always talking, but she held down her head, and seldom gave an answer to anything he said; it was better to be silent, among such a crowd of folk, than utter words so meaningless as she did when she spoke. the cid and the leper. like our own robert the bruce, the great spanish hero is represented as exhibiting, on many occasions, great gentleness of disposition and compassion. but while old barbour is contented with such simple anecdotes as that of a poor laundress being suddenly taken ill with the pains of childbirth, and the king stopping the march of his army rather than leave her unprotected, the minstrels of spain, never losing an opportunity of gratifying the superstitious propensities of their audience, are sure to let no similar incident in their champion's history pass without a miracle. i. he has ta'en some twenty gentlemen, along with him to go, for he will pay that ancient vow he to saint james doth owe; to compostella, where the shrine doth by the altar stand, the good rodrigo de bivar is riding through the land. ii. where'er he goes, much alms he throws, to feeble folk and poor; beside the way for him they pray, him blessings to procure; for, god and mary mother, their heavenly grace to win, his hand was ever bountiful: great was his joy therein. iii. and there, in middle of the path, a leper did appear; in a deep slough the leper lay, none would to help come near. with a loud voice he thence did cry, "for god our saviour's sake, from out this fearful jeopardy a christian brother take."-- iv. when roderick heard that piteous word, he from his horse came down; for all they said, no stay he made, that noble champion; he reached his hand to pluck him forth, of fear was no account, then mounted on his steed of worth, and made the leper mount. v. behind him rode the leprous man; when to their hostelrie they came, he made him eat with him at table cheerfully; while all the rest from that poor guest with loathing shrunk away, to his own bed the wretch he led, beside him there he lay. vi. all at the mid-hour of the night, while good rodrigo slept, a breath came from the leprous man, it through his shoulders crept; right through the body, at the breast, passed forth that breathing cold; i wot he leaped up with a start, in terrors manifold. vii. he groped for him in the bed, but him he could not find, through the dark chamber groped he, with very anxious mind; loudly he lifted up his voice, with speed a lamp was brought, yet nowhere was the leper seen, though far and near they sought. viii. he turned him to his chamber, god wot, perplexèd sore with that which had befallen--when lo! his face before, there stood a man, all clothed in vesture shining white: thus said the vision, "sleepest thou, or wakest thou, sir knight?"-- ix. "i sleep not," quoth rodrigo; "but tell me who art thou, for, in the midst of darkness, much light is on thy brow?"-- "i am the holy lazarus, i come to speak with thee; i am the same poor leper thou savedst for charity. x. "not vain the trial, nor in vain thy victory hath been; god favours thee, for that my pain thou didst relieve yestreen. there shall be honour with thee, in battle and in peace, success in all thy doings, and plentiful increase. xi. "strong enemies shall not prevail, thy greatness to undo; thy name shall make men's cheeks full pale--christians and moslem too; a death of honour shalt thou die, such grace to thee is given, thy soul shall part victoriously, and be received in heaven."-- xii. when he these gracious words had said, the spirit vanished quite, rodrigo rose and knelt him down--he knelt till morning light; unto the heavenly father, and mary mother dear, he made his prayer right humbly, till dawned the morning clear. bavieca. montaigne, in his curious essay, entitled "des destriers," says that all the world knows everything about bucephalus. the name of the favourite charger of the cid ruy diaz, is scarcely less celebrated. notice is taken of him in almost every one of the hundred ballads concerning the history of his master,--and there are two or three of these, of which the horse is more truly the hero than his rider. in one of these ballads, the cid is giving directions about his funeral; he desires that they shall place his body "in full armour upon bavieca," and so conduct him to the church of san pedro de cardeña. this was done accordingly; and, says another ballad-- truxeron pues a babieca; y en mirandole se puso tan triste como si fuera mas rasonable que bruto. in the cid's last will, mention is also made of this noble charger. "when ye bury bavieca, dig deep," says ruy diaz; "for shameful thing were it, that he should be eat by curs, who hath trampled down so much currish flesh of moors." i. the king looked on him kindly, as on a vassal true; then to the king ruy diaz spake after reverence due,-- "o king, the thing is shameful, that any man beside the liege lord of castile himself should bavieca ride: ii. "for neither spain nor araby could another charger bring so good as he, and certes, the best befits my king. but that you may behold him, and know him to the core, i'll make him go as he was wont when his nostrils smelt the moor."-- iii. with that, the cid, clad as he was in mantle furred and wide, on bavieca vaulting, put the rowel in his side; and up and down, and round and round, so fierce was his career, streamed like a pennon on the wind ruy diaz' minivere. iv. and all that saw them praised them--they lauded man and horse, as matched well, and rivalless for gallantry and force; ne'er had they looked on horseman might to this knight come near, nor on other charger worthy of such a cavalier. v. thus, to and fro a-rushing the fierce and furious steed, he snapt in twain his hither rein:--"god pity now the cid." "god pity diaz," cried the lords,--but when they looked again, they saw ruy diaz ruling him, with the fragment of his rein; they saw him proudly ruling with gesture firm and calm, like a true lord commanding--and obeyed as by a lamb. vi. and so he led him foaming and panting to the king, but "no," said don alphonso, "it were a shameful thing that peerless bavieca should ever be bestrid by any mortal but bivar--mount, mount again, my cid." the excommunication of the cid. the last specimen i shall give of the cid-ballad, is one the subject of which is evidently of the most apocryphal cast. it is, however, so far as i recollect, the only one of all that immense collection that is quoted or alluded to in don quixote. "sancho," cried don quixote, "i am afraid of being excommunicated for having laid violent hands upon a man in holy orders, _juxta illud; si quis suadente diabolo_, &c. but yet, now i think on it, i never touched him with my hands, but only with my lance; besides, i did not in the least suspect i had to do with priests, whom i honour and revere as every good catholic and faithful christian ought to do, but rather took them to be evil spirits. well, let the worst come to the worst, i remember what befel the cid ruy diaz, when he broke to pieces the chair of a king's ambassador in the pope's presence, for which he was excommunicated; which did not hinder the worthy rodrigo de bivar from behaving himself that day like a valorous knight, and a man of honour." i. it was when from spain across the main the cid had come to rome, he chanced to see chairs four and three beneath saint peter's dome. "now tell, i pray, what chairs be they;"--"seven kings do sit thereon, as well doth suit, all at the foot of the holy father's throne." ii. "the pope he sitteth above them all, that they may kiss his toe, below the keys the flower-de-lys doth make a gallant show: for his great puissance, the king of france next to the pope may sit, the rest more low, all in a row, as doth their station fit."-- iii. "ha!" quoth the cid, "now god forbid! it is a shame, i wiss, to see the castle[ ] planted beneath the flower-de-lys.[ ] no harm, i hope, good father pope--although i move thy chair." --in pieces small he kicked it all, ('twas of the ivory fair). iv. the pope's own seat he from his feet did kick it far away, and the spanish chair he planted upon its place that day; above them all he planted it, and laughed right bitterly; looks sour and bad i trow he had, as grim as grim might be. v. now when the pope was aware of this, he was an angry man, his lips that night, with solemn rite, pronounced the awful ban; the curse of god, who died on rood, was on that sinner's head-- to hell and woe man's soul must go if once that curse be said. vi. i wot, when the cid was aware of this, a woful man was he, at dawn of day he came to pray at the blessèd father's knee: "absolve me, blessèd father, have pity upon me, absolve my soul, and penance i for my sin will dree."-- vii. "who is this sinner," quoth the pope, "that at my foot doth kneel?" --"i am rodrigo diaz--a poor baron of castile."-- much marvelled all were in the hall, when that name they heard him say, --"rise up, rise up," the pope he said, "i do thy guilt away;-- viii. "i do thy guilt away," he said--"and my curse i blot it out-- god save rodrigo diaz, my christian champion stout;-- i trow, if i had known thee, my grief it had been sore, to curse ruy diaz de bivar, god's scourge upon the moor." part iii. count alarcos and the infanta solisa. mr. bouterweck has analyzed this ballad, and commented upon it at some length, in his history of spanish literature. see book i, section . he bestows particular praise upon a passage, which the reader will find attempted in the fourth line of stanza xxxi. of the following version-- dedes me aça este hijo amamare por despedida. "what modern poet," says he, "would have dared to imagine that _trait_, at once so natural and touching?" mr. bouterweck seems to be of opinion that the story of the ballad had been taken from some prose romance of chivalry; but i have not been able to find any trace of it. i. alone, as was her wont, she sate,--within her bower alone;-- alone, and very desolate, solisa made her moan, lamenting for her flower of life, that it should pass away, and she be never wooed to wife, nor see a bridal day. ii. thus said the sad infanta--"i will not hide my grief, i'll tell my father of my wrong, and he will yield relief."-- the king, when he beheld her near, "alas! my child," said he, "what means this melancholy cheer?--reveal thy grief to me."-- iii. "good king," she said, "my mother was buried long ago, she left me to thy keeping, none else my griefs shall know; i fain would have a husband, 'tis time that i should wed,-- forgive the words i utter, with mickle shame they're said."-- iv. 'twas thus the king made answer,--"this fault is none of mine, you to the prince of hungary your ear would not incline; yet round us here where lives your peer?--nay, name him if you can,-- except the count alarcos, and he's a married man."-- v. "ask count alarcos, if of yore his word he did not plight to be my husband evermore, and love me day and night? if he has bound him in new vows, old oaths he cannot break-- alas! i've lost a loyal spouse, for a false lover's sake."-- vi. the good king sat confounded in silence for some space, at length he made this answer, with very troubled face,-- "it was not thus your mother gave counsel you should do; you've done much wrong, my daughter; we're shamed, both i and you. vii. "if it be true that you have said, our honour's lost and gone; and while the countess is in life, remeed for us is none. though justice were upon our side, ill-talkers would not spare-- speak, daughter, for your mother's dead, whose counsel eased my care." viii. "how can i give you counsel?--but little wit have i; but certes, count alarcos may make this countess die; let it be noised that sickness cut short her tender life, and then let count alarcos come and ask me for his wife. what passed between us long ago, of that be nothing said; thus none shall our dishonour know, in honour i shall wed."-- ix. the count was standing with his friends, thus in the midst he spake-- "what fools we be! what pains men dree for a fair woman's sake! i loved a fair one long ago;--though i'm a married man, sad memory i can ne'er forego, how life and love began."-- x. while yet the count was speaking, the good king came full near; he made his salutation with very courteous cheer. "come hither, count alarcos, and dine with me this day, for i have something secret i in your ear must say."-- xi. the king came from the chapel, when he had heard the mass; with him the count alarcos did to his chamber pass; full nobly were they servèd there, by pages many a one; when all were gone, and they alone, 'twas thus the king begun.-- xii. "what news be these, alarcos, that you your word did plight, to be a husband to my child, and love her day and night? if more between you there did pass, yourself may know the truth, but shamed is my grey-head--alas!--and scorned solisa's youth. xiii. "i have a heavy word to speak--a lady fair doth lie within my daughter's rightful place, and certes! she must die-- let it be noised that sickness cut short her tender life, then come and woo my daughter, and she shall be your wife:-- what passed between you long ago, of that be nothing said, thus, none shall my dishonour know--in honour you shall wed." xiv. thus spake the count alarcos--"the truth i'll not deny, i to the infanta gave my troth, and broke it shamefully; i feared my king would ne'er consent to give me his fair daughter; but, oh! spare her that's innocent--avoid that sinful slaughter."-- xv. "she dies, she dies," the king replies; "from thine own sin it springs, if guiltless blood must wash the blot which stains the blood of kings: ere morning dawn her life must end, and thine must be the deed, else thou on shameful block must bend: thereof is no remeed." xvi. "good king, my hand thou mayst command, else treason blots my name! i'll take the life of my dear wife--(god! mine be not the blame!) alas! that young and sinless heart for others' sin should bleed! good king, in sorrow i depart."----"may god your errand speed!"-- xvii. in sorrow he departed, dejectedly he rode the weary journey from that place, unto his own abode; he grieved for his fair countess, dear as his life was she; sore grieved he for that lady, and for his children three. xviii. the one was yet an infant upon its mother's breast, for though it had three nurses, it liked her milk the best; the others were young children, that had but little wit, hanging about their mother's knee while nursing she did sit. xix. "alas!" he said, when he had come within a little space, "how shall i brook the cheerful look of my kind lady's face? to see her coming forth in glee to meet me in my hall, when she so soon a corpse must be, and i the cause of all!" xx. just then he saw her at the door with all her babes appear-- (the little page had run before to tell his lord was near) "now welcome home, my lord, my life!--alas! you droop your head tell, count alarcos, tell your wife, what makes your eyes so red?"-- xxi. "i'll tell you all--i'll tell you all: it is not yet the hour; we'll sup together in the hall--i'll tell you in your bower." the lady brought forth what she had, and down beside him sate; he sat beside her pale and sad, but neither drank nor ate. xxii. the children to his side were led (he loved to have them so), then on the board he laid his head, and out his tears did flow:-- "i fain would sleep--i fain would sleep,"--the count alarcos said:-- alas! be sure, that sleep was none that night within their bed. xxiii. they came together to the bower where they were used to rest, none with them but the little babe that was upon the breast: the count had barred the chamber doors, they ne'er were barred till then; "unhappy lady," he began, "and i most lost of men!" xxiv. "now, speak not so, my noble lord, my husband and my life, unhappy never can she be, that is alarcos' wife."-- "alas! unhappy lady, 'tis but little that you know, for in that very word you've said is gathered all your woe. xxv. "long since i loved a lady,--long since i oaths did plight, to be that lady's husband, to love her day and night; her father is our lord the king, to him the thing is known, and now, that i the news should bring! she claims me for her own. xxvi. "alas! my love, alas! my life, the right is on their side; ere i had seen your face, sweet wife, she was betrothed my bride; but, oh! that i should speak the word--since in her place you lie, it is the bidding of our lord, that you this night must die."-- xxvii. "are these the wages of my love, so lowly and so leal?-- o, kill me not, thou noble count, when at thy foot i kneel!-- but send me to my father's house, where once i dwelt in glee, there will i live a lone chaste life, and rear my children three."-- xxviii. "it may not be--mine oath is strong--ere dawn of day you die!"-- "o! well 'tis seen how all alone upon the earth am i-- my father is an old frail man,--my mother's in her grave,-- and dead is stout don garcia--alas! my brother brave! xxix. "'twas at this coward king's command they slew my brother dear, and now i'm helpless in the land:--it is not death i fear, but loth, loth am i to depart, and leave my children so-- now let me lay them to my heart, and kiss them ere i go."-- xxx. "kiss him that lies upon thy breast--the rest thou mayst not see."-- "i fain would say an ave."--"then say it speedily."-- she knelt her down upon her knee: "o lord! behold my case-- judge not my deeds, but look on me in pity and great grace."-- xxxi. when she had made her orison, up from her knees she rose-- "be kind, alarcos, to our babes, and pray for my repose-- and now give me my boy once more upon my breast to hold, that he may drink one farewell drink, before my breast be cold."-- xxxii. "why would you waken the poor child? you see he is asleep-- prepare, dear wife, there is no time, the dawn begins to peep."-- "now hear me, count alarcos! i give thee pardon free-- i pardon thee for the love's sake wherewith i've lovèd thee. xxxiii. "but they have not my pardon, the king and his proud daughter-- the curse of god be on them, for this unchristian slaughter!-- i charge them with my dying breath, ere thirty days be gone, to meet me in the realm of death, and at god's awful throne!"-- xxxiv. he drew a kerchief round her neck, he drew it tight and strong, until she lay quite stiff and cold her chamber floor along; he laid her then within the sheets, and, kneeling by her side, to god and mary mother in misery he cried. xxxv. then called he for his esquires:--oh! deep was their dismay, when they into the chamber came, and saw her how she lay;-- thus died she in her innocence, a lady void of wrong, but god took heed of their offence--his vengeance stayed not long. xxxvi. within twelve days, in pain and dole, the infanta passed away, the cruel king gave up his soul upon the twentieth day; alarcos followed ere the moon had made her round complete.-- three guilty spirits stood right soon before god's judgment-seat. tales from the gesta romanorum. contents. i.--the eight pennies ii.--the three truths iii.--the husband of aglaes iv.--the three caskets v.--the three cakes vi.--the hermit vii.--the lost foot viii.--placidus ix.--dead alexander x.--the tree of paletinus xi.--hungry flies xii.--the humbling of jovinian xiii.--the two physicians xiv.--the falcon xv.--let the laziest be king xvi.--the three maxims xvii.--a loaf for a dream xviii.--lower than the beasts xix.--of real friendship xx.--royal bounty xxi.--wily beguiled xxii.--the basilisk xxiii.--the trump of death xxiv.--alexander and the pirate xxv.--a tale of a penny xxvi.--of avoiding imprecations xxvii.--a verse exercise xxviii.--bred in the bone xxix.--fulgentius xxx.--vengeance deferred i.--the eight pennies. when titus was emperor of rome, he made a decree that the natal day of his first-born son should be held sacred, and that whosoever violated it by any kind of labour should be put to death. then he called virgil to him, and said, "good friend, i have made a certain law; we desire you to frame some curious piece of art which may reveal to us every transgressor of the law." virgil constructed a magic statue, and caused it to be set up in the midst of the city. by virtue of the secret powers with which it was invested, it told the emperor whatever was done amiss. and thus by the accusation of the statue, an infinite number of persons were convicted and punished. now there was a certain carpenter, called focus, who pursued his occupation every day alike. once, as he lay in bed, his thoughts turned upon the accusations of the statue, and the multitudes which it had caused to perish. in the morning he clothed himself, and proceeded to the statue, which he addressed in the following manner: "o statue! statue! because of thy informations, many of our citizens have been taken and slain. i vow to my god, that if thou accusest _me_, i will break thy head." having so said, he returned home. about the first hour, the emperor, as he was wont, despatched sundry messengers to the statue, to inquire if the edict had been strictly complied with. after they had arrived, and delivered the emperors pleasure, the statue exclaimed: "friends, look up; what see ye written upon my forehead?" they looked, and beheld three sentences which ran thus: "times are altered. men grow worse. he who speaks truth has his head broken." "go," said the statue, "declare to his majesty what you have seen and read." the messengers obeyed, and detailed the circumstances as they had happened. the emperor therefore commanded his guard to arm, and march to the place on which the statue was erected; and he further ordered, that if any one presumed to molest it, they should bind him hand and foot, and drag him into his presence. the soldiers approached the statue and said, "our emperor wills you to declare the name of the scoundrel who threatens you." the statue made answer, "it is focus the carpenter. every day he violates the law, and, moreover, menaces me with a broken head, if i expose him." immediately focus was apprehended, and conducted to the emperor, who said, "friend, what do i hear of thee? why hast thou broken my law?" "my lord," answered focus, "i cannot keep it; for i am obliged to obtain every day eight pennies, which, without incessant work, i have not the means of getting." "and why eight pennies?" said the emperor. "every day through the year," returned the carpenter, "i am bound to repay two pennies which i borrowed in my youth; two i lend; two i lose; and two i spend." "for what reason do you this?" asked the emperor. "my lord," he replied, "listen to me. i am bound each day to repay two pennies to my father; for, when i was a boy, my father expended upon me daily the like sum. now he is poor, and needs my assistance, and therefore i return what i borrowed formerly. two other pennies i lend to my son, who is pursuing his studies; in order, that if by any chance i should fall into poverty, he may restore the loan, just as i have done to his grandfather. again, i lose two pennies every day on my wife; for she is contradictious, wilful, and passionate. now, because of this disposition, i account whatsoever is given to her entirely lost. lastly, two other pennies i expend upon myself in meat and drink. i cannot do with less, nor can i earn them without unremitting labour. you now know the truth; and, i pray you, judge dispassionately and truly." "friend," said the emperor, "thou hast answered well. go, and labour earnestly in thy calling." soon after this the emperor died, and focus the carpenter, on account of his singular wisdom, was elected in his stead by the unanimous choice of the whole nation. he governed as wisely as he had lived; and at his death, his picture, bearing on the head eight pennies, was reposited among the effigies of the deceased emperors. ii.--the three truths. a certain king, named asmodeus, established an ordinance, by which every malefactor taken and brought before the judge, should distinctly declare three truths, against which no exception could be taken, or else be hanged. if, however, he did this, his life and property should be safe. it chanced that a certain soldier transgressed the law and fled. he hid himself in a forest, and there committed many atrocities, despoiling and slaying whomsoever he could lay his hands upon. when the judge of the district ascertained his haunt, he ordered the forest to be surrounded, and the soldier to be seized, and brought bound to the seat of judgment. "you know the law," said the judge. "i do," returned the other. "if i declare three unquestionable truths i shall be free; but if not, i must die." "true," replied the judge; "take then advantage of the law's clemency, or undergo the punishment it awards without delay." "cause silence to be kept," said the soldier undauntedly. his wish being complied with, he proceeded in the following manner: "the first truth is this. i protest before ye all, that from my youth up, i have been a bad man." the judge, hearing this, said to the bystanders, "he says true?" they answered: "else he had not now been in this situation." "go on, then," said the judge. "what is the second truth?" "i like not," exclaimed he, "the dangerous situation in which i stand." "certainly," said the judge, "we may credit thee. now then for the third truth, and thou hast saved thy life." "why," he replied, "if i once get out of this confounded place, i will never willingly re-enter it." "amen," said the judge, "thy wit hath preserved thee; go in peace." and thus he was saved. iii.--the husband of aglaes. in rome some time dwelt a mighty emperor named philominus, who had one only daughter, who was fair and gracious in the sight of every man, who had to name aglaes. there was also in the emperor's palace a gentle knight that loved dearly this lady. it befell after on a day, that this knight talked with this lady, and secretly uttered his desire to her. then she said courteously, "seeing you have uttered to me the secrets of your heart, i will likewise for your love utter to you the secrets of my heart: and truly i say, that above all other i love you best." then said the knight, "i purpose to visit the holy land, and therefore give me your troth, that this seven years you shall take no other man, but only for my love to tarry for me so long, and if i come not again by this day seven years, then take what man you like best. and likewise i promise you that within this seven years i will take no wife." then said she, "this covenant pleaseth me well." when this was said, each of them was betrothed to other, and then this knight took his leave of the lady, and went to the holy land. shortly after the emperor treated with the king of hungary for the marriage of his daughter. then came the king of hungary to the emperor's palace, and when he had seen his daughter, he liked marvellous well her beauty and her behaviour, so that the emperor and the king were accorded in all things as touching the marriage, upon the condition that the damsel would consent. then called the emperor the young lady to him, and said, "o, my fair daughter, i have provided for thee, that a king shall be thy husband, if thou list consent; therefore tell me what answer thou wilt give to this." then said she to her father, "it pleaseth me well; but one thing, dear father, i entreat of you, if it might please you to grant me: i have vowed to keep my virginity, and not to marry these seven years; therefore, dear father, i beseech you for all the love that is between your gracious fatherhood and me, that you name no man to be my husband till these seven years be ended, and then i shall be ready in all things to fulfil your will." then said the emperor, "sith it is so that thou hast thus vowed, i will not break thy vow; but when these seven years be expired, thou shalt have the king of hungary to thy husband." then the emperor sent forth his letters to the king of hungary, praying him if it might please him to stay seven years for the love of his daughter, and then he should speed without fail. herewith the king was pleased and content to stay the prefixed day. and when the seven years were ended, save a day, the young lady stood in her chamber window, and wept sore, saying, "woe and alas, as to-morrow my love promised to be with me again from the holy land; and also the king of hungary to-morrow will be here to marry me, according to my father's promise; and if my love comes not at a certain hour, then am i utterly deceived of the inward love i bear to him." when the day came, the king hasted toward the emperor, to marry his daughter, and was royally arrayed in purple. and while the king was riding on his way, there came a knight riding on his way, who said, "i am of the empire of rome, and now am lately come from the holy land, and i am ready to do you the best service i can." and as they rode talking by the way, it began to rain so fast that all the king's apparel was sore wet. then said the knight, "my lord, ye have done foolishly, for as much as ye brought not with you your house." then said the king: "why speakest thou so? my house is large and broad, and made of stones and mortar, how should i bring then with me my house? thou speakest like a fool." when this was said, they rode on till they came to a great deep water, and the king smote his horse with his spurs, and leapt into the water, so that he was almost drowned. when the knight saw this, and was over on the other side of the water without peril, he said to the king, "ye were in peril, and therefore ye did foolishly, because ye brought not with you your bridge." then said the king, "thou speakest strangely: my bridge is made of lime and stone, and containeth in quality more than half a mile; how should i then bear with me my bridge? therefore thou speakest foolishly." "well," said the knight, "my foolishness may turn you to wisdom." when the king had ridden a little further, he asked the knight what time of day it was. then said the knight, "if any man hath list to eat, it is time of the day to eat. wherefore, my lord, pray take a _modicum_ with me, for that is no dishonour to you, but great honour to me before the states of this empire." then said the king, "i will gladly eat with thee." they sat both down in a fair vine garden, and there dined together, both the king and the knight. and when dinner was done, and that the king had washed, the knight said unto the king, "my lord, ye have done foolishly, for that ye brought not with you your father and mother." then said the king, "what sayest thou? my father is dead, and my mother is old, and may not travel; how should i then bring them with me? therefore, to say the truth, a foolisher man than thou art did i never hear." then said the knight, "every work is praised at the end." when the knight had ridden a little further, and nigh to the emperor's palace, he asked leave to go from him; for he knew a nearer way to the palace, to the young lady, that he might come first, and carry her away with him. then said the king, "i pray thee tell me by what place thou purposest to ride?" then said the knight, "i shall tell you the truth. this day seven years i left a net in a place, and now i purpose to visit it, and draw it to me, and if it be whole, then will i take it to me, and keep it as a precious jewel; if it be broken, then will i leave it." and when he had thus said, he took his leave of the king, and rode forth; but the king kept the broad highway. when the emperor heard of the king's coming, he went towards him with a great company, and royally received him, causing him to shift his wet clothes, and to put on fresh apparel. and when the emperor and the king were set at meat, the emperor welcomed him with all the cheer and solace that he could. and when he had eaten, the emperor asked tidings of the king. "my lord," said he, "i shall tell you what i have heard this day by the way: there came a knight to me, and reverently saluted me; and anon after there fell a great rain, and greatly spoiled my apparel. and anon the knight said, 'sir, ye have done foolishly, for that ye brought not with you your house.'" then said the emperor, "what clothing had the knight on?" "a cloak," quoth the king. then said the emperor, "sure that was a wise man, for the house whereof he spake was a cloak, and therefore he said to you that you did foolishly, because had you come with your cloak, then your clothes had not been spoiled with rain." then said the king, "when he had ridden a little further, we came to a deep water, and i smote my horse with my spurs, and i was almost drowned, but he rid through the water without any peril. then said he to me, 'you did foolishly, for that you brought not with you your bridge.'" "verily," said the emperor, "he said truth, for he called the squires the bridge, that should have ridden before you, and assayed the deepness of the water." then said the king, "we rode further, and at the last he prayed me to dine with him. and when he had dined, he said, i did unwisely, because i brought not with me my father and mother." "truly," said the emperor, "he was a wise man, and saith wisely: for he called your father and mother, bread and wine, and other victual." then said the king, "we rode further, and anon after he asked me leave to go from me, and i asked earnestly whither he went; and he answered again, and said, 'this day seven years i left a net in a private place, and now i will ride to see it; and if it be broken and torn, then will i leave it, but if it be as i left it, then shall it be unto me right precious.'" when the emperor heard this, he cried with a loud voice, and said, "o ye my knights and servants, come ye with me speedily unto my daughter's chamber, for surely that is the net of which he spake." and forthwith his knights and servants went unto his daughter's chamber, and found her not, for the aforesaid knight had taken her with him. and thus the king was deceived of the damsel, and he went home again to his own country ashamed. iv.--the three caskets. some time dwelt in rome a mighty emperor, named anselm, who had married the king's daughter of jerusalem, a fair lady, and gracious in the sight of every man, but she was long time with the emperor ere she bare him any child; wherefore the nobles of the empire were very sorrowful, because their lord had no heir of his own body begotten: till at last it befell, that this anselm walked after supper, in an evening, into his garden, and bethought himself that he had no heir, and how the king of ampluy warred on him continually, for so much as he had no son to make defence in his absence; therefore he was sorrowful, and went to his chamber and slept. then he thought he saw a vision in his sleep, that the morning was more clear than it was wont to be, and that the moon was much paler on the one side than on the other. and after he saw a bird of two colours, and by that bird stood two beasts, which fed that little bird with their heat. and after that came more beasts, and bowing their breasts toward the bird, went their way. then came there divers birds that sung sweetly and pleasantly: with that the emperor awaked. in the morning early this anselm remembered his vision, and wondered much what it might signify; wherefore he called to him his philosophers, and all the states of the empire, and told them his dream, charging them to tell him the signification thereof on pain of death, and if they told him the true interpretation thereof, he promised them good reward. then said they, "dear lord, tell us your dream, and we shall declare to you what it betokens." then the emperor told them from the beginning to the ending, as is aforesaid. when the philosophers heard this, with glad cheer they answered, and said, "sir, the vision that you saw betokeneth good, for the empire shall be clearer than it is. "the moon that is more pale on the one side than on the other, betokeneth the empress, that hath lost part of her colour, through the conception of a son that she hath conceived. the little bird betokeneth the son that she shall bare. the two beasts that fed this bird betoken the wise and rich men of the empire which shall obey the son. these other beasts that bowed their breasts to the bird betoken many other nations that shall do him homage. the bird that sang so sweetly to this little bird betokeneth the romans, who shall rejoice and sing because of his birth. this is the very interpretation of your dream." when the emperor heard this, he was right joyful. soon after that, the empress travailed in childbirth, and was delivered of a fair son, at whose birth there was great and wonderful joy made. when the king of ampluy heard this, he thought in himself thus: "lo, i have warred against the emperor all the days of my life, and now he hath a son who, when he cometh to full age, will revenge the wrong i have done against his father; therefore it is better that i send to the emperor and beseech him of truce and peace, that the son may have nothing against me when he cometh to manhood." when he had thus said to himself, he wrote to the emperor, beseeching him to have peace. when the emperor saw that the king of ampluy wrote to him more for fear than for love, he wrote again to him, that if he would find good and sufficient sureties to keep the peace, and bind himself all the days of his life to do him service and homage, he would receive him to peace. when the king had read the tenor of the emperor's letter, he called his council, praying them to give him counsel how he best might do, as touching this matter. then said they, "it is good that ye obey the emperor's will and commandment in all things. for first, in that he desired of you surety for the peace; to this we answer thus: ye have but one daughter, and the emperor one son, wherefore let a marriage be made between them, and that may be a perpetual covenant of peace. also he asketh homage and tribute, which it is good to fulfil." then the king sent his messengers to the emperor, saying, that he would fulfil his desire in all things, if it might please his highness that his son and the king's daughter might be married together. all this well pleased the emperor, yet he sent again, saying, "if his daughter were a pure maid from her birth unto that day, he would consent to that marriage." then was the king right glad, for his daughter was a pure maid. therefore, when the letters of covenant and compact were sealed, the king furnished a fair ship, wherein he might send his daughter, with many noble knights, ladies, and great riches, unto the emperor, for to have his son in marriage. and when they were sailing in the sea, towards rome, a storm arose so extremely and so horribly that the ship brake against a rock, and they were all drowned save only the young lady, which fixed her hope and heart so greatly on god, that she was saved, and about three of the clock the tempest ceased, and the lady drove forth over the waves in that broken ship which was cast up again. but a huge whale followed after, ready to devour both the ship and her. wherefore this young lady, when night came, smote fire with a stone, wherewith the ship was greatly lightened, and then the whale durst not adventure toward the ship for fear of that light. at the cock-crowing, this young lady was so weary of the great tempest and trouble of sea, that she slept, and within a little while after the fire ceased, and the whale came and devoured the virgin. and when she awaked and found herself swallowed up in the whale's belly, she smote fire, and with a knife wounded the whale in many places, and when the whale felt himself wounded, according to his nature he began to swim to land. there was dwelling at that time in a country near by a noble earl named pirris, who for his recreation walking on the sea-shore, saw the whale coming towards the land; wherefore he turned home again, and gathered a great many of men and women, and came thither again, and fought with the whale, and wounded him very sore, and as they smote, the maiden that was in his belly cried with a high voice, and said: "o gentle friends, have mercy and compassion on me, for i am a king's daughter, and a true maid from the hour of my birth unto this day." when the earl heard this he wondered greatly, and opened the side of the whale, and found the young lady, and took her out. and when she was thus delivered, she told him forthwith whose daughter she was, and how she had lost all her goods in the sea, and how she should have been married unto the emperor's son. and when the earl heard this, he was very glad, and comforted her the more, and kept her with him till she was well refreshed. and in the meantime he sent messengers to the emperor, letting him to know how the king's daughter was saved. then was the emperor right glad of her safety, and coming, had great compassion on her, saying, "ah, good maiden, for the love of my son thou hast suffered much woe; nevertheless, if thou be worthy to be his wife, soon shall i prove." and when he had thus said, he caused three vessels to be brought forth. the first was made of pure gold, well beset with precious stones without, and within full of dead men's bones, and thereupon was engraven this posie: "whoso chooseth me, shall find that he deserveth." the second vessel was made of fine silver, filled with earth and worms, the superscription was thus: "whoso chooseth me, shall find that his nature desireth." the third vessel was made of lead, full within of precious stones, and thereupon was insculpt this posie: "whoso chooseth me, shall find that god hath disposed for him." these three vessels the emperor showed the maiden, and said: "lo, here daughter, these be rich vessels. if thou choose one of these, wherein is profit to thee and to others, then shalt thou have my son. and if thou choose that wherein is no profit to thee, nor to any other, soothly thou shalt not marry him." when the maiden heard this, she lift up her hands to god, and said, "thou lord, that knowest all things, grant me grace this hour so to choose, that i may receive the emperor's son." and with that she beheld the first vessel of gold, which was engraven royally, and read the superscription, "_whoso chooseth me, shall find that he deserveth_;" saying thus, "though this vessel be full precious, and made of pure gold, nevertheless i know not what is within, therefore, my dear lord, this vessel will i not choose." and then she beheld the second vessel, that was of pure silver, and read the superscription, "_whoso chooseth me, shall find that his nature desireth._" thinking thus within herself, "if i choose this vessel, what is within i know not, but well i know, there shall i find that nature desireth, and my nature desireth the lust of the flesh, and therefore this vessel will i not choose." when she had seen these two vessels, and had given an answer as touching them, she beheld the third vessel of lead, and read the superscription, "_whoso chooseth me, shall find that god hath disposed._" thinking within herself, "this vessel is not very rich, nor outwardly precious, yet the superscription saith, "_whoso chooseth me, shall find that god hath disposed_;" and without doubt god never disposeth any harm, therefore, by the leave of god, this vessel will i choose." when the emperor heard this, he said, "o fair maiden, open thy vessel, for it is full of precious stones, and see if thou hast well chosen or no." and when this young lady had opened it, she found it full of fine gold and precious stones, as the emperor had told her before. then said the emperor, "daughter, because thou hast well chosen, thou shalt marry my son." and then he appointed the wedding-day; and they were married with great solemnity, and with much honour continued to their lives' end. v.--the three cakes. a certain carpenter, in a city near the sea, very covetous, and very wicked, collected a large sum of money, and placed it in the trunk of a tree, which he set by his fire-side, and never lost sight of. a place like this, he thought, no one could suspect: but it happened, that while all his household slept, the sea overflowed its boundaries, broke down that side of the building where the log was placed, and carried it away. it floated many miles, and reached, at length, a city in which there lived a person who kept open house. arising early in the morning, he perceived the trunk of a tree in the water, and thinking it would be of use to him, he brought it home. he was a liberal, kind-hearted man; and a great benefactor to the poor. it one day chanced that he entertained some pilgrims in his house; and the weather being extremely cold, he cut up the log for firewood. when he had struck two or three blows with the axe, he heard a rattling sound; and cleaving it in twain, the gold pieces rolled out and about. greatly rejoiced at the discovery, he put them by in a safe place, until he should ascertain who was the owner. now the carpenter, bitterly lamenting the loss of his money, travelled from place to place in pursuit of it. he came, by accident, to the house of the hospitable man who had found the trunk. he failed not to mention the object of his search; and the host, understanding that the money was his, reflected whether his title to it were good. "i will prove," said he to himself, "if god will that the money should be returned to him." accordingly, he made three cakes, the first of which he filled with earth; the second with the bones of dead men; and in the third he put a quantity of the gold which he had discovered in the trunk. "friend," said he, addressing the carpenter, "we will eat three cakes made of the best meat in my house. choose which you will have." the carpenter did as he was directed; he took the cakes and weighed them in his hand, one after another, and finding that with the earth weigh heaviest, he chose it. "and if i want more, my worthy host," added he, "i will have that"--laying his hand upon the cake containing the bones. "you may keep the third cake yourself." "i see clearly," murmured the host, "i see very clearly that god does not will the money to be restored to this wretched man." calling therefore the poor and the infirm, the blind and the lame, he opened the cake of gold in the presence of the carpenter, to whom he spoke, "thou miserable varlet; this is thine own gold. but thou preferredst the cake of earth, and dead men's bones. i am persuaded, therefore, that god wills not that i return thee thy money." without delay, he distributed it all amongst the poor, and drove the carpenter away. vi.--the hermit. there once lived a hermit, who in a remote cave passed day and night in god's service. not far from his cell there was a flock kept by a shepherd, who one day fell into a deep sleep, when a robber, seeing him careless, carried off his sheep. when the keeper awoke, he began to swear in good set terms that he had lost his sheep; and where they were gone to he knew not. but the lord of the flock bade him be put to death. this gave to the hermit great offence. "o heaven," said he to himself, "seest thou this deed? the innocent suffers for the guilty: why permittest thou such things? if thus injustice triumph, why do i remain here? i will again enter the world, and do as other men do." and so he left his hermitage, and went again into the world; but god willed not that he should be lost: an angel in the form of a man was sent to join him. and so, crossing the hermit's path, he said to him, "whither bound, my friend?" "i go," said he, "to yonder city." "i will go with you," replied the angel; "i am a messenger from heaven, come to be your companion on the way." so they walked on together to the city. when they had entered, they begged for the love of god harbourage during the night, at the house of a certain soldier, who received them cheerfully and entertained them nobly. the soldier had an only and most dear son lying in the cradle. after supper, their bed-chamber was sumptuously adorned for them; and the angel and the hermit went to rest. but about the middle of the night the angel rose, and strangled the sleeping infant. the hermit, horror-struck at what he witnessed, said within himself, "never can this be an angel of god. the good soldier gave us everything that was necessary; he had but this poor innocent, and he is strangled." yet he was afraid to reprove him. in the morning both arose and went forward to another city, in which they were honourably entertained at the house of one of the inhabitants. this person had a rich gold cup, which he highly valued; and of which, during the night, the angel robbed him. but still the hermit held his peace, for great was his fear. on the morrow they went forward; and as they walked they came to a certain river, over which was a bridge. they went on the bridge, and about midway a poor pilgrim met them. "my friend," said the angel to him, "show us the way to yonder city." the pilgrim turned, and pointed with his finger to the road they were to take; but as he turned the angel seized him by the shoulders, and hurled him into the stream below. at this the terror of the hermit became greater. "it is the devil," he said to himself; "it is the devil, and no good angel! what evil had the poor man done that he should be drowned?" he would now have gladly gone alone; but was afraid to speak his mind. about the hour of vespers they came to a city, in which they again sought shelter for the night; but the master of the house where they applied sharply refused it. "for the love of heaven," said the angel, "give us shelter, lest we fall prey to the wolves." the man pointed to a sty. "that," said he, "has pigs in it; if it please you to lie there you may, but to no other place will i admit you." "if we can do no better," said the angel, "we must accept your ungracious offer." they did so; and next morning the angel calling their host, said, "my friend, i give you this cup;" and he gave him the gold cup he had stolen. the hermit, more and more amazed at what he saw, said to himself, "now i am sure this is the devil. the good man who received us with all kindness he despoiled, and now he gives the plunder to this fellow who refused us a lodging." turning therefore to the angel, he cried, "i will travel with you no more. i commend you to god." "dear friend," the angel said, "first hear me, and then go thy way." the explanation. "when thou wert in thy hermitage, the owner of the flock unjustly put to death his servant. true it is he died innocently, and therefore was in a fit state to enter another world. god permitted him to be slain, foreseeing, that if he lived he would commit a sin, and die before repentance followed. but the guilty man who stole the sheep will suffer eternally; while the owner of the flock will repair, by alms and good works, that which he ignorantly committed. as for the son of the hospitable soldier whom i strangled in the cradle, know, that before the boy was born he performed numerous works of charity and mercy; but afterwards grew parsimonious and covetous in order to enrich the child, of which he was inordinately fond. this was the cause of its death; and now its distressed parent is again become a devout christian. then for the cup which i purloined from him who received us so kindly, know, that before the cup was made, there was not a more abstemious person in the world; but afterwards he took such pleasure in it, and drank from it so often, that he was intoxicated twice or thrice during the day. i took away the cup, and he has returned to his former sobriety. again i cast the pilgrim into the river; and know that he whom i drowned was a good christian, but had he proceeded much further, he would have fallen into a mortal sin. now he is saved, and reigns in celestial glory. then, that i bestowed the cup upon the inhospitable citizen, know nothing is done without reason. he suffered us to occupy the swine-house and i gave him a valuable consideration. but _he_ will hereafter reign in hell. put a guard, therefore, on thy lips, and detract not from the almighty. for he knoweth all things." the hermit, hearing this, fell at the feet of the angel and entreated pardon. he returned to his hermitage, and became a good and pious christian. vii.--the lost foot. a certain tyrannical and cruel knight retained in his service a very faithful servant. one day, when he had been to the market, he returned with this servant through a grove; and by the way lost thirty silver marks. as soon as he discovered the loss, he questioned his servant about it. the man solemnly denied all knowledge of the matter, and he spoke truth. but when the money was not to be found, he cut off the servant's foot, and leaving him in that place, rode home. a hermit, hearing the groans and cries of the man, went speedily to his help. he confessed him; and being satisfied of his innocence, conveyed him upon his shoulders to his hermitage. then entering the oratory, he dared to reproach the all-just with want of justice, inasmuch as he had permitted an innocent man to lose his foot. for a length of time he continued in tears, and prayers, and reproaches; until at last an angel of the lord appeared to him, and said, "hast thou not read in the psalms, 'god is a just judge, strong and patient?'" "often," answered the hermit meekly, "have i read and believed it from my heart; but to-day i have erred. that wretched man, whose foot has been cut off, perhaps under the veil of confession deceived me." "tax not the lord with injustice," said the angel; "his way is truth, and his judgments equitable. recollect how often thou hast read, 'the decrees of god are unfathomable.' know that he who lost his foot, lost it for a former crime. with the same foot he maliciously spurned his mother, and cast her from a chariot--for which eternal condemnation overtook him. the knight, his master, was desirous of purchasing a war-horse, to collect more wealth, to the destruction of his soul; and therefore, by the just sentence of god, the money which he had provided for the purchase was lost. now hear; there is a very poor man with his wife and little ones, who daily supplicate heaven, and perform every religious exercise. he found the money, when otherwise he would have starved, and therewith procured for himself and family the necessaries of life, entrusting a portion to his confessor to distribute to the poor. but first he diligently endeavoured to find out the right owner. not accomplishing this, the poor man applied it to its proper use. place then a bridle upon thy thoughts; and no more upbraid the righteous disposer of all things, as thou but lately didst. for he is just, and strong, and patient." viii.--placidus. in the reign of trajan there lived a knight named placidus, who was commander-in-chief of the emperor's armies. he was very merciful, but a worshipper of idols. his wife too was an idolater. they had two sons, brought up in all magnificence, and from the kindness and goodness of their hearts, they deserved a revelation of the way of truth. as he was one day following the chase, placidus discovered a herd of deer, amongst which was one remarkable for size and beauty. separating itself from the rest, it plunged into the thickest part of the brake. while the hunters, therefore, occupied themselves with the remainder of the herd, placidus swiftly followed this deer's track. the stag scaled a lofty precipice, and placidus, approaching as near as he could, considered how it might be followed yet. but as he regarded it with fixed attention, there appeared upon the centre of the brow, the form of the cross, which glittered with more splendour than the noonday sun. upon this cross an image of jesus christ was suspended; and the stag thus addressed the hunter: "why dost thou persecute me, placidus? for thy sake have i assumed the shape of this animal. i am christ, whom thou ignorantly worshippest. thine alms have gone up before me, and therefore i come; but as thou hast hunted this stag, so will i hunt thee." some indeed assert that the image, hanging between the deer's antlers, said these things. however that may be, placidus, filled with terror, fell from his horse; and in about an hour, returning to himself, arose from the earth and said, "declare what thou wouldst have, that i may believe in thee." "i am christ, o placidus! i created heaven and earth; i caused the light to arise, and divided it from the darkness. i appointed days, and seasons, and years. i formed man out of the dust of the earth; and i became incarnate for the salvation of mankind. i was crucified, and buried; and on the third day i rose again." when placidus understood these sublime truths, he fell again upon the earth, and exclaimed: "i believe, o lord, that thou hast done all this; and that thou art he who bringest back the wanderer." the lord answered: "if thou believest this, go into the city and be baptized." "wouldst thou, o lord, that i tell what has befallen me to my wife and children, that they also may believe?" "do so; tell them, that they also may be cleansed from their iniquities. and on the morrow return hither, where i will appear again, and show you of the future." placidus, therefore, went to his own home, and told all that had passed to his wife. but she too had had a revelation; and in like manner had been enjoined to believe in christ, together with her children. so they hastened to the city of rome, where they were entertained and baptized with great joy. placidus was called eustacius, and his wife, theosbyta; the two sons, theosbytus and agapetus. in the morning, eustacius, according to custom, went out to hunt, and coming with his attendants near the place, he dispersed them, as if for the purpose of discovering the prey. immediately the vision of yesterday reappeared, and prostrating himself, he said, "i implore thee, o lord, to manifest thyself according to thy word." "blessed art thou, eustacius, because thou hast received the laver of my grace, and thereby overcome the devil. now hast thou trod him to dust, who beguiled thee. now will thy fidelity appear; for the devil, whom thou hast deserted, will rage against thee in many ways. much must thou undergo ere thou possessest the crown of victory. much must thou suffer from the dignified vanity of the world; and much from spiritual intolerance. fail not, therefore; nor look back upon thy former condition. thou must be as another job; but from the very depth of thy humiliation, i will restore thee to the height of earthly splendour. choose, then, whether thou wouldst prefer thy trials at the end of life." eustacius replied: "if it become me, o lord, to be exposed to trials, let them presently approach; but do thou uphold me, and supply me with patient strength." "be bold, eustacius: my grace shall support your souls." saying thus, the lord ascended into heaven. after which eustacius returned home to his wife, and explained to her what had been decreed. in a few days a pestilence carried off the whole of their men-servants and maid-servants; and before long the sheep, horses, and cattle also perished. robbers plundered their habitation, and despoiled them of every ornament; while he himself, together with his wife and sons, fled naked and in the deepest distress. but devoutly they worshipped god; and apprehensive of an egyptian redness, went secretly away. thus were they reduced to utter poverty. the king and the senate, greatly afflicted with their general's calamities, sought for, but found not the slightest trace of him. in the meantime this unhappy family approached the sea; and finding a ship ready to sail, they embarked in it. the master of the vessel observing that the wife of eustacius was very beautiful, determined to secure her; and when they had crossed the sea, demanded a large sum of money for their passage, which, as he anticipated, they did not possess. notwithstanding the vehement and indignant protestations of eustacius, he seized upon his wife; and beckoning to the mariners, commanded them to cast the unfortunate husband headlong into the sea. perceiving, therefore, that all opposition was useless, he took up his two children, and departed with much and heavy sorrow. "merciful heaven," he exclaimed, as he wept over his bereaved offspring, "your poor mother is lost; and, in a strange land, in the arms of a strange lord, must lament her fate." travelling along, he came to a river, the water of which ran so high, that it appeared hazardous in an eminent degree to cross with both the children at the same time. one, therefore, he placed carefully upon the bank, and then passed over with the other in his arms. this effected, he laid it upon the ground, and returned immediately for the remaining child. but in the midst of the river, accidentally glancing his eye back, he beheld a wolf hastily snatch up the child, and run with it into an adjoining wood. half maddened at a sight so truly afflicting, he turned to rescue it from the destruction with which it was threatened; but at that instant a huge lion approached the child he had left; and seizing it, presently disappeared. to follow was useless, for he was in the middle of the water. giving himself up, therefore, to his desperate situation, he began to lament and to pluck away his hair, and would have cast himself into the stream, had not divine providence preserved him. certain shepherds, however, observing the lion carrying off the child in his teeth, pursued him with dogs, and by the peculiar dispensation of heaven it was dropped unhurt. as for the other, some ploughmen witnessing the adventure, shouted lustily after the wolf, and succeeded in liberating the poor victim from its jaws. now it happened that both the shepherds and ploughmen resided in the same village, and brought up the children amongst them. but eustacius knew nothing of this, and his affliction was so poignant that he was unable to control his complaints. "alas!" he would say, "once i nourished like a luxuriant tree, but now i am altogether blighted. once i was encompassed with military ensigns and bands of armed men; now i am a single being in the universe. i have lost all my children and everything that i possessed. i remember, o lord, that thou saidst my trials should resemble job's; behold they exceed them. for although he was destitute, he had a couch, however vile, to repose upon; i, alas! have nothing. he had compassionating friends; while i, besides the loss of my children, am left a prey to the savage beasts. his wife remained, but mine is forcibly carried off. assuage my anguish, o lord, and place a bridle upon my lips, lest i utter foolishness, and stand up against thee." with such words he gave free course to the fulness of his heart; and after much travel, entered a village, where he abode. in this place he continued for fifteen years, as the hired servant of one of the villagers. to return to the two boys. they were educated in the same neighbourhood, but had no knowledge of their consanguinity. and as for the wife of eustacius, she preserved her purity, and suffered not the infamous usage which she had to fear. after some time her persecutor died. in the meanwhile the roman emperor was beset by his enemies, and recollecting how valiantly placidus had behaved himself in similar straits, his grief at the deplorable change of fortune was renewed. he despatched soldiers through various parts of the world in pursuit of them; and promised to the discoverer infinite rewards and honours. it happened that some of the emissaries, being of those who had attended upon the person of placidus, came into the country in which he laboured, and one of them he recognized by his gait. the sight of these men brought back to the exile's mind the situation of wealth and honour which he had once possessed; and being filled with fresh trouble at the recollection--"o lord!" he exclaimed, "even as beyond expectation i have seen these people again, so let me be restored to my beloved wife. of my children i speak not; for i know too well that they are devoured by wild beasts." at that moment a voice whispered, "be faithful, eustacius, and thou wilt shortly recover thy lost honours, and again look upon thy wife and offspring." now when the soldiers met placidus they knew not who he was; and accosting him, they asked if he were acquainted with any foreigner named placidus, with his wife and two sons. he replied that he did not, but requested that they would rest in his house. and so he took them home, and waited on them. and here, as before, at the recollection of his former splendour, his tears flowed. unable to contain himself, he went out of doors, and when he had washed his face he re-entered, and continued his service. by-and-by one said to the other, "surely this man bears great resemblance to him we inquire after." "of a truth," answered his companion, "you say well. let us examine if he possess a sabre-mark on his head, which he received in action." they did so, and finding a scar which indicated a similar wound, they leaped up and embraced him, and inquired after his wife and sons. he told his adventures; and the neighbours coming in, listened with wonder to the account delivered by the soldiers of his military achievements and former magnificence. then, obeying the command of the emperor, they clothed him in sumptuous apparel. on the fifteenth day they reached the imperial court, and the emperor, apprised of his coming, went out to meet him, and saluted him with great gladness. eustacius told all that had befallen him. he was then invested with the command of the army, and restored to every office that he had held before his departure. he now therefore prepared with energy to encounter their enemies. he drew together from all parts the young men of the country; and it fell to the lot of the village where his own children were educated, to send two to the army; and these very youths were selected by the inhabitants as the best and bravest of their number. they appeared before the general, and their elegant manners, so much above their station, united to a singular propriety of conduct, won his esteem. he placed them in the van of his troops, and began his march against the enemy. now the spot on which he pitched his tent was near his wife's abode; and, strange to say, the sons themselves, in the general distribution of the soldiers, were quartered with their own mother, but all the while ignorant with whom they were stationed. about mid-day, the lads sitting together, related the various chances to which their infancy had been subject; and the mother, who was at no great distance, became an attentive listener. "of what i was while a child," said the elder of the brothers, "i remember nothing, except that my beloved father was a leader of a company of soldiers; and that my mother, who was very beautiful, had two sons, of whom i was the elder. we left home with our parents during the night, and embarking on board a vessel that immediately put to sea, sailed i know not whither. our mother remained in the ship, but wherefore i am also ignorant. in the meantime, our father carried my brother and myself in his arms, and me he left upon the nearer bank of a river, until he had borne the younger of us across. but when he was returning to me, a wolf darted from a thicket and bore him off in his mouth. before he could hasten back to him, a prodigious lion seized upon me, and carried me into a neighbouring wood. but shepherds delivered me, and brought me up amongst them." the younger brother here burst into a flood of tears, and exclaimed, "surely i have found my brother; for they who brought me up frequently declared that i was saved from the jaws of a wolf." they exchanged embraces, and the mother, who listened, felt a strong conviction that they were her own children. she was silent, however, and the next day went to the commander of the forces, and begged leave to go into her own country. "i am a roman woman," said she, "and a stranger in these parts." as she uttered these words, her eye fixed with an earnest and anxious gaze upon the countenance of him she addressed. it was her husband, whom she now for the first time recollected; and she threw herself at his feet, unable to contain her joy. "my lord," cried the glad woman, "i entreat you to tell something of your past life; for unless i greatly mistake, you are placidus, the master of the soldiery, since known by the name of eustacius, whom our blessed saviour converted and tried by temptations. i am _his_ wife, taken from him at sea by a wretch, who yet spared me from the worst. i had two sons, agapetus and theosbytus." these words recalled eustacius to himself. time and sorrow had made much change in both, but the recognition was full of happiness. they embraced and wept, giving glory to god as the god of all consolation. the wife then said, "my lord, what has become of our children?" "alas!" replied he, "they were carried off by wild beasts;" and he told the manner of their loss. "give thanks," said his wife, "give manifold thanks to the lord; for as his providence hath revealed our existence to each other, so will he give us back our beloved offspring." "did i not tell you," returned he, "that wild beasts had devoured them?" "true; but yesternight as i sat in the garden i overheard two young men tell of their childhood, and whom i believe to be our sons. ask them, and they will tell you." messengers were immediately despatched for this purpose, and a few questions convinced eustacius of the full completion of his happiness. they fell upon each other's neck and wept aloud. it was a joyful occasion; the whole army shared the joy of their general. a splendid victory ensued. before their return the emperor trajan died, and was succeeded by adrian, more wicked even than his predecessor. however, he received the conqueror and his family with great magnificence, and sumptuously entertained them at his own table. but the day following the emperor would have proceeded to the temple of his idols to sacrifice, in consequence of the late victory, and desired his guests to accompany him. "my lord," said eustacius, "i worship the god of the christians; and him only do i serve and propitiate with sacrifice." enraged at an opposition he had not contemplated, he placed the man who had freed rome from a foreign yoke, with his whole family, in the arena, and let loose a ferocious lion upon them. but the lion, to the astonishment of all, held down his head before them, as if in reverence. on which the ungrateful emperor ordered a brazen ox to be fabricated, and heated to the highest degree. in this his victims were cast alive; but with prayer and supplication they commended themselves to the mercy of god, and three days after, being taken out of the furnace in the presence of the emperor, it appeared as if they had died tranquilly in bed. not a hair of their heads was scorched, nor was there the smallest perceptible change, more than the easiest transition from life occasions. the christians buried their corpses in the most honourable manner, and over them constructed an oratory. they perished in the first year of adrian, a.d. , in the kalends of november; or, as some write, the th of the kalends of october. ix.--dead alexander. we read, that at the death of alexander a golden sepulchre was constructed, and that a number of philosophers assembled round it. one said: "yesterday, alexander made a treasure of gold, and now gold makes a treasure of him." another observed: "yesterday, the whole world was not enough to satiate his ambition; to-day, three or four ells of cloth are more than sufficient." a third said: "yesterday, alexander commanded the people; to-day, the people command him." another said: "yesterday, alexander could enfranchise thousands; to-day, he cannot free himself from the bonds of death." another remarked: "yesterday, he pressed the earth; to-day, it oppresses him." "yesterday," continued another, "all men feared alexander; to-day, men repute him nothing." another said: "yesterday, alexander had a multitude of friends; to-day, not one." another said: "yesterday, alexander led on an army; to-day that army bears him to the grave." x.--the tree of paletinus. valerius tells us, that a man named paletinus one day burst into tears; and calling his son and his neighbours around him, said, "alas! alas! i have now growing in my garden a fatal tree, on which my first poor wife hung herself, then my second, and after that my third. have i not therefore cause for wretchedness?" "truly," said one who was called arrius, "i marvel that you should weep at such unusual good fortune! give me, i pray you, two or three sprigs of that gentle tree, which i will divide with my neighbours, and thereby enable every man to indulge his spouse." paletinus complied with his friend's request; and ever after found this tree the most productive part of his estate. xi.--hungry flies. josephus mentions that tiberius cæsar, inquiring why the governors of provinces remain so long in office, was answered by an example. "i have seen," said the respondent, "an infirm man covered with ulcers, grievously tormented by a swarm of flies. when asked why he did not use a flap and drive off his tormentors, he answered, 'the very circumstance which you think would relieve me would, in effect, cause tenfold suffering. for by driving away the flies now saturated with my blood, i should afford an opportunity to those that were empty and hungry to supply their place. and who doubts that the biting of a hungry insect is ten thousand times more painful than that of one completely gorged, unless the person attacked be stone, and not flesh.'" xii.--the humbling of jovinian. when jovinian was emperor, he had very great power, and as he lay in bed reflecting upon the extent of his dominions, his heart was elated. "is there," he impiously asked, "is there any other god than me?" amid such thoughts he fell asleep. in the morning, he reviewed his troops, and said, "my friends, after breakfast we will hunt." preparations being made accordingly, he set out with a large retinue. during the chase, the emperor felt such extreme oppression from the heat, that he believed his very existence depended upon a cold bath. as he anxiously looked around, he discovered a sheet of water at no great distance. "remain here," said he to his guard, "until i have refreshed myself in yonder stream." then spurring his steed, he rode hastily to the edge of the water. alighting, he stripped off his clothes, and experienced the greatest pleasure from its invigorating freshness and coolness. but whilst he was thus employed, a person similar to him in every respect--in countenance and gesture--arrayed himself unperceived in the emperor's dress, and then mounting his horse, rode off to the attendants. the resemblance to the sovereign was such, that no doubt was entertained of the reality; and straightway command was issued for their return to the palace. jovinian, however, having quitted the water, sought in every possible direction for his horse and clothes, and to his utter astonishment, could find neither. vexed beyond measure at the circumstance (for he was completely naked, and saw no one near to assist him) he began to reflect upon what course he should pursue. "miserable man that i am," said he, "to what a strait am i reduced! there is, i remember, a knight who lives close by; i will go to him, and command his attendance and service. i will then ride on to the palace and strictly investigate the cause of this extraordinary conduct. some shall smart for it." jovinian proceeded, naked and ashamed, to the castle of the aforesaid knight, and beat loudly at the gate. the porter, without unclosing the wicket, inquired the cause of the knocking. "open the gate," said the enraged emperor, "and you will see who i am." the gate was opened; and the porter, struck with the strange appearance he exhibited, replied, "in the name of all that is marvellous, what are you?" "i am," said he, "jovinian, your emperor; go to your lord, and command him from me to supply the wants of his sovereign. i have lost both horse and clothes." "infamous ribald!" shouted the porter, "just before thy approach, the emperor jovinian, accompanied by the officers of his household, entered the palace. my lord both went and returned with him; and but even now sat with him at meat. but because thou hast called thyself the emperor, however madly, my lord shall know of thy presumption." the porter entered, and related what had passed. jovinian was introduced, but the knight retained not the slightest recollection of his master, although the emperor remembered him. "who are you?" said the knight, "and what is your name?" "i am the emperor jovinian," rejoined he; "canst thou have forgotten me? at such a time i promoted thee to a military command." "why, thou most audacious scoundrel," said the knight, "darest thou call thyself the emperor? i rode with him myself to the palace, from whence i am this moment returned. but thy impudence shall not go without its reward. flog him," said he, turning to his servants. "flog him soundly, and drive him away." this sentence was immediately executed, and the poor emperor, bursting into a convulsion of tears, exclaimed, "oh, my god, is it possible that one whom i have so much honoured and exalted should do this? not content with pretending ignorance of my person, he orders these merciless villains to abuse me! however, it will not be long unavenged. there is a certain duke, one of my privy councillors, to whom i will make known my calamity. at least, he will enable me to return decently to the palace." to him, therefore, jovinian proceeded, and the gate was opened at his knock. but the porter, beholding a naked man, exclaimed in the greatest amaze, "friend, who are you, and why come you here in such a guise?" he replied, "i am your emperor; i have accidentally lost my clothes and my horse, and i have come for succour to your lord. inform the duke, therefore, that i have business with him." the porter, more and more astonished, entered the hall, and told of the man outside. "bring him in," said the duke. he was brought in, but neither did he recognize the person of the emperor. "what art thou?" was again asked, and answered as before. "poor mad wretch," said the duke, "a short time since, i returned from the palace, where i left the very emperor thou assumest to be. but ignorant whether thou art more fool or knave, we will administer such remedy as may suit both. carry him to prison, and feed him with bread and water." the command was no sooner delivered, than obeyed; and the following day his naked body was submitted to the lash, and again cast into the dungeon. thus afflicted, he gave himself up to the wretchedness of his untoward condition. in the agony of his heart, he said: "what shall i do? oh! what will be my destiny? i am loaded with the coarsest contumely, and exposed to the malicious observation of my people. it were better to hasten immediately to my palace, and there discover myself--my wife will know me; surely, my wife will know me!" escaping, therefore, from his confinement, he approached the palace and beat upon the gate. the same questions were repeated, and the same answers returned. "who art thou?" said the porter. "it is strange," replied the aggrieved emperor, "it is strange that thou shouldst not know me; thou, who hast served me so long!" "served _thee_!" returned the porter indignantly; "thou liest abominably. i have served none but the emperor." "why," said the other, "thou knowest that i am he. yet, though you disregard my words, go, i implore you, to the empress; communicate what i will tell thee, and by these signs, bid her send the imperial robes, of which some rogue has deprived me. the signs i tell thee of are known to none but to ourselves." "in verity," said the porter, "thou art specially mad; at this very moment my lord sits at table with the empress herself. nevertheless, out of regard for thy singular merits, i will intimate thy declaration within; and rest assured thou wilt presently find thyself most royally beaten." the porter went accordingly, and related what he had heard. but the empress became very sorrowful, and said: "oh, my lord, what am i to think? the most hidden passages of our lives are revealed by an obscene fellow at the gate, and repeated to me by the porter, on the strength of which he declares himself the emperor, and my espoused lord!" when the fictitious monarch was apprised of this, he commanded him to be brought in. he had no sooner entered, than a large dog, which couched upon the hearth, and had been much cherished by him, flew at his throat, and, but for timely prevention, would have killed him. a falcon also, seated upon her perch, no sooner beheld him than she broke her jesses and flew out of the hall. then the pretended emperor, addressing those who stood about him, said: "my friends, hear what i will ask of yon ribald. who are you? and what do you want?" "these questions," said the suffering man, "are very strange. you know i am the emperor and master of this place." the other, turning to the nobles who sat or stood at the table, continued: "tell me, on your allegiance, which of us two is your lord and master?" "your majesty asks us an easy thing," replied they, "and need not to remind us of our allegiance. that obscene wretch cannot be our sovereign. you alone are he, whom we have known from childhood; and we intreat that this fellow may be severely punished as a warning to others how they give scope to their mad presumption." then turning to the empress, the usurper said: "tell me, my lady, on the faith you have sworn, do you know this man who calls himself thy lord and emperor?" she answered: "my lord, how can you ask such a question? have i not known thee more than thirty years, and borne thee many children? yet, at one thing i do admire. how can this fellow have acquired so intimate a knowledge of what has passed between us?" the pretended emperor made no reply, but addressing the real one, said: "friend, how darest thou to call thyself emperor? we sentence thee, for this unexampled impudence, to be drawn, without loss of time, at the tail of a horse. and if thou utterest the same words again, thou shalt be doomed to an ignominious death." he then commanded his guards to see the sentence put in force, but to preserve his life. the unfortunate emperor was now almost distracted; and urged by his despair, wished vehemently for death. "why was i born?" he exclaimed. "my friends shun me, and my wife and children will not acknowledge me. but there is my confessor, still. to him will i go; perhaps he will recollect me, because he has often received my confessions." he went accordingly, and knocked at the window of his cell. "who is there?" said the confessor. "the emperor jovinian," was the reply; "open the window and i will speak to thee." the window was opened; but no sooner had he looked out than he closed it again in great haste. "depart from me," said he, "accursed thing: thou art not the emperor, but the devil incarnate." this completed the miseries of the persecuted man; and he tore his hair, and plucked up his beard by the roots. "woe is me," he cried, "for what strange doom am i reserved?" at this crisis, the impious words which, in the arrogance of his heart, he had uttered, crossed his recollection. immediately he beat again at the window of the confessor's cell, and exclaimed: "for the love of him who was suspended from the cross, hear my confession." the recluse opened the window, and said, "i will do this with pleasure;" and then jovinian acquainted him with every particular of his past life; and principally how he had lifted himself up against his maker. the confession made, and absolution given, the recluse looked out of his window, and directly knew him. "blessed be the most high god," said he, "now i do know thee. i have here a few garments: clothe thyself, and go to the palace. i trust that they also will recognize thee." the emperor did as the confessor directed. the porter opened the gate, and made a low obeisance to him. "dost thou know me?" said he. "very well, my lord!" replied the menial; "but i marvel that i did not observe you go out." entering the hall of his mansion, jovinian was received by all with a profound reverence. the strange emperor was at that time in another apartment with the queen; and a certain knight going to him, said, "my lord, there is one in the hall to whom everybody bends; he so much resembles you, that we know not which is the emperor." hearing this, the usurper said to the empress, "go and see if you know him." she went, and returned greatly surprised at what she saw. "oh, my lord," said she, "i declare to you that i know not whom to trust." "then," returned he, "i will go and determine you." and taking her hand he led her into the hall and placed her on the throne beside him. addressing the assembly, he said, "by the oaths you have taken, declare which of us is your emperor." the empress answered: "it is incumbent on me to speak first; but heaven is my witness, that i am unable to determine which is he." and so said all. then the feigned emperor spoke thus: "my friends, hearken! that man is your king and your lord. he exalted himself to the disparagement of his maker; and god, therefore, scourged and hid him from your knowledge. but his repentance removes the rod; he has now made ample satisfaction, and again let your obedience wait upon him. commend yourselves to the protection of heaven." so saying, he disappeared. the emperor gave thanks to god, and surrendering to him all his soul, lived happily and finished his days in peace. xiii.--the two physicians. two physicians once lived in a city, who were admirably skilled in medicine, insomuch that all the sick who took their prescriptions were healed; and it thence became a question with the inhabitants, which of them was the best. after a while, a dispute arose between them upon this point. said one, "my friend, why should discord or envy or anger separate us; let us make the trial, and whosoever is inferior in skill shall serve the other." "but how," replied his friend, "is this to be brought about?" the first physician answered: "hear me. i will pluck out your eyes without doing you the smallest injury, and lay them before you on the table; and when you desire it i will replace them as perfect and serviceable as they were before. if, in like manner, you can perform this, we will then be esteemed equal, and walk as brethren through the world. but, remember, he who fails in the attempt shall become the servant of the other." "i am well pleased," returned his fellow, "to do as you say." whereupon he who made the proposition took out his instruments and extracted the eyes, besmearing the sockets and the outer part of the lids with a certain rich ointment. "my dear friend," said he, "what do you perceive?" "of a surety," cried the other, "i see nothing. i want the use of my eyes, but i feel no pain from their loss. i pray you, however, restore them to their places as you promised." "willingly," said his friend. he again touched the inner and outer part of the lids with the ointment, and then, with much precision, inserted the balls into their sockets. "how do you see now?" asked he. "excellently," returned the other, "nor do i feel the least pain." "well, then," continued the first, "it now remains for you to treat me in a similar manner." "i am ready," he said. and accordingly taking the instruments, as the first had done, he smeared the upper and under parts of the eye with a peculiar ointment, drew out the eyes and placed them upon the table. the patient felt no pain, but added, "i wish you would hasten to restore them." the operator cheerfully complied; but as he prepared his implements, a crow entered by an open window, and seeing the eyes upon the table, snatched one of them up, and flew away with it. the physician, vexed at what had happened, said to himself, "if i do not restore the eye to my companion, i must become his slave." at that moment a goat, browsing at no great distance, attracted his observation. instantly he ran to it, drew out one of his eyes, and put it into the place of the lost one. "my dear friend," exclaimed the operator, "how do things appear to you?" "neither in extracting nor in replacing," he answered, "did i suffer the least pain; but--bless me!--one eye looks up to the trees!" "ah!" replied the first, "this is the very perfection of medicine. neither of us is superior; henceforward we will be friends, as we are equals; and banish far off that spirit of contention which has destroyed our peace." the goat-eyed man of physic acquiesced; they lived from this time in the greatest amity. xiv.--the falcon. in the reign of pompey there lived a fair and amiable lady, and near to her dwelt a handsome, noble soldier. he often visited her, and professed much honourable love. the soldier coming once to see her, observed a falcon upon her wrist, which he greatly admired. "dear lady," said he, "if you love me, give me that beautiful bird." "i consent," returned she, "but on one condition, that you do not attach yourself so much to it as to rob me of your society." "far be such ingratitude from your servant," cried the soldier, "i would not forsake you on any account; and believe me, this generosity binds me more than ever to love you." the lady presented the falcon to him; and bidding her farewell, he returned to his own castle. but he liked the bird so much, that he forgot his promise to the lady, and never thought of her except when he sported with the falcon. she sent messengers to him, but it was of no use; he came not: and at last she wrote a very urgent letter, entreating him, without the least delay, to hasten to her and bring the falcon along with him. he acquiesced; and the lady, after salutation, asked him to let her touch the bird. but when she had it in her hands, she wrenched its head from the body. "madam," said the vexed soldier, "what have you done?" to which the lady answered, "be not offended, but rather rejoice at what i have done. that falcon was the cause of your absence, and i killed him that i might enjoy your company as i was wont." the soldier, satisfied with the reason, became once more faithful in his love. application. my beloved, the king is our heavenly father; the lady, our human nature joined to the divinity in christ. the soldier is any christian, and the falcon, temporal prosperity. xv.--let the laziest be king. the emperor pliny had three sons, to whom he was very indulgent. he wished to dispose of his kingdom, and calling the three into his presence, spoke thus: "the laziest of you shall reign after my death." "then," answered the elder, "the kingdom must be mine; for i am so lazy, that sitting once by the fire, i burnt my legs, because i was too slothful to withdraw them." the second son said, "the kingdom should properly be mine, for if i had a rope round my neck, and held a sword in my hand, my idleness is such, that i should not put forth my hand to cut the rope." "but i," said the third son, "ought to be preferred to you both; for i outdo both in sloth. while i lay upon my bed, water dropped from above upon my eyes; and though, from the nature of the water, i was in danger of becoming blind, i neither could nor would turn my head ever so little to the right hand or to the left." the emperor, hearing this, bequeathed the kingdom to him, thinking him the laziest of the three. xvi.--the three maxims. domitian was a very wise and just prince, and suffered no offender to escape. it happened that as he once sat at table, a certain merchant knocked at the gate. the porter opened it, and asked what he pleased to want. "i have brought some useful things for sale," answered the merchant. the porter introduced him, and he very humbly made obeisance to the emperor. "my friend," said the emperor, "what merchandise have you to dispose of?" "three maxims of especial wisdom and excellence, my lord." "and how much will you take for your maxims?" "a thousand florins." "and so," said the king, "if they are of no use to me i lose my money?" "my lord," answered the merchant, "if the maxims do not stand you in stead, i will return the money." "very well," said the emperor. "let us hear your maxims." "the first, my lord, is this: 'whatever you do, do wisely; and think of the consequences.' the second is: 'never leave the _highway_ for a _byway_.' and, thirdly: 'never stay all night as a guest in that house where you find the master an old man and his wife a young woman.' these three maxims, if you attend to them, will be extremely serviceable." the emperor, being of the same opinion, ordered him to be paid a thousand florins; and so pleased was he with the first, that he commanded it to be inscribed in his court, in his bed-chamber, and in every place where he was accustomed to walk, and even upon the table-cloths from which he ate. now the rigid justice of the emperor occasioned a conspiracy among the vicious and refractory of his subjects; and finding the means of accomplishing their purposes somewhat difficult, they engaged a barber, by large promises, to cut his throat as he shaved him. when the emperor, therefore, was to be shaved, the barber lathered his beard, and began to operate upon it; but casting his eyes over the towel which he had fastened round the royal neck, he perceived woven thereon, "whatever you do, do wisely, and think of the consequences." the inscription startled the tonsor, and he said to himself, "i am to-day hired to destroy this man. if i do it, my end will be ignominious; i shall be condemned to the most shameful death. therefore, whatsoever i do, it is good to consider the end, as the writing testifies." these cogitations disturbed the barber so much that his hand trembled, and the razor fell to the ground. the emperor, seeing this, inquired the cause. "oh, my lord," said the barber, "have mercy upon me: i was hired this day to destroy you; but accidentally, or rather by the will of god, i read the inscription on the towel, 'whatever you do, do wisely, and think of the consequences.' whereby, considering that, of a surety, the consequence would be my own destruction, my hand trembled so much, that i lost all command over it." "well," thought the emperor, "this first maxim hath assuredly saved my life: in a good hour was it purchased. my friend," said he to the barber, "on condition that you be faithful hereafter, i pardon you." the noblemen who had conspired against the emperor, finding that their project had failed, consulted with one another what they were to do next. "on such a day," said one, "he journeys to a particular city; we will hide ourselves in a bypath, through which, in all probability, he will pass, and so kill him." the counsel was approved. the king, as had been expected, prepared to set out; and riding on till he came to a cross-way, much less circuitous than the high road, his knights said, "my lord, it will be better for you to go this way, than to pass along the broad road; it is considerably nearer." the king pondered the matter within himself. "the second maxim," thought he, "admonishes me never to forsake the highway for a byway. i will adhere to that maxim." then turning to his soldiers, "i shall not quit the public road; but you, if it please you, may proceed by that path, and prepare for my approach." accordingly a number of them went; and the ambush, imagining that the king rode in their company, fell upon them and put the greater part to the sword. when the news reached the king, he secretly exclaimed, "my second maxim hath also saved my life." seeing, therefore, that by cunning they were unable to slay their lord, the conspirators again took counsel, and it was observed, that on a certain day he would lodge in a particular house, "because," said they, "there is no other fit for his reception. let us then agree with the master of that house, and his wife, for a sum of money to kill the emperor as he lies in bed." this was agreed to. but when the emperor had come into the city, and had been lodged in the house to which the conspirators referred, he commanded his host to be called into his presence. observing that he was an old man, the emperor said, "have you not a wife?" "yes, my lord." "i wish to see her." the lady came; and when it appeared that she was very young--not eighteen years of age--the king said hastily to his chamberlain, "away, prepare me a bed in another house. i will remain here no longer." "my lord," replied he, "be it as you please. but they have made everything ready for you: were it not better to lie where you are, for in the whole city there is not so commodious a place." "i tell you," answered the emperor, "i will sleep elsewhere." the chamberlain, therefore, removed; and the king went privately to another residence, saying to the soldiers about him, "remain here, if you like; but join me early in the morning." now while they slept, the old man and his wife arose, and not finding the king, put to death all the soldiers who had remained. in the morning, when the murder was discovered, the emperor gave thanks to god for his escape. "oh," cried he, "if i had continued here, i should have been destroyed. so the third maxim hath also preserved me." but the old man and his wife, with the whole of their family, were crucified. the emperor retained the three maxims in memory during life, and ended his days in peace. xvii.--a loaf for a dream. there were once three friends who agreed to make a pilgrimage together. it happened that their provisions fell short, and having but one loaf between them, they were nearly famished. "should this loaf," they said to each other, "be divided amongst us, there will not be enough for any one. let us then take counsel together, and consider how the bread is to be disposed of." "suppose we sleep upon the way," replied one of them; "and whosoever hath the most wonderful dream shall possess the loaf." the other two acquiesced, and settled themselves to sleep. but he who gave the advice, arose while they were sleeping, and ate up the bread, not leaving a single crumb for his companions. when he had finished he awoke them. "get up quickly," said he, "and tell us your dreams." "my friends," answered the first, "i have had a very marvellous vision. a golden ladder reached up to heaven, by which angels ascended and descended. they took my soul from my body, and conveyed it to that blessed place where i beheld the holy trinity; and where i felt such an overflow of joy, as eye hath not seen, nor ear heard. this is my dream." "and i," said the second, "beheld the devils with iron instruments, by which they dragged my soul from the body, and plunging it into hell flames, most grievously tormented me, saying, 'as long as god reigns in heaven this will be your portion.'" "now then," said the third, who had eaten the bread, "hear my dream. it appeared as if an angel came and addressed me in the following manner: 'my friend, would you see what is become of your companions?' i answered, 'yes, lord. we have but one loaf among us, and i fear that they have run off with it.' 'you are mistaken,' he rejoined, 'it lies beside us; follow me.' he immediately led me to the gate of heaven, and by his command i put in my head and saw you; and i thought that you were snatched up into heaven and sat upon a throne of gold, while rich wines and delicate meats stood around you. then said the angel, 'your companion, you see, has an abundance of good things, and dwells in all pleasures. there he will remain for ever; for he has entered a celestial kingdom, and cannot return. come now where your other associate is placed.' i followed, and he led me to hell-gates, where i beheld you in torment, as you just now said. yet they furnished you, even there, with bread and wine in abundance. i expressed my sorrow at seeing you in misery, and you replied, 'as long as god reigns in heaven here i must remain, for i have merited it. do you then rise up quickly, and eat all the bread, since you will see neither me nor my companion again.' i complied with your wishes; arose, and ate the bread." xviii.--lower than the beasts. in the reign of a certain king there lived a proud and oppressive seneschal. now near the royal palace was a forest well stocked with game; and by the direction of this person various pits were dug there, and covered with leaves, for the purpose of entrapping the beasts. it happened that the seneschal himself went into this forest, and with much exaltation of heart exclaimed internally, "lives there a being in the empire more powerful than i am?" this braggart thought was scarcely formed, ere he rode upon one of his own pitfalls, and immediately disappeared. the same day had been taken a lion, a monkey, and a serpent. terrified at the situation into which fate had thrown him, he cried out lustily; and his noise awoke a poor man called guido, who had come with his ass into that forest for firewood, by the sale of which he got his bread. hastening to the mouth of the pit, and finding the cause of the noise, he was promised great wealth if he would lift the seneschal out. "my friend," answered guido, "i have no means of obtaining a livelihood except by the faggots which i collect; if i neglect this for one day, i shall starve." the seneschal renewed his promises of enriching him. guido went back to the city, and returned with a long cord, which he let down into the pit, and bade the seneschal bind it round his waist. but before he could do so, the lion leaped forward, and seizing upon the cord, was drawn up in his stead. immediately, in high glee, the beast ran off into the wood. the rope again descended, and the monkey having noticed the success of the lion, vaulted above the man's head, and shaking the cord, was in like manner set at liberty. without staying to return thanks, he hurried off to his haunts. a third time the cord was let down, and the serpent twining around it, was drawn up, and escaped. "o my good friend," said the seneschal, "the beasts are gone, now draw me up quickly, i pray you." guido complied, and afterwards succeeded in drawing up his horse, which the seneschal instantly mounted and rode back to the palace. guido returned home; and his wife observing that he had come without wood, was very dejected, and inquired the cause. he related what had occurred, and the riches he was to receive for his service. the wife's countenance brightened, and early in the morning she posted off her husband to the palace. but the seneschal denied all knowledge of him, and ordered him to be whipped for his presumption. the porter executed the directions, and beat him so severely that he left him half dead. as soon as guido's wife understood this, she saddled their ass, and brought him home. the sickness which ensued, consumed the whole of their little property; but as soon as he had recovered, he went back to his usual occupation in the wood. whilst he was thus employed, he saw afar off ten asses laden with packs, and a lion by the last of them, coming along the path. on looking narrowly at this beast, he remembered that it was the same which he had freed from its imprisonment in the pit. the lion signified with his foot that he should take the loaded asses, and go home. this guido did, and the lion followed. when he had come to his own door, the noble beast fawned upon him, and wagging his tail as if in triumph, ran back to the woods. guido caused proclamation to be made in different churches,[ ] that if any asses had been lost, the owners should come to him; but no one appearing to demand them, he opened the packages, and to his great joy discovered them full of money. on the second day guido returned to the forest, but forgot an iron instrument to cleave the wood. he looked up, and saw the monkey whom he had set free; and the animal, by help of teeth and nails, worked for him. guido then loaded his asses and went home. the next day he renewed his visit to the forest; and sitting down to prepare his axe, discerned the serpent, whose escape he had aided, carrying a stone in its mouth of three colours; the one white, another black, and the third red. it opened its mouth and let the stone fall into guido's lap. having done this, it departed. guido took the stone to a skilful lapidary, who had no sooner inspected it than he knew its virtues, and would willingly have paid him a hundred florins for it. but guido refused; and by means of that singular stone, obtained great wealth, and was promoted to a military command. the emperor having heard of the extraordinary qualities which it possessed, desired to see it. guido went accordingly; and the emperor was so struck with its uncommon beauty, that he wished to purchase it at any rate; and threatened, if guido refused compliance, to banish him the kingdom. "my lord," answered he, "i will sell the stone; but let me say one thing--if the price be not given, it shall be presently restored to me." he demanded three hundred florins, and then taking it from a small coffer, put it into the emperor's hands. full of admiration, he exclaimed, "tell me where you procured this beautiful stone?" this he did; and related from the beginning the seneschal's accident and subsequent ingratitude. he told how severely he had been whipped by his command; and the benefits he had received from the lion, the monkey, and serpent. much moved at the recital, the emperor sent for the seneschal, and said, "what is this i hear of thee?" he was unable to reply. "o wretch!" continued the emperor--"monster of ingratitude! guido liberated thee from the most imminent danger, and for this thou hast nearly destroyed him. dost thou see how even irrational things have rendered him good for the service he performed? but thou hast returned evil for good. therefore i deprive thee of thy dignity, which i will bestow upon guido; and i further adjudge you to be hung on a cross." this decree infinitely rejoiced the noblemen of the empire; and guido, full of honours and years, ended his days in peace. xix.--of real friendship. a certain king had an only son whom he much loved. the young man was desirous of travelling, and obtained his father's leave to travel. after an absence of seven years he returned, and his father, overjoyed at his arrival, asked what friends he had made. "three," said the son, "the first of whom i love more than myself; the second, as much as myself; and the third, little or nothing." "you say well," returned the father; "but it is a good thing to prove them before you need their help. therefore kill a pig, put it into a sack, and go at night to the house of him whom you love best, and say that you have accidentally killed a man, and if the body should be found i shall condemn you to an ignominious death. intreat him if he ever loved you, to give his help in this extremity." the son did so; and the friend answered, "since you have rashly destroyed a man, you must needs be crucified. now because you were my friend, i will bestow upon you three or four ells of cloth to wrap your body in." the youth hearing this, went in much indignation to the second of his friends, and told the same story. he received him like the first, and said, "do you believe me mad, that i should expose myself to such peril? but since i have called you my friend, i will accompany you to the cross, and console you as much as possible upon the way." this liberal proposal not meeting the prince's approbation, he went to the third, and said, "i am ashamed to speak what i have done; but alas! i have accidentally slain a man." "my friend," answered the other, "i will readily lay down my life in your defence; and should you be condemned to expiate your misfortune on the cross, i will be crucified either for you or with you." _this_ man, therefore, proved that he was his friend. xx.--royal bounty. a king issued a proclamation, that whosoever would come to him should obtain all they asked. the noble and the rich desired dukedoms, or counties, or knighthood; and some treasures of silver and gold. but whatsoever they desired they had. then came the poor and the simple, and solicited a like boon. "ye come late," said the king, "the noble and the rich have already been, and have carried away all i possess." this reply troubled them exceedingly; and the king, moved by their concern, said, "my friends, though i have given away all my wealth, i have still the sovereign power; no one asked for that. i appoint you, therefore, to be their judges and masters." when this came to the ears of the rich, they were extremely disturbed, and said to the king, "my lord, we are greatly troubled at your appointing these poor wretches our rulers; it were better for us to die than admit such servitude." "sirs," answered the king, "i do you no wrong: whatever you asked i gave; insomuch that nothing remains to me but the supreme power. nevertheless, i will give you counsel. whosoever of you has enough to support life, let him bestow the superfluity upon these poor people. they will then live honestly and comfortably, and upon these conditions i will resume the sovereignty and keep it, while you avoid the servitude you fear." and thus it was done. xxi.--wily beguiled. a thief went one night to the house of a rich man, and scaling the roof, peeped through a hole to see whether any part of the family were yet stirring. the master of the house, suspecting something, said secretly to his wife, "ask me in a loud voice how i got my property, and do not stop until i bid you." the woman complied, and began to shout, "my dear husband, pray tell me, since you never were a merchant, how you came by all the wealth you have." "my love," answered her husband, "do not ask such foolish questions." but she persisted in her inquiries; and at length, as if overcome by her urgency, he said, "keep what i am going to tell you a secret, and you shall know." "oh! trust me." "well, then, you must know that i was a thief, and got what i now enjoy by nightly depredations." "it is strange," said the wife, "that you were never taken." "why," he replied, "my master, who was a skilful clerk, taught me a particular word, which, when i went on the tops of people's houses, i pronounced, and thus escaped detection." "tell me, i conjure you," returned the lady, "what that powerful word was." "hear, then; but never mention it again, or we shall lose all our property." "be sure of that," said the lady; "it shall never be repeated." "it was--is there no one within hearing?--the mighty word was 'false.'" the lady, apparently quite satisfied, fell asleep; and her husband feigned it. he snored lustily, and the thief above, who had heard their conversation with much pleasure, aided by the light of the moon, descended, repeating seven times the cabalistic sound. but being too much occupied with the charm to mind his footing, he stepped through the window into the house; and in the fall dislocated his leg and arm, and lay half dead upon the floor. the owner of the mansion, hearing the noise, and well knowing the reason, though he pretended ignorance, asked "what was the matter?" "oh!" groaned the suffering thief, "_false_ falls." in the morning he was taken before the judge, and afterwards suspended on a cross. xxii.--the basilisk. alexander the great was lord of the whole world. he once collected a large army, and besieged a certain city, around which many knights and others were killed without any visible wound. much surprised at this, he called together his philosophers, and said, "my masters, how is this? my soldiers die, and there is no apparent wound!" "no wonder," replied they; "under the walls of the city is a basilisk, whose look infects your soldiers, and they die of the pestilence it creates." "and what remedy is there for this?" said the king. "place a glass in a high place between the army and the wall under which the basilisk cowers; and no sooner shall he behold it, than his own figure, reflected in the mirror, shall return the poison upon himself, and kill him." alexander took their advice, and thus saved his followers. application. my beloved, look into the glass of _reflection_, and by remembrance of human frailty destroy the vices which time breeds. xxiii.--the trump of death. a king made a law, by which whosoever was suddenly to be put to death, in the morning, before sunrise should be saluted with songs and trumpets; and, arrayed in black garments, should receive judgment. this king made a great feast; and convoked all the nobles of his kingdom, who appeared accordingly. the most skilful musicians were assembled, and there was much sweet melody. but the king was discontented and out of humour; his countenance expressed intense sorrow, and sighs and groans rose from his heart. the courtiers were all amazed; but none dared ask the cause of his sadness. at last, the king's brother whispered to him the surprise of his guests, and intreated that he might understand the cause of his grief. "go home now," answered the king; "to-morrow you shall know." this was done. early in the morning the king caused the trumpets to sound before his brother's house, and the guards to bring him to the court. the brother, greatly alarmed at the sounding of the trumpets, arose, and put on black. when he came before the king, the king commanded a deep pit to be dug, and a rotten chair, with four decayed feet, to be slightly suspended over it. in this chair he made his brother sit; above his head he caused a sword to hang, attached to one silk thread; and four men, each armed with a very sharp sword, to stand near him, one before and one behind; a third on the right hand, and the fourth on the left. when they were thus placed, the king said, "the moment i give the word, strike him to the heart." trumpets, and all other kind of musical instruments, were brought; and a table, covered with various dishes, was set before him. "my dear brother," said the king, "what is the cause of your sorrow? here are the greatest delicacies, the most enrapturing harmony; why do you not rejoice?" "how can i rejoice?" answered he. "in the morning, trumpets sounded for my death; and i am now placed upon a frail chair, in which, if i move ever so little, i shall probably be thrown upon the pointed sword beneath. if i raise my head, the weapon above will pierce to my brain. besides this, the four torturers around stand ready to kill me at your bidding. these things considered, were i lord of the universe i could not rejoice." "now, then," answered the king, "i will reply to your question of yesterday. i am, on my throne, as you on that frail chair. for my body is its emblem, supported by four decayed feet, that is, by the four elements. the pit below me is hell. above my head is the sword of divine justice, ready to take life from my body. before me is the sword of death; behind, the sword of sin, ready to accuse me at the tribunal of god. the weapon on the right hand is the devil; and that on the left, is the worms which after death shall gnaw my body. and, considering all these circumstances, how can _i_ rejoice? if you to-day feared me, who am mortal, how much more ought i to dread my creator and my redeemer, our lord jesus christ? go, dearest brother, and be careful that you do not again ask such questions." the brother rose from his unpleasant seat, and rendering thanks to the king for the lesson he had given him, firmly resolved to amend his life. all who were present commended the ingenuity of the royal reproof. xxiv.--alexander and the pirate. augustine tells us in his book, "de civitate dei," that diomedes, in a piratical galley, for a long time infested the sea, plundering and sinking many ships. being captured by command of alexander, before whom he was brought, the king inquired how he dared to molest the seas. "how darest _thou_," replied he, "molest the earth? because i am master only of a single galley, i am termed a robber; but you, who oppress the world with huge squadrons, are called a king and a conqueror. would my fortune change i might become better; but as you are the more fortunate, so much are you the worse." "i will change thy fortune," said alexander, "lest fortune should be blamed by thy malignity." thus he became rich; and from a robber was made a prince and a dispenser of justice. xxv.--a tale of a penny. there was an emperor whose porter was very shrewd. he earnestly besought his master that he might have the custody of a city for a single month, and receive, by way of tax, one penny from every crook-backed, one-eyed, scabby, leprous, or ruptured person. the emperor admitted his request, and confirmed the gift under his own seal. accordingly, the porter was installed in his office; and as the people entered the city he took note of their defects, and charged them in accordance with the grant. it happened that a hunch-backed fellow one day entered, and the porter made his demand. hunch-back protested that he would pay nothing. the porter immediately laid hands upon him, and accidentally raising his cap, discovered that he was _one-eyed_ also. he demanded two pennies forthwith. the other still more vehemently opposed, and would have fled; but the porter catching hold of his head, the cap came off, and disclosed a bald _scab_; whereupon he required three pennies. hunch-back, very much enraged, persisted in his refusal, and began to struggle with the porter. this caused an exposure of his arms, by which it became manifest that he was _leprous_. the fourth penny was therefore laid claim to; and the scuffle continuing, revealed a _rupture_, which made a fifth. thus, a fellow unjustly refusing to pay a rightful demand of _one_ penny, was necessitated, much against his inclination, to pay _five_. xxvi.--of avoiding imprecations. gervase of tilbury relates a very remarkable occurrence, but at the same time full of excellent caution and prudent exhortation. during the reign of the roman emperor otto, there was, in the bishopric of girona, in catalonia, a very high mountain, whose ascent was extremely arduous, and, except in one place, inaccessible. on the summit was an unfathomable lake of black water. here also stood, as it is reported, a palace of demons, with a large gate, continually closed; but the palace itself, as well as its inhabitants, existed in invisibility. if any one cast a stone or other hard substance into this lake, the demons exhibited their anger by furious storms. in one part of the mountain was perpetual snow and ice, with abundance of crystal. at its foot flowed a river, whose sands were of gold; and the precious metal thus obtained, was denominated, by the vulgar, its _cloak_. the mountain itself and the parts adjacent, furnished silver; and its inexhaustible fertility was not the least surprising. not far from hence lived a certain farmer, who was much occupied with domestic matters, and troubled exceedingly by the incessant squalling of his little girl; insomuch, that at length wearied out by the torment, in a moment of fretfulness he wished his infant at the devil. this incautious desire was scarcely uttered, ere the girl was seized by an invisible hand, and carried off. seven years afterwards, a person journeying at the foot of the mountain near the farmer's dwelling, distinguished a man hurrying along at a prodigious rate, and uttering the most doleful complaints. he stopped to inquire the occasion; and was told, that for the space of seven years last passed, he had been committed to the custody of the demons upon that mountain, who daily made use of him as of a chariot, in consequence of an unwary exclamation to that effect. the traveller startled at an assertion so extraordinary, and a little incredulous, was informed that his neighbour had suffered in a similar degree; for that having hastily committed his daughter to their power, they had instantly borne her off. he added, that the demons, weary of instructing the girl, would willingly restore her, provided the father presented himself on the mountain and there received her. the auditor, thunder-struck at this communication, doubted whether he should conceal things so incredible, or relate them as he had heard. he determined, at last, to declare the girl's situation to her father; and hastening, accordingly, found him still bewailing the lengthened absence of his daughter. ascertaining the cause, he went on to state what he had heard from the man whom the devils used as a chariot. "therefore," said he, "i recommend you, attesting the divine name, to demand of these devils the restitution of your daughter." amazed at what was imparted to him, the father deliberated upon the best method of proceeding; and finally, pursued the counsel of the traveller. ascending the mountain, he passed forward to the lake, and adjured the demons to restore the girl whom his folly had committed to them. suddenly a violent blast swept by him, and a girl of lofty stature stood in his presence. her eyes were wild and wandering, and her bones and sinews were scarcely covered with skin. her horrible countenance discovered no sign of sensibility; and, ignorant of all language, she scarcely could be acknowledged for a human being. the father, wondering at her strange appearance, and doubtful whether she should be taken to his own home or not, posted to the bishop of girona, and with a sorrowful aspect detailed what had befallen him; at the same time requesting his advice. the bishop, as a religious man, and one entrusted with a charge of so much importance, narrated every circumstance respecting the girl to his diocese. he warned them against rashly committing their fortunes to the power of concealed demons; and showed that our adversary the devil, as a raging lion, goeth about seeking whom he may devour; that he will slay those who are given to him, and hold them in eternal bonds. the man who was used by the devils as a chariot, a long time remained in this miserable situation. but his subsequent faith and discretion emancipated him. he stated that near the above-mentioned place there was an extensive subterranean palace, whose entrance was by a single gate, enveloped in the thickest darkness. through this portal the devils, who had been on embassies to various parts of the world, returned, and communicated to their fellows what they had done. no one could tell of what the palace was constructed, save themselves, and those who passed under their yoke to eternal damnation. from all which, my beloved, we may gather the dangers we are exposed to, and how cautious we should be of invoking the devil to our assistance, as well as of committing our family to his power. let us guard our hearts, and beware that he catch not up the sinful soul, and plunge it into the lake of everlasting misery; where there is snow and ice unthawed; crystal, that reflects the awakened and agonized conscience perpetually burning with immortal fire. xxvii.--a verse exercise. alexander had an only son called celestinus, whom he loved with the utmost tenderness. he desired to have him well instructed; and sending for a certain philosopher, said, "sir, instruct my son, and i will pay you bountifully." the philosopher agreed, and took the boy home with him. he diligently performed his duty; and it happened, that one day entering a meadow with his pupil, they saw a horse lying on the ground, grievously affected with the mange. near the animal two sheep were tied together, which busily cropped the grass that grew around them. it so chanced that the sheep were on each side of the horse, and the cord with which they were bound passed over his back, and chafing the sores, galled him exceedingly. disturbed by this, he got up; but the cord, then loaded with the weight of the sheep, afflicted him more and more; and filled with fury, he began to run off at a great speed, dragging along the unfortunate sheep. and in equal proportion to their resistance was the increase of the horse's suffering, for the cord, having worn itself into a hollow, sunk, at every struggle, deeper into the wound. adjoining the meadow was the house of a miller, toward which the horse, impelled by the anguish of his wound, galloped, and entered, with the sheep hanging as we have said. the house was then unoccupied; but there was a fire burning upon the hearth; and the horse plunging and striking his hoofs, so scattered the fire, that the flame caught hold of the building, and burnt all to ashes, together with the horse and the sheep. "young man," said the preceptor to his pupil, "you have witnessed the beginning, the middle, and the end of this incident: make me some correct verses upon it; and show me why the house was burnt. unless you do this, i promise i will punish you severely." celestinus, during the absence of his master, applied himself diligently to study, but he was unable to do his task. this much troubled him; and the devil, ever on the alert, met him in the likeness of a man, and said, "my son, what has made you so sorrowful?" _celest._ "never mind; it is no use telling you." _devil._ "you know not that; tell me, and i will help you." _celest._ "i am charged, under a heavy punishment, to make some verses about a scabby horse and two sheep, and i don't know how." _devil._ "young man, i am the devil in a human form, and the best poet going; care nothing about your master, but promise to serve me faithfully, and i will compose such delectable verses for you that they shall excel those of your pedagogue himself." celestinus, tempted by this insidious proposal, gave his word to serve him faithfully if he fulfilled his engagement. the devil then produced the following verses:-- bound by a thong, that passed along a horse's mangy hide; two sheep there lay, as i you say, one upon either side. the steed uprose, and upward goes each sheep with dangling breech; borne by the horse's rapid course, the miller's hut they reach. scattering the fire, with reckless ire, the rafters caught the flame; and bleating breed and scabby steed were roasted in the same. now had that wight, that miller hight, vouchsafed his house to keep; ere he returned, it had not burned, nor burned his horse and sheep.[ ] the boy, made happy by the present, returned home. _master._ "my child, have you stolen your verses, or made them?" _celest._ "i made them, sir." he then read what we have given above; and the master, struck with the greatest astonishment at their uncommon beauty, exclaimed, "my dear boy, tell me if any one made these verses for you?" _celest._ "no, sir; no one did." _master._ "unless you tell me the truth, i will flog you till the blood run." the lad, fearful of what might follow, declared all that occurred, and how he had bound himself to the devil. the preceptor, grieved at the communication, induced the youth to confess himself, and renounce this fearful confederacy. when this was done he became a holy man; and after a well-spent life, gave up his soul to god. xxviii.--bred in the bone. there reigned some time in rome a wise and mighty emperor, named anselm, who did bear in his arms a shield of silver with five red roses. this emperor had three sons, whom he loved much. he had also continual war with the king of egypt, in which war he lost all his temporal goods except a precious tree. it fortuned after on a day that he gave battle to the same king of egypt, wherein he was grievously wounded; nevertheless, he obtained the victory, notwithstanding he had his deadly wound. wherefore, while he lay at point of death, he called unto his eldest son, and said: "my dear and well-beloved son, all my temporal riches are spent, and almost nothing is left me but a precious tree, the which stands in the midst of my empire. i give to thee all that is under the earth and above the earth of the same tree." "o my reverend father," quoth he, "i thank you much." then said the emperor, "call to me my second son." anon the eldest son, greatly joying of his father's gift, called in his brother. and when he came, the emperor said, "my dear son, i may not make my testament, forasmuch as i have spent all my goods, except a tree which stands in the midst of mine empire, of the which tree, i bequeath to thee all that is great and small." then answered he and said, "my reverend father, i thank you much." then said the emperor, "call to me my third son." and so it was done. and when he was come the emperor said, "my dear son, i must die of these wounds, and i have only a precious tree, of which i have given thy brethren their portion, and to thee i bequeath thy portion; for i will that thou have of the said tree all that is wet and dry." then said his son, "father, i thank you." soon after the emperor had made his bequest, he died. and the eldest son took possession of the tree. now when the second son heard this, he came to him, saying, "my brother, by what law or title occupy you this tree?" "dear brother," quoth he, "i occupy it by this title: my father gave me all that is under the earth, and above of the said tree, by reason thereof the tree is mine." "unknowing to thee," quoth the second brother, "he gave unto me all that is great and small of the said tree, and therefore i have as great right in the tree as you." this hearing, the third son he came to them and said, "my well-beloved brethren, it behoveth you not to strive for this tree, for i have as much right in the tree as ye, for by the law ye wot that the last will and testament ought to stand, for of truth he gave me of the said tree all that is wet and dry, and therefore the tree by right is mine; but forasmuch as your words are of great force and mine also, my counsel is that we be judged by reason, for it is not good nor commendable that strife or dissension should be among us. here beside dwelleth a king full of reason; therefore, to avoid strife, let us go to him, and each of us lay his right before him, and as he shall judge, let us stand to his judgment." then said his brethren, "thy counsel is good." wherefore they went all three unto the king of reason, and each of them severally showeth forth his right unto him, as it is said before. when the king had heard the titles, he rehearsed them all again severally, first saying to the eldest son thus: "you say," quoth the king, "that your father gave you all that is under the earth and above the earth of the said tree. and to the second brother he bequeathed all that is great and small of that tree. and to the third brother he gave all that is wet and dry." and with that he laid the law to them, and said that this will ought to stand. "now, my dear friends, briefly i shall satisfy all your requests;" and when he had thus said, he turned him unto the eldest brother, saying, "my dear friend, if you list to abide the judgment of right, it behoveth you to be letten blood of the right arm." "my lord," quoth he, "your will shall be done." then the king called for a discreet physician, commanding him to let him blood. when the eldest son was letten blood, the king said unto them all three, "my dear friends, where is your father buried?" then answered they, and said, "forsooth, my lord, in such a place." anon the king commanded to dig in the ground for the body, and to take a bone out of his breast, and to bury the body again: and so it was done. and when the bone was taken out, the king commanded that it should be laid in the blood of the elder brother, and it should lie till it had received kindly the blood, and then to be laid in the sun and dried, and after that it should be washed with clear water. his servants fulfilled all that he had commanded: and when they began to wash, the blood vanished clean away; when the king saw this, he said to the second son, "it behoveth that thou be letten blood, as thy brother was." then said he, "my lord's will shall be fulfilled," and anon he was done unto like as his brother was in all things, and when they began to wash the bone, the blood vanished away. then said the king to the third son, "it behoveth thee to be letten blood likewise." he answered and said, "my lord, it pleaseth me well so to be." when the youngest brother was letten blood, and done unto in all things as the two brethren were before, then the king's servants began to wash the bone, but neither for washing nor rubbing might they do away the blood of the bone, but it ever appeared bloody: when the king saw this, he said, "it appeareth openly now that this blood is of the nature of the bone, thou art his true son, and the other two are bastards. i judge thee the tree for evermore." xxix.--fulgentius. in rome some time dwelt a mighty emperor named martin, which for entire affection kept with him his brother's son, whom men called fulgentius. with this martin dwelt also a knight that was steward of the empire, and uncle unto the emperor, which envied this fulgentius, studying day and night how he might bring the emperor and this youth at debate. wherefore the steward on a day went to the emperor, and said, "my lord," quoth he, "i that am your true servant, am bound in duty to warn your highness, if i hear anything that toucheth your honour, wherefore i have such things that i must needs utter it in secret to your majesty between us two." then said the emperor, "good friend, say on what thee list." "my most dear lord," quoth the steward, "fulgentius, your cousin and your nigh kinsman, hath defamed you wonderfully and shamefully throughout all your whole empire, saying that your breath stinketh, and that it is death to him to serve your cup." then the emperor was grievously displeased, and almost beside himself for anger, and said unto him thus: "i pray thee, good friend, tell me the very truth, if that my breath stinketh as he saith?" "my lord," quoth the steward, "ye may believe me, i never perceived a sweeter breath in my days than yours is." "then," said the emperor, "i pray thee, good friend, tell me how i may bring this thing to good proof." the steward answered and said: "my lord," quoth he, "ye shall right well understand the truth; for to-morrow next when he serveth you of your cup, ye shall see that he will turn away his face from you, because of your breath, and this is the most certain proof that may be had of this thing." "verily," quoth the emperor, "a truer proof cannot be had of this thing." therefore anon, when the steward heard this, he went straight to fulgentius, and took him aside, saying thus: "dear friend, thou art near kinsman and also nephew unto my lord the emperor, therefore if thou wilt be thankful unto me, i will tell thee of a fault whereof my lord the emperor complaineth oft, and thinks to put thee from him, except it be the sooner amended, and that will be a great reproof to thee." then said this fulgentius: "ah, good sir, for his love that died upon the cross, tell me why my lord is so sore moved with me, for i am ready to amend my fault in all that i can or may, and for to be ruled by your discreet counsel." "thy breath," quoth the steward, "stinketh so sore, that his drink doth him no good, so grievous unto him is the stinking breath of thy mouth." then said fulgentius unto the steward: "truly; that perceived i never till now. but what think ye of my breath? i pray you tell me the very truth." "truly," quoth the steward, "it stinketh greatly and foul." and this fulgentius believed all that he had said, and was right sorrowful in his mind, and prayed the steward of his counsel and help in this woeful case. then said the steward unto him, "if that thou wilt do my counsel, i shall bring this matter to a good conclusion; wherefore do as i shall tell thee. "i counsel thee for the best, and also warn thee that when thou servest my lord the emperor of his cup, that thou turn thy face away from him, so that he may not smell thy stinking breath, until the time that thou hast provided thee of some remedy therefore." then was fulgentius right glad, and sware to him that he would do by his counsel. not long after it befell that this young man fulgentius served his lord as he was wont to do, and therewith suddenly he turned his face from the lord the emperor, as the steward had taught him. and when the emperor perceived the avoiding of his head, he smote this young fulgentius on the breast with his foot, and said to him thus: "o thou lewd varlet; now i see well it is true that i have heard of thee, and therefore go thou anon out of my sight, that i may see thee no more in this place." and with that this young fulgentius wept full sore, and avoided the place, and went out of his sight. and when this was done, the emperor called unto him his steward, and said, "how may i rid this varlet from the world, that thus hath defamed me?" "my most dear lord," quoth the steward, "right well you shall have your intent. "for here beside, within these three miles, ye have brickmakers, which daily make great fire, for to burn brick, and also they make lime; therefore, my lord, send to them this night, charge them upon pain of death, that whosoever cometh to them first in the morning, saying to them thus, 'my lord commandeth them to fulfil his will,' that they take him and cast him into the furnace and burn him: and this night command you this fulgentius, that he go early in the morning to your workmen, and that he ask them whether they have fulfilled your will which they were commanded or not; and then shall they, according to your commandment, cast him into the fire, and thus shall he die an evil death." "surely," quoth the emperor, "thy counsel is good; therefore call to me that varlet fulgentius." and when the young man was come to the emperor's presence, he said to him thus: "i charge thee upon pain of death, that thou rise early in the morning, and go to the burners of lime and brick, and that thou be with them early before the sun rise, three miles from this house, and charge them in my behalf, that they fulfil my commandment, or else they shall die a most shameful death." then spake this fulgentius: "my lord, if god send me my life, i shall fulfil your will, were it that i go to the world's end." when fulgentius had this charge, he could not sleep for thought, that he must rise early to fulfil his lord's commandment. the emperor about midnight sent a messenger on horseback unto his brickmakers, commanding, that upon pain of death, that whosoever came to them first in the morning, saying unto them (as is before rehearsed) they should take him and bind him, and cast him into the fire, and burn him to the bare bones. the brickmakers answered and said, it should be done. then the messenger returns home again, and told the emperor that his commandment should be diligently fulfilled. early in the morning following, fulgentius arose and prepared him towards his way, and as he went, he heard a bell ring to service, wherefore he went to hear service, and after the end of service he fell asleep, and there slept a long while so soundly, that the priest, nor none other, might awake him. the steward desiring inwardly to hear of his death, about two of the clock he went to the workmen, and said unto them thus: "sirs," quoth he, "have ye done the emperor's commandment or not?" the brickmakers answered him and said: "no, truly, we have not yet done his commandment, but it shall be done," and with that they laid hands on him. then cried the steward, and said, "good sirs, save my life, for the emperor commanded that fulgentius should be put to death." then said they, "the messenger told us not so, but he bade us, that whosoever came first in the morning, saying, as you have said, that we should take him, and cast him into the furnace, and burn him to ashes." and with that they threw him into the fire. and when he was burnt, fulgentius came to them and said, "good sirs, have you done my lord's commandment?" "yea, soothly," said they, "and therefore go ye again to the emperor, and tell him so." then said fulgentius, "for christ's love, tell me that commandment?" "we had in commandment," said they, "upon pain of death, that whosoever came to us first in the morning, and said like as thou hast said, that we should take him and cast him into the furnace. but before thee came the steward and therefore on him have we fulfilled the emperor's commandment; now he is burnt to the bare bones." when fulgentius heard this, he thanked god that he had so preserved him from death; therefore he took his leave of the workmen, and went again to the palace. when the emperor saw him, he was almost distract of his wits for anger, and thus he said, "hast thou been with the brickmakers, and fulfilled my commandment?" "soothly, my gracious lord, i have been there, but ere i am there, your commandment was fulfilled." "how may that be true," quoth the emperor. "forsooth," said fulgentius, "the steward came to them afore me, and said that i should have said, so they took him and threw him into the furnace; and if i had come any earlier, so would they have done to me, and therefore i thank god that he hath preserved me from death." then said the emperor, "tell me the truth of such questions as i shall demand of thee." then said fulgentius to the emperor, "you never found me in any falsehood, and therefore i greatly wonder why ye have ordained such a death for me; for well ye know that i am your own brother's son." then said the emperor to fulgentius: "it is no wonder, for that death i ordained for thee, through counsel of the steward, because thou didst defame me throughout all my empire, saying, that my breath did stink so grievously, that it was death to thee, and in token thereof thou turnedst away thy face when thou servedst me of my cup, and that i saw with mine eyes; and for this cause i ordained for thee such a death; and yet thou shalt die, except i hear a better excuse." then answered fulgentius, and said, "ah, dear lord, if it might please your highness for to hear me, i shall show you a subtle and deceitful imagination." "say on," quoth the emperor. "the steward," quoth fulgentius, "that is now dead, came to me and said, that ye told unto him that my breath did stink, and thereupon he counselled me, that when i served you of your cup, i should turn my face away; i take god to witness, i lie not." when the emperor heard this, he believed him, and said, "o my nephew, now i see, through the right wise judgment of god, the steward is burnt, and his own wickedness and envy is fallen on himself, for he ordained this malice against thee, and therefore thou art much bound to almighty god that hath preserved thee from death." xxx.--vengeance deferred. a law was made at rome, that no man should marry for beauty, but for riches only; and that no woman should be united to a poor man, unless he should by some means acquire wealth equal to her own. a certain poor knight solicited the hand of a rich lady, but she reminded him of the law, and desired him to use the best means of complying with it, in order to effect their union. he departed in great sorrow; and after much inquiry, was informed of a rich duke, who had been blind from the day of his birth. him he resolved to murder, and obtain his wealth; but found that he was protected in the daytime by several armed domestics, and at night by the vigilance of a faithful dog. he contrived, however, to kill the dog with an arrow, and immediately afterwards the master; with whose money he returned to the lady. he informed her that he had accomplished his purpose; and being asked how this had been done in so short a space of time, he told all that had happened. the lady desired, before the marriage should take place, that he would go to the spot where the duke was buried, lay himself on his tomb, listen to what he might hear, and then report it to her. the knight armed himself, and went accordingly. in the middle of the night he heard a voice saying, "o duke, that liest here, what askest thou that i can do for thee?" the answer was, "o jesus, thou upright judge, all that i require is vengeance for my blood unjustly spilt." the voice rejoined, "thirty years from this time thy wish shall be fulfilled." the knight, extremely terrified, returned with the news to the lady. she reflected that thirty years were a long time, and resolved on the marriage. during the whole thirty years the parties remained in perfect happiness. when the thirty years were nearly passed, the knight built a strong castle, and over one of the gates, in a conspicuous place, caused the following verses to be written-- "in my distress, religious aid i sought: but my distress relieved, i held it nought. the wolf was sick, a lamb he seemed to be; but health restored, a wolf again was he." interrogated as to the meaning of these enigmatical lines, the knight at once explained them, by relating his own story, and added, that in eight days time the thirty years would expire. he invited all his friends to a feast at that date, and when the day was arrived, the guests placed at table, and the minstrels attuning their instruments of music, a beautiful bird flew in at the window, and began to sing with uncommon sweetness. the knight listened attentively and said, "i fear this bird prognosticates misfortune." he then took his bow, and shot an arrow into it, in presence of all the company. instantly the castle divided into two parts, and, with the knight, his wife, and all who were in it, was precipitated to the lowest depth of the infernal regions. the story adds, that on the spot where the castle stood, there is now a spacious lake, on which no substance whatever floats, but is immediately plunged to the bottom. a discourse of the most famous dr. john faustus, of wittenburg, in germany. conjurer and necromancer; _wherein is declared many strange things that himself had seen and done in the earth and air, with his bringing up, his travels, studies, and last end._ the famous history of doctor faustus. chapter i. _of his parentage and birth._ john faustus, born in the town of rhodes, being in the province of weimar, in germany, his father a poor husbandman, and not able well to bring him up, yet having an uncle at wittenburg, a rich man, and without issue, took this faustus from his father, and made him his heir, insomuch that his father was no more troubled with him, for he remained with his uncle at wittenburg, where he was kept at the university in the same city, to study divinity; but faustus being of a naughty mind, and otherwise addicted, plyed not his studies, but betook himself to other exercises, which his uncle oftentimes hearing, rebuked him for it; as eli oftentimes rebuked his children for sinning against the lord, even so this good old man laboured to have faustus apply his study to divinity, that he might come to the knowledge of god and his law. but it is manifest that many virtuous parents have wicked children, as cain, reuben, absolom, and such like, have been to their parents. so faustus having godly parents, who seeing him to be of a toward wit, were desirous to bring him up in those virtuous studies, namely, of divinity; but he gave himself secretly to necromancy, and conjuration, insomuch that few or none could perceive his profession. but to the purpose, faustus continued at study in the university, and was by the rectors, and sixteen masters afterwards, examined how he had profited in his studies, and being found by them, that none of his time were able to argue with him in divinity, or for the excellency of his wisdom to compare with him, with one consent they made him doctor of divinity. but doctor faustus, within short time after he had obtained his degree, fell into such fantasies, and deep cogitations, that he was mocked of many, and of the most part of the students was called the speculator, and sometimes he would throw the scriptures from him, as though he had no care of his former profession, so that he began a most ungodly life, as hereafter more at large may appear, for the old proverb saith, "who can hold what will away?" so, who can hold faustus from the devil, that seeks after him with all his endeavours; for he accompanied himself with divers that were seen in those devilish arts, and that had the chaldean, persian, hebrew, arabian, and greek tongues, using figures, characters, conjurations, incantations, with many other ceremonies belonging to those infernal arts, as necromancy, charms, soothsaying, witchcraft, enchantment, being delighted with their books, words, and names so well, that he studied day and night therein, insomuch that he could not abide to be called doctor of divinity, but waxed a worldly man, and named himself an astrologian, and a mathematician, and for a shadow sometimes a physician, and did great cures, namely with herbs, roots, waters, drinks, receipts and glysters; and without doubt he was passing wise and excellent perfect in holy scripture. but he that knoweth his master's will, and doth it not, is worthy to be beaten with many stripes. it is written, "no man can serve two masters, and thou shalt not tempt the lord thy god." but faustus threw all this in the wind, and made his soul of no estimation, regarding more his worldly pleasures than the joys to come; therefore at the day of judgment, there is no hope of his redemption. chapter ii. _how doctor faustus began to practise his devilish art, and how he conjured the devil, making him to appear, and meet him on the morrow-morning at his own house._ you have heard before that all faustus's mind was to study the arts of necromancy and conjuration, the which exercise he followed day and night, and taking to him the wings of an eagle thought to fly over the whole world, and to know the secrets of heaven and earth, for his speculation was so wonderful, being expert in using his vocabula, figures, characters, conjuration, and other ceremonial actions, that in all haste he put in practice to bring the devil before him, and taking his way to a thick wood near to wittenburg, called in the german tongue, spisser holt, that is in english, the spisser's wood, as faustus would oftentimes boast of it among the crew, being in jollity, he came into the wood one evening into the cross-way, where he made with a wand a circle in the dust, and within that many more circles and characters; and thus he past away the time until it was nine or ten of the clock in the night, then began dr. faustus to call on mephistophiles the spirit, and to charge him in the name of belzebub, to appear there presently, without any long stay. then presently the devil began so great a rumour in the wood, as if heaven and earth would have come together, with wind, and the trees bowed their tops to the ground, then fell the devil to roar, as if the whole wood had been full of lions, and suddenly about the circle run the devil, as if a thousand waggons had been running together on paved-stones. after this, at the four corners of the wood it thundered horribly, with such lightning, as the whole world to his seeming had been on fire. faustus all this while, half amazed at the devil's so long tarrying, and doubting whether he were best to abide any more such horrible conjurings, thought to leave his circle, and depart, whereupon the devil made him such music of all sorts, as if the nymphs themselves had been in place: whereat faustus revived, and stood stoutly in his circle, expecting his purpose, and began again to conjure the spirit mephistophiles in the name of the prince of devils, to appear in his likeness: whereat suddenly, over his head hung hovering in the air a mighty dragon; then calls faustus again after his devilish manner, at which there was a monstrous cry in the wood, as if hell had been open, and all the tormented souls cursing their condition. presently, not three fathoms above his head, fell a flame in manner of lightning, and changed itself into a globe; yet faustus feared it not, but did persuade himself that the devil should give him his request before he would leave. oftentimes after to his companions he would boast that he had the stoutest head under the cope of heaven at command. whereat they answered, they knew no stouter than the pope or emperor. but dr. faustus said, "the head that is my servant, is above all upon earth;" and repeated certain words out of st. paul to the ephesians, to make his argument good, "the prince of the world is upon earth and under heaven." well, let us come again to his conjuration, where we left him at the fiery globe; faustus, vexed at his spirit's so long tarrying, used his charms, with full purpose not to depart before he had his intent; and crying on mephistophiles the spirit, suddenly the globe opened, and sprung up in the height of a man, so burning a time, in the end it converted to the shape of a fiery man. this pleasant beast ran about the circle a great while, and lastly appeared in the manner of a gray friar, asking faustus what was his request. faustus commanded, that the next morning at twelve of the clock, he should appear to him at his house; but the devil would in no wise grant it. faustus began to conjure him again, in the name of belzebub, that he should fulfil his request; whereupon the spirit agreed, and so they departed each on his way. chapter iii. _the conference of doctor faustus, with his spirit mephistophiles, the morning following at his own house._ dr. faustus, having commanded the spirit to be with him, at his hour appointed, he came and appeared in his chamber, demanding of faustus what his desire was. then began dr. faustus anew with him, to conjure him, that he would be obedient unto him, and to answer him certain articles, to fulfil them in all points: . that the spirit would serve him, and be obedient unto him in all things that he asked of him, from that hour until the hour of his death. . further, anything that he desired of him, he should bring him. . also that in all faustus's demands and interrogations, the spirit should tell him nothing but that which was true. hereupon the spirit answered, and laid his case forth, that he had no such power of himself until he had first given his prince (that was ruler over him) to understand thereof, and to know if he could obtain so much of his lord: "therefore speak farther, that i may do thy whole desire to my prince; for it is not in my power to fulfil without his leave." "show me the cause why?" said faustus. the spirit answered faustus: "thou shalt understand, that with us it is even as well a kingdom as with you on earth; yea, we have our rulers and servants, as i myself am one; and we have our whole number the legion, for although that lucifer is thrust and fallen out of heaven, through his pride and high mind, yet he hath notwithstanding a legion of devils at his command, that we call the oriental princes, for his power is infinite; also there is a power in meridie, in septentrio, in occidente, and for that lucifer hath his kingdom under heaven; we must change and give ourselves to men, to serve them at their pleasure. it is also certain, we have not as yet opened to any man the truth of our dwelling, neither of our ruling, neither what our power is; neither have we given any man any gift, or learned him anything, except he promise to be ours." dr. faustus upon this arose where he sat, and said, "i will have my request, and yet i will not be damned." the spirit answered: "then shalt thou want thy desire, and yet art thou mine notwithstanding; if any men would detain thee, it is but in vain, for thy infidelity hath confounded thee." hereupon spake faustus: "get thee hence from me, and take st. valentine's farewell, and crisman with thee; yet i conjure thee, that thou be here at evening, and bethink thyself of what i have asked thee; ask thy prince's counsel therein." mephistophiles the spirit, thus answered, vanished away, leaving faustus in his study, where he sat pondering with himself how he might obtain his request of the devil, without the loss of his soul; yet he was fully resolved in himself, rather than to want his pleasure, to do what the spirit and his lord should condition upon. chapter iv. _the second time of the spirit's appearing to faustus at his house, and their parley._ faustus continued in his devilish cogitations, never moving out of the place where the spirit left him, such was his fervent love to the devil; the night approaching, this swift-flying spirit appeared to faustus, offering himself with all submission to his service, with full authority from his prince, to do whatsoever he would request; if so be faustus would promise to be his. "this answer i bring thee, an answer must thou make by me again: yet i will hear what is thy desire, because thou hast sworn to me to be here at this time." dr. faustus gave him this answer, though faintly for his soul's sake, that his request was none other, but to become a devil, or at least a limb of him, and that the spirit should agree to these articles following: . that he might be a spirit in shape and quality. . that mephistophiles should be his servant at his command. . that mephistophiles should bring him anything, and do for him whatsoever he desired. . that all times he would be in the house invisible to all men, except only to himself, and at his command to show himself. . that mephistophiles should at all times appear at his command, in what form or shape soever he would. upon these points the spirit answered dr. faustus. that all this should be granted him, and fulfilled, and more if he would agree unto him upon certain articles as followeth: . that dr. faustus should give himself to the lord lucifer, body and soul. . for confirmation of the same, he should make him a writing written in his own blood. . that he would be an enemy to all christian people. . that he would deny the christian belief. . that he let not any man change his opinion, if so be any man should go about to dissuade or withdraw him from it. farther the spirit promised faustus to give him certain years to live in health and pleasure, and when such years were expired, that then faustus would be fetched away; and if he would hold these articles and conditions, that then he should have whatsoever his heart would wish or desire; and that faustus should quickly perceive himself to be a spirit in all manner of actions whatsoever. hereupon dr. faustus's mind was inflamed, that he forgot his soul, and promises mephistophiles to hold all things as he mentioned them: he thought the devil was not so black as they used to paint him, nor hell so hot as the people say. chapter v. _the third parley between dr. faustus and mephistophiles about a conclusion._ after dr. faustus had made his promise to the devil, in the morning betimes he called the spirit before him, and commanded him, that he should always come to him like a friar, after the order of st. francis, with a bell in his hand like st. anthony, and to ring it once or twice before he appeared, that he might know of his certain coming: then faustus demanded of his spirit what was his name? the spirit answered, "my name is as thou sayest, mephistophiles, and i am a prince, but a servant to lucifer, and all the circuit from septentrio to the meridian, i rule under him." even at these words was this wicked wretch faustus inflamed, to hear himself to have gotten so great a potentate to serve him, forgetting the lord his maker, and christ his redeemer, he became an enemy to all mankind; yea, worse than the giants, whom the poets said to climb the hills to make war with the gods, not unlike the enemy of god and christ, that for his pride was cast into hell; so likewise faustus forgot, that high climbers catch the greatest falls, and sweet meats have oft sourest sauce. after a while faustus promised mephistophiles to write and make his obligation with all assurance of the articles in the chapter before rehearsed: a pitiful case, christian reader, for certainly this letter or obligation was found in his house, after his most lamentable end, with all the rest of his damnable practices used in his whole life. wherefore i wish all christians to take example by this wicked doctor, and to be comforted in christ, concerning themselves with that vocation whereunto it has pleased god to call them, and not so esteem the vain delights of this life as did this unhappy faustus in giving his soul to the devil: and to confirm it the more assuredly, he took a small penknife, and pricked a vein in his left hand, and for certainty thereupon were seen on his hand these words written, as if they had been written in his own blood, o homo fuge; whereat the spirit vanished, but faustus continued in his damnable mind. chapter vi. _how dr. faustus set his blood in a saucer on warm ashes, and writ as followeth:_ i, john faustus, _doctor, do openly acknowledge with mine own hand, to the great force and strengthening of this letter, that since i began to study, and speculate the course and nature of the elements, i have not found, through the gift that is given me from above, any such learning and wisdom that can bring me to my desire and for that i find that men are unable to instruct me any farther in the matter; now have i, dr. faustus, to the hellish prince of orient, and his messenger mephistophiles, given both body and soul, upon such conditions, that they shall learn me, and fulfil my desires in all things, as they have promised and vowed unto me, with due obedience unto me, according to the articles mentioned between us._ farther, i do covenant and grant _with them by these presents, that at the end of twenty-four years next ensuing, the date of this present letter, they being expired, and i in the mean time, during the said years, be served of them at my will, they accomplishing my desires to the full in all points as we are agreed: that then i give to them all power to do with me at their pleasure, to rule, to send, fetch or carry me or mine, be it either body, soul, flesh, blood or goods, into their habitation, be it wheresoever: and hereupon i defy god and his christ, all the host of heaven, and all living creatures that bear the shape of god; yea, all that live: and again i say it, and it shall be so, and to the more strengthening of this writing, i have written it with my own hand and blood, being in perfect memory: and hereupon i subscribe to it with my name and title, calling all the infernal, middle, and supreme powers to witness of this my letter and subscription._ john faustus. _approved in the elements, and the spiritual doctor._ chapter vii. _how mephistophiles came for his writing, and in what manner he appeared, and his sights he showed him; and how he caused him to keep a copy of his own writing._ dr. faustus sitting pensive, having but one only boy with him, suddenly there appeared his spirit mephistophiles in likeness of a very man, from whom issued most horrible fiery flames, insomuch that the boy was afraid, but being hardened by his master, he bid him stand still, and he should have no harm: this spirit began to bleat as in a singing manner. this pretty sport pleased dr. faustus well; but he would not call his spirit into his counting-house until he had seen more. anon was heard a rushing of armed men, and trampling of horses; this ceasing, came a kennel of hounds, and they chased a great hart in the hall, and there the hart was slain. faustus took heart, came forth and looked upon the hart, but presently before him there was a lion and a dragon together, fighting so fiercely, that faustus thought they would have thrown down the house; but the dragon overcame the lion, and so they vanished. after this came in a peacock and peahen; the cock, bruising of his tail, turning to the female, beat her, and so vanished. afterward followed a furious bull, that with a full fierceness ran upon faustus, but coming near him vanished away. afterward followed a great old ape; this ape offered faustus the hand, but he refused; so the ape ran out of the hall again. hereupon fell a mist in the hall, that faustus saw no light, but it lasted not; and so soon as it was gone, there lay before faustus two great sacks, one full of gold, another of silver. lastly, was heard by faustus all manner of instruments of music, as organs, clarigolds, lutes, viols, citterns, waits, hornpipes, flutes, anomes, harps, and all manner of other instruments, which so ravished his mind, that he thought he had been in another world, forgot both body and soul, insomuch that he was minded never to change his opinion concerning that which he had done. hereat came mephistophiles into the hall to faustus, in apparel like unto a friar, to whom faustus spake: "thou hast done me a wonderful pleasure in showing me this pastime; if thou continue as thou hast begun, thou shalt win my heart and soul, yea, and have it." mephistophiles answered: "this is nothing; i will please thee better; yea, that thou mayst know my power on all, ask what request thou wilt of me, that shalt thou have, conditionally hold thy promise, and give me thy handwriting." at which words the wretch thrust forth his hand, saying, "hold thee, there hast thou my promise." mephistophiles took the writing and willed faustus to take a copy of it. with that the perverse faustus being resolute in his damnation, wrote a copy thereof, and gave the devil the one, and kept in store the other. thus the spirit and faustus were agreed, and dwelt together; no doubt there was a virtuous house-keeping. chapter viii. _the manner how faustus proceeded in this damnable life, and of the diligent service that mephistophiles used towards him._ dr. faustus having given his soul to the devil, renouncing all the powers of heaven, confirming all his lamentable action with his own blood, and having already delivered his writing now into the devil's hand, the which so puffed up his heart, that he forgot the mind of a man, and thought himself to be a spirit. thus faustus dwelt at his uncle's house at wittenburg, who died, and bequeathed it in his testament to his cousin faustus. faustus kept a boy with him, that was his scholar, an unhappy wag, called christopher wagner, to whom this sport and life that he saw his master followed, seemed pleasant. faustus loved the boy well, hoping to make him as good or better seen in his hellish exercises than himself, and he was fellow with mephistophiles. otherwise faustus had no company in his house but himself and boy, and spirit that ever was diligent at faustus's command, going about the house, clothed like a friar, with a little bell in his hand, seen of none but faustus. for victuals and other necessaries, mephistophiles brought him at his pleasure from the duke of saxony, the duke of bavaria, and the bishop of salisburg; and they had many times their best wine stolen out of their cellars by mephistophiles, likewise their provisions for their own table. such meat as faustus wished for, his spirit brought him in. besides that, faustus himself was become so cunning, that when he opened his window, what fowl soever he wished for, it came presently flying into the house, were it never so dainty. moreover, faustus and his boy went in sumptuous apparel, the which mephistophiles stole from the mercers at norenburg, aspurg, franckford, and tipzig; for it was hard for them to find a lock to keep out such a thief. all their maintenance was but stolen and borrowed ware; and thus they lived an odious life in the sight of god, though as yet the world were unacquainted with their wickedness. it must be so, for their fruits be none other, as christ saith in john, where he calls the devil a thief and murderer; and that found faustus, for he stole him away both body and soul. chapter ix. _how dr. faustus would have married, and how the devil had almost killed him for it._ dr. faustus continued thus in this epicurish life day and night, believed not that there was a god, hell, or devil: he thought that soul and body died together, and had quite forgot divinity, or the immortality of the soul, but stood in that damnable heresy day and night, and bethinking himself of a wife, called mephistophiles to council: which would in no case agree, demanding of him if he would break the covenant made with him, or if he had forgot it. "hast thou," quoth mephistophiles, "sworn thyself an enemy to god and to all creatures? to this i answer thee, thou canst not marry, thou canst not serve two masters, god and my prince; for wedlock is a chief institution ordained of god, and that thou hast promised to defy as we do all, and that hast thou not only done, but moreover thou hast confirmed it with thy blood, persuade thyself that what thou dost in contempt of wedlock, it is all to thy own delight. therefore, faustus, look well about thee, and bethink thyself better, and i wish thee to change thy mind, for if thou keep not what thou hast promised in thy writing, we will tear thee in pieces like the dust under thy feet. therefore, sweet faustus, think with what unquiet life, anger, strife, and debate thou shalt live in when thou takest a wife. therefore change thy mind." dr. faustus was with these speeches in despair; and as all that have forsaken the lord can build upon no good foundation, so this wretched doctor having forsook the rock, fell into despair with himself, fearing, if he should motion matrimony any more, that the devil should tear him in pieces. "for this time," quoth he to mephistophiles, "i am not minded to marry." "then dost thou well," answered his spirit. but within two hours after faustus called again to his spirit, who came in his old manner like a friar. then faustus said unto him, "i am not able to resist or bridle my fancy; i must and will have a wife, and i pray thee give thy consent to it." suddenly upon these words came such a whirlwind about the place that faustus thought the whole house would have come down; all the doors of the house flew off the hooks. after all this his house was full of smoke, and the floor covered with ashes; which, when dr. faustus perceived, he would have gone upstairs, and flying up he was taken and thrown down into the hall, that he was not able to stir hand nor foot; then round about him ran a monstrous circle of fire, never standing still, that faustus cried as he lay, and thought there to have been burned. then cried he out to his spirit mephistophiles for help, promising him he would live, for all this, as he had vowed by his handwriting. hereupon appeared unto him an ugly devil, so dreadful and monstrous to behold, that faustus durst not look on him. the devil said, "what wouldst thou have, faustus? how likest thou thy wedding? what mind art thou in now?" faustus answered, he had forgot his promise, desiring of him pardon, and he would talk no more of such things. "thou art best so to do;" and so vanished from him. after appeared unto him his friar mephistophiles, with a bell in his hand, and spake to faustus: "it is no jesting with us; hold thou that which thou hast vowed, and we will perform that which we have promised; and more than that, thou shalt have thy heart's desire of what woman soever thou wilt, be she alive or dead, and so long as thou wilt thou shalt keep her by thee." these words pleased faustus wonderful well, and repented himself that he was so foolish to wish himself married, that might have any woman in the whole city brought him at his command, the which he practised and persevered in a long time. chapter x. _questions put forth by dr. faustus unto his spirit mephistophiles._ dr. faustus living in all manner of pleasure that his heart could desire, continuing of his amorous drifts, his delicate fare, and costly apparel, called on a time his mephistophiles to him, who being come, brought him a book in his hand of all manner of devilish and enchanting arts, the which he gave faustus, saying, "hold, my faustus; work now thy heart's desire." the copy of this enchanting book was afterwards found by his servant christopher wagner. "well," quoth faustus to his spirit, "i have called thee to know what thou canst do if i have need of thy help." then answered mephistophiles, and said, "my lord faustus, i am a flying spirit, yea, so swift as thought can think, to do whatsoever." here faustus said, "but how came lord and master lucifer to have so great a fall from heaven?" mephistophiles answered: "my lord lucifer was a fair angel, created of god as immortal, and being placed in the seraphims, which are above the cherubims, he would have presumed upon the throne of god, with intent to thrust god out of his seat; upon this presumption the lord cast him down headlong, and where before he was an angel of light, now dwells in darkness, not able to come near his first place, without god send for him to appear before him; as raphael, unto the lower degree of angels, that have their conversation with men, he may come, but not unto the second degree of the heavens, that is kept by the archangels, namely, michael and gabriel, for these are called angels of god's wonders; these are far inferior places to that from whence my lord and master lucifer fell; and thus far, faustus, because thou art one of the beloved children of the lord lucifer, following thy mind in manner as he did his, i have shortly resolved thy request, and more i will do for thee at thy pleasure." "i thank thee, mephistophiles," quoth faustus, "come, let us now go to rest, for it is night;" upon this they left their communication. chapter xi. _how dr. faustus dreamed that he had seen hell in his sleep, and how he questioned with the spirit of matters concerning hell, with the spirit's answer._ the night following after faustus's communication with mephistophiles, as concerning the fall of lucifer, dr. faustus dreamed that he had seen a part of hell, but in what manner it was, or in what place, he knew not, whereby he was much troubled in mind, and called unto him mephistophiles his spirit, saying unto him, "i pray thee resolve me in this doubt: what is hell? what substance is it of? in what place stands it? and when was it made?" mephistophiles answered: "faustus, thou shalt know, that before the fall of my lord lucifer there was no hell, but even then was hell ordained. it is no substance, but a confused thing; for i tell thee, that before all elements were made, or the earth seen, the spirit of god moved upon the waters, and darkness was over all; but when god said, 'let there be light,' it was at his word, and the light was on god's right hand, and he praised the light. judge thou farther, god stood in the middle, the darkness was on his left hand, in the which my lord was bound in chains until the day of judgment. in this confused hell is nought to find but a sulphurish fire, and stinking mist or fog. farther, we devils know not what substance it is of, but a confused thing; for as the bubble of water flieth before the wind, so doth hell before the breath of god. moreover, the devils know not how god hath laid the foundation of our hell, nor where it is; but to be short, faustus, we know that hell hath neither bottom nor end." chapter xii. _the second question put forth by dr. faustus to his spirit, what kingdoms were in hell, how many, and what were the rulers' names._ faustus spake again to his spirit, saying, "thou speakest of wonderful things: i pray thee now tell me what kingdoms are there in your hell? how many are there? what they are called? and who rules them?" the spirit answered him: "my faustus, know that hell is, as thou wouldst think with thyself, another world, in the which we have our being under the earth, even to the heavens; within the circumference whereof are contained ten kingdoms, namely, . lacus mortis. . stagnum ignis. . terra tenebrosa. . tartarus. . terra oblivionis. . gehenna. . erebus. . barathrum. . styx. . acheron. the which kingdoms are governed by five kings, that is, lucifer in the orient, belzebub in septentrio, belial in meredie, ascheroth in the occident, and phlegeton in the midst of them all; whose rules and dominions have no end until the day of doom; and thus far, faustus, hast thou heard of our rule and kingdom." chapter xiii. _another question put forth by dr. faustus to his spirit, concerning his lord lucifer, with the sorrow that faustus fell afterwards into._ dr. faustus began again to reason with mephistophiles, requiring him to tell in what form and shape, and in what estimation his lord lucifer was, when he was in favour with god. whereupon his spirit required of him three days' respite, which faustus granted. the three days being expired, mephistophiles gave him this answer: "faustus, my lord lucifer (so called now for that he was banished out of the clear light of heaven) was at the first an angel of god, yea, he was so of god ordained for shape, pomp, authority, worthiness, and dwelling, that he far exceeded all the other creatures of god, yea, or gold and precious stones; and so illuminated that he far surpassed the brightness of the sun, and all other stars where god placed him on the cherubims; he had a kingly office, and was always before god's seat, to the end he might be the more perfect in all his being; but when he began to be high-minded, proud, and so presumptuous, that he would usurp the seat of god's majesty, then was he banished out from amongst the heavenly powers, separated from their abiding, into the manner of a fiery stone, that no water is able to quench, but continually burneth until the end of the world." dr. faustus, when he had heard the words of his spirit, began to ponder with himself, having divers and sundry opinions in his head, and very pensively, saying nothing to his spirit, he went into his chamber and laid him on his bed, recording the words of mephistophiles, which so pierced his heart that he fell into sighing and great lamentation, crying out, "alas! ah, woe is me! what have i done? even so shall it come to pass with me: am i not also a creature of god's making, bearing his own image and similitude, into whom he hath breathed the spirit of life and immortality, unto whom he hath made all things living subject; but woe is me! my haughty mind, proud aspiring stomach, and filthy flesh, hath brought my soul into perpetual damnation, yea, pride hath abused my understanding, insomuch that i have forgot my maker, the spirit of god is departed from me; i have promised the devil my soul, and therefore it is but a folly for me to hope for grace, but it must be even with me as with lucifer, thrown into perpetual burning fire: ah! woe is me that ever i was born." in this perplexity lay this miserable dr. faustus, having quite forgot his faith in christ, never falling to repentance truly, thereby to attain the grace and holy spirit of god again, the which would have been able to have resisted the strong assaults of satan; for although he had made him a promise, yet he might have remembered, through true repentance sinners may once come again into the favour of god, which faith the faithful firmly hold, knowing they that kill the body are not able to hurt the soul; but he was in all his opinions doubtful, without faith or hope, and so he continued. chapter xiv. _another disputation betwixt dr. faustus and his spirit, of the power of the devil, and his envy to mankind._ after faustus had a while pondered and sorrowed with himself on his wretched estate, he called again mephistophiles unto him, commanding him to tell him the judgment, rule, power, attempts, tyranny, and temptation of the devil; and why he was moved to such kind of living? whereupon the spirit answered to this question: "that thou demandest of me will turn thee to no small discontentment; therefore thou shouldst not have desired of me such matters, for it toucheth the secrets of our kingdom, although i cannot deny to resolve thy request: therefore know, faustus, that so soon as my lord lucifer fell from heaven, he became mortal enemy both to god and man, and hath used, as now he doth, all manner of tyranny to the destruction of man, as is manifested by divers examples: one falling suddenly dead, another hangs himself, another drowns himself, others stab themselves, others unlawfully despair, and so come to utter confusion. the first adam, that was made perfect to the similitude of god, was by my lord's policy the whole decay of man; yea, faustus, in him was the beginning and first tyranny of my lord lucifer to man. the like did he with cain; the same with the children of israel when they worshipped strange gods, and fell to whoredom with strange women; the like with saul; so did he by the seven husbands of her that after was the wife of tobias; likewise dagon, our fellow, brought to destruction fifty thousand men, whereupon the ark of god was stolen, and belial made david to number his men, whereupon were slain sixty thousand. also he deceived king solomon, that worshipped the gods of the heathen: and there are such spirits innumerable, that can come by men, and tempt them, and drive them to sin, and weaken their belief; for we rule the hearts of kings and princes, stirring them up to war and bloodshed, and to this intent do we spread ourselves through all the world, as the utter enemies of god and his son christ--yea, and all that worship them, and that thou knowest by thyself, faustus. how have we dealt by thee?" to this said faustus: "then thou didst also beguile me?" "i did what i could to help thee forward, for as soon as i saw how thy heart did despise thy degree taken in divinity, and didst study to search and know the secrets of our kingdom, then did i enter into thee, giving thee divers foul and filthy cogitations, pricking thee forward in thy intent, persuading thee thou couldst never attain to thy desire till thou hadst the help of some devil; and when thou wast delighted in this, then took i root in thee, and so firmly, that thou gavest thyself to us both body and soul, which thou canst not deny." hereat answered faustus: "thou sayest true; i cannot deny it. ah, woe is me, most miserable faustus! how have i been deceived! had i not had a desire to know too much, i had not been in this case; for having studied the lives of the holy saints and prophets, and thereby thought to understand sufficient heavenly matters, i thought myself not worthy to be called dr. faustus if i should not also know the secrets of hell, and be associated with the furious fiends thereof; now, therefore, must i be rewarded accordingly." which speeches being uttered, faustus went very sorrowful away from his spirit. chapter xv. _how dr. faustus desired again of his spirit, to know the secrets and pains of hell; and whether those damned devils, and their company, might ever come to the favour and love of god again._ dr. faustus was pondering with himself how he might get loose from so damnable an end as he had given himself unto, both soul and body; but his repenting was like that of cain and judas--he thought his sin greater than god could forgive; hereupon resting his mind, he looked up to heaven, but saw nothing therein, for his heart was so possessed of the devil that he could think of nought else but of hell and the pains thereof. wherefore in all haste he called unto him his spirit mephistophiles, desiring him to tell him some more of the secrets of hell; what pain the damned are in, and how they were tormented; and whether the damned souls might get again the favour of god, and so be released out of their torments or not. whereupon the spirit answered: "my faustus, thou mayst well leave to question any more of such matters, for they will but disquiet thy mind; i pray thee, what meanest thou, thinkest thou through these thy fantasies to escape us? no, for if thou shouldst climb up to heaven, there to hide thyself, yet would i thrust thee down again; for thou art mine, and thou belongest to our society. therefore, sweet faustus, thou wilt repent this thy foolish demand, except thou be content that i shall tell thee nothing." quoth faustus, ragingly: "i will know, or i will not live, wherefore dispatch and tell me." to whom mephistophiles answered: "faustus, it is no trouble unto me at all to tell thee; and therefore since thou forcest me thereto, i will tell thee things to the terror of thy soul, if thou wilt abide the hearing: thou wilt have me to tell thee of the secrets of hell, and of the pains thereof. know, faustus, that hell hath many figures, semblances, and names; but it cannot be named or figured in such sort to the living that are damned, as it is to those that are dead, and do both see and feel the torments thereof: for hell is said to be deadly, out of which came never any to life again but one, but he is nothing for thee to reckon upon; hell is bloodthirsty, and is never satisfied: hell is a valley into which the damned souls fall; for so soon as the soul is out of man's body, it would gladly go to the place from whence it came, and climbeth up above the highest hills, even to the heavens, where being by the angels of the first model denied entertainment (in consideration of their evil life spent on earth), they fall into the deepest pit or valley, that hath no bottom, into a perpetual fire which shall never be quenched; for like as the flint thrown in the water loseth not virtue, neither is the fire extinguished, even so the hellish fire is unquenchable: and even as the flint-stone in the fire burns red hot, and consumeth not, so likewise the damned souls in our hellish fire are ever burning, but their pain never diminishing. therefore is hell called the everlasting pain, in which is never hope for mercy; so it is called utter darkness, in which we see neither the light, the sun, moon, nor stars; and were our darkness like the darkness of night, yet were there hope of mercy: but ours is perpetual darkness, clean exempt from the face of god. hell hath also a place within it, called chasma, out of which issueth all manner of thunders and lightnings, with such shriekings and wailings, that oftentimes the very devils themselves stand in fear thereof; for one while it sendeth forth wind, with exceeding snow, hail, and rain, congealing the water into ice, with the which the damned are frozen, gnash their teeth, howl, and cry, yet cannot die. other whiles, it sendeth forth most horrible hot mists, or fogs, with flashing of flames of fire and brimstone, wherein the sorrowful souls of the damned lie broiling in their reiterated torments. yea, faustus, hell is called a prison, wherein the damned lie continually bound; it is called pernicies and exitium, death, destruction, hurtfulness, mischief, a mischance, a pitiful and evil thing, world without end. we have also with us in hell a ladder, reaching of exceeding height, as though the top of the same would touch the heaven, to which the damned ascend to seek the blessing of god, but through their infidelity, when they are at very highest degree, they fall down again into their former miseries, complaining of the heat of that unquenchable fire; yea, sweet faustus, so much understand thou of hell, the while thou art desirous to know the secrets of our kingdom. and mark, faustus, hell is the nurse of death, the heat of fire, the shadow of heaven and earth, the oblivion of all goodness; the pains unspeakable, the griefs unremovable, the dwelling of the devils. dragons, serpents, adders, toads, crocodiles, and all manner of venomous and noisome creatures; the puddle of sin, the stinking far ascending from the stygian lake, brimstone, pitch, and all manner of unclean metals, the perpetual and unquenchable fire, the end of whose miseries was never purposed by god. yea, yea, faustus, thou sayest i shall, i must, nay, i will tell thee the secrets of our kingdom, for thou buyest it dearly, and thou must and shalt be partaker of our torments, that, as the lord said, shall never cease, for hell, the woman's belly, and the earth, are never satisfied; there shalt thou abide horrible torments, howling, crying, burning, freezing, melting, swimming in a labyrinth of miseries, scolding, smoking in thine eyes, stinking in thy nose, hoarseness in thy speech, deafness in thy ears, trembling in thy hands, biting thine own tongue with pain, thy heart crushed as with a press, thy bones broken, the devils tossing firebrands unto thee: yea, thy whole carcass tossed upon muck-forks from one devil to another; yea, faustus, then wilt thou wish for death, and he will fly from thee, thine unspeakable torments shall be every day augmented more and more, for the greater the sin the greater is the punishment. how likest thou this, my faustus? a resolution answerable to thy request. "lastly, thou wilt have me tell thee that which only belongeth to god, which is, if it be possible for the damned to come again into the favour of god, or not. why, faustus, thou knowest that this is against thy promise; for why shouldst thou desire to know that having already given thy soul to the devil, to have the pleasure of the world, and to know the secrets of hell; therefore thou art damned, and how canst thou then come again to the favour of god? wherefore i discreetly answer, no; for whomsoever god hath forsaken and thrown into hell must there abide his wrath and indignation in that unquenchable fire, where is no hope of mercy to be looked for, but abiding his perpetual pains, world without end: for even as much it availeth thee, faustus, to hope for the favour of god again as lucifer himself; who indeed, although he and we have a hope, yet it is to small avail and taketh none effect, for out of that place god will neither hear crying nor singing; if he do, thou shalt have a little remorse, as dives, cain, and judas had. what helpeth the emperor, king, prince, duke, earl, baron, lord, knight, esquire, or gentleman, to cry for mercy being there? nothing; for if on earth they would not be tyrants and self-willed, rich with covetousness, proud with pomp, gluttons, drunkards, whoremongers, backbiters, robbers, murderers, blasphemers, and such like, then were there some hope to be looked for; therefore, my faustus, as thou comest to hell with these qualities thou mayst say with cain, 'my sins are greater than can be forgiven;' go hang thyself with judas; and lastly, be contented to suffer torments with dives. therefore know, faustus, that the damned have neither end nor time appointed in the which they may hope to be released; for if there were any such hope that they, by throwing one drop of water out of the sea in a day until it were dry, or there were one heap of sand as high as from the earth to the heavens, that a bird carrying away but one corn in a day, at the end of this so long labour, that yet they might hope at the last god would have mercy on them, they would be comforted; but now there is no hope that god once thinks upon them, or that their howling shall ever be heard; yea, so impossible it is for thee to hide thyself from god, as it is impossible for thee to remove the mountains, or to empty the sea, or to tell the drops of rain that have fallen from heaven until this day, or to tell what there is most of in the world; yea, and as for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, even so impossible it is for thee, faustus, and the rest of the damned, to come again into the favour of god. and thus, faustus, hast thou heard my last sentence, and i pray thee, how dost thou like it? but know this, that i counsel thee to let me be unmolested hereafter with such disputations, or else will i vex thee every limb to thy small contentment." dr. faustus parted from his spirit very pensive and sorrowful, laying him on his bed, altogether doubtful of the grace and favour of god, wherefore he fell into fantastical cogitations. fain he would have had his soul at liberty again, but the devil had so blinded him, and had taken such deep root in his heart, that he could never think to crave god's mercy; or, if by chance he had any good motion, straightways the devil would thrust in a fair lady into his chamber, which fell to kissing and dalliance with him, through which means he threw the godly motions in the wind, going forward still in his wicked practice, to the utter ruin both of body and soul. chapter xvi. _another question put forth by dr. faustus to his spirit mephistophiles of his own estate._ dr. faustus being yet desirous to hear more strange things, called his spirit unto him, saying, "my mephistophiles, i have yet another suit unto thee, which i pray thee deny me not to resolve me of." "faustus," quoth the spirit, "i am loth to reason with thee any further, for thou art never satisfied in thy mind, but always bringest me a new." "yet, i pray thee, this once," quoth faustus, "do me so much favour as to tell me the truth in this matter, and hereafter i will be no more so earnest with thee." the spirit was altogether against it; but yet once more he would abide him. "well," said the spirit to faustus, "what demandest thou of me." faustus said, "i would gladly know of thee if thou wert a man in manner and form as i am, what wouldst thou do to please both god and man?" whereat the spirit smiled, saying, "my faustus, if i was a man as thou art, and that god had adorned me with those gifts of nature which thou once hadst, even so long as the breath of god were by and within me, would i humble myself unto his majesty, endeavouring all that i could to keep his commandments, praise him and glorify him, that i might continue in his favour, so were i sure to enjoy the eternal joy and felicity of his kingdom." faustus said, "but that i have not done." "no, thou sayest truth," quoth mephistophiles, "thou hast not done it; but thou hast denied the lord thy maker which gave thee the breath of life, speech, hearing, sight, and all other thy reasonable senses, that thou mightest understand his will and pleasure, to live to the glory and honour of his name, and to the advancement of thy body and soul. him, i say, being thy maker, hast thou denied and defied; yea, wickedly hast thou applied that excellent gift of understanding, and given thy soul to the devil; therefore give none the blame but thine own self-will, thy proud and aspiring mind, which hath brought thee unto the wrath of god and utter damnation." "this is most true," quoth faustus; "but tell me, mephistophiles, would thou be in my case as i am now?" "yea," saith the spirit (and with that fetched a great sigh), "for yet i would so humble myself that i would win the favour of god." "then," said dr. faustus, "it were time enough for me if i amended." "true," said mephistophiles, "if it were not for thy great sins, which are so odious and detestable in the sight of god, that it is too late for thee, for the wrath of god resteth upon thee." "leave off," quoth faustus, "and tell me my question to my greater comfort." chapter xvii. here followeth the second part of dr. faustus his life and practices, until his end. dr. faustus having received denial of his spirit to be resolved any more in such questions propounded, forgot all good works, and fell to be a calendar-maker by the help of his spirit, and also in short time to be a good astronomer or astrologian. he had learned so perfectly of his spirit the course of the sun, moon, and stars, that he had the most famous name of all the mathematicians that lived in his time, as may well appear by his works dedicated unto sundry dukes and lords, for he did nothing without the advice of his spirit, which learned him to presage of matters to come, which have come to pass since his death. the like praise won he with his calendars and almanack-making; for when he presaged of anything, operations, and alterations of the weather or elements, as wind, rain, fogs, snow, hail, moist, dry, warm, cold, thunder, lightning, it fell so duly out, as if an angel of heaven had forewarned it. he did not, like the unskilful astronomers in our time, that set in winter, cold moist air, frosty, and in the dog days, hot, dry, thunder, fire, and such like; but he set in all his works the day and hour, when, where, and how it should happen. if any wonderful things were at hand, as mortality, famine, plague, wars, he would set the time and place, in true and just order, when it would come to pass. chapter xviii. _a question put forth by dr. faustus to his spirit, concerning astronomy._ now faustus falling to practice, and making his prognostications, he was doubtful in many points, wherefore he called unto him mephistophiles his spirit, saying, "i find the ground of the science very difficult to attain unto; for when that i confer astronomia and astrologia, as the mathematicians and ancient writers have left in memory, i find them vary, and very much to disagree; wherefore i pray thee to teach me the truth of this matter." to whom his spirit answered: "faustus, thou shalt know that the practitioners or speculators, or at least the first inventors of these arts, have done nothing of themselves certain, whereupon thou mayst attain to the true prognosticating or presaging of things concerning the heavens, or of the influence of the planets; for if by chance some one mathematician or astronomer have left behind him anything worthy of memory, they have so blinded it with enigmatical words, blind characters, and such obscure figures, that it is impossible for any earthly man to attain the knowledge thereof without the aid of some spirits, or else the special gift of god, for such as are the hidden works of god from men, yet do we spirits, that fly and fleet all elements, know such; and there is nothing to be done, or by the heavens portended, but we know it, except only the day of doom. wherefore, faustus, learn of me: i will teach thee the course and re-course of the planets, the cause of winter and summer, the exaltation and declination of the sun, and eclipse of the moon, the distance and height of the poles and every fixed star, the nature and opposition of the elements--fire, air, water, and earth--and all that is contained in them; yea, herein there is nothing hidden from me, but only the filthy essence which once thou hadst, faustus, at liberty, but now thou hast lost it past recovery; therefore, leaving that which will not be again had, learn now of me to make thunder, lightning, hail, snow, and rain; the clouds to rend the earth; and craggy rocks to shake and split in sunder; the seas to swell and roar, and overrun their marks. knowest thou not that the deeper the sun shines the hotter it pierces; so the more thy art is famous whilst thou art here, the greater shall be thy name when thou art gone. knowest thou not that the earth is frozen, cold, and dry; the water running, cold and moist; the air flying, hot and moist; the fire consuming, hot and dry: yea, faustus, so must thy heart be inflamed like the fire to mount on high. learn, faustus, to fly like myself, as swift as thought from one kingdom to another: to sit at princes' tables, to eat their dainty fare, to have thy pleasure of their ladies, wives, and concubines; to use all their jewels and costly robes as things belonging unto thee, and not unto them. learn of me, faustus, to run through walls, doors, and gates of stone and iron; to creep into the earth like a worm, or swim in the water like a fish; to fly in the air like a bird, and to live and nourish thyself in the fire like a salamander: so shalt thou be famous, renowned, far spoken of, and extolled for thy skill; going on knives not hurting thy feet, carrying fire in thy bosom and not burning thy shirt; seeing through the heavens as through a crystal, wherein is placed the planets, with all the rest of the presaging comets--the whole circuit of the world from east to west, north and south. there shalt thou know, faustus, whereof the fiery sphere above, and the signs of the zodiac doth not burn and consume the whole face of the earth, being hindered by placing the two moist elements between them--the airy clouds and wavering waves of water. yea, faustus, i will learn thee the secrets of nature; what the cause is, that the sun in summer, being at the highest, giveth all his heat downwards on the earth; and being winter at the lowest, giveth all his heat upwards into the heavens; that the snow should be of so great virtue as the honey, and the lady saturnia in occulto more hot than the sun in manifesto. come on, my faustus; i will make thee as perfect in these ways as myself; i will learn thee to go invisible, to find out the mines both of gold and silver, the fodines of precious stones--as the carbuncle, the diamond, sapphire, emerald, ruby, topaz, jacinth, granat, jaspies, amethyst: use all these at thy pleasure--take thy heart's desire. thy time, faustus, weareth away; then why wilt thou not take thy pleasure of the world? come up, we will go unto kings at their own courts, and at their most sumptuous banquets be their guests. if willingly they invite us not, then by force we will serve our own turn with their best meat and daintest wine." "agreed," quoth faustus; "but let me pause a while upon this thou hast even now declared unto me." chapter xix. _how dr. faustus fell into despair with himself, for having put a question unto his spirit; they fell at variance, whereupon the rout of devils appeared unto him, threatening him sharply._ dr. faustus resolved with himself the speeches of his spirit, and became so woeful and sorrowful in his cogitations that he thought himself already frying in the hottest flame of hell; and lying in this muse, suddenly there appeared unto him his spirit, demanding what thing so grieved and troubled his conscience? whereat dr. faustus gave no answer. yet the spirit lay very earnestly upon him to know the cause, and if it were possible he would find a remedy for his grief and ease him of his sorrows. to whom faustus answered, "i have taken thee unto me as a servant to do my service, and thy service will be very dear unto me; yet i cannot have any diligence of thee farther than thou list thyself, neither dost thou in anything as it becometh thee." the spirit replied: "my faustus, thou knowest that i was never against thy commandment as yet, but ready to serve and resolve thy questions, although i am not bound unto thee in such respects as concern the hurt of our kingdom; yet was i always willing to answer thee, and so am i still: therefore, my faustus, say on boldly, what is thy will and pleasure?" at which words the spirit stole away the heart of faustus, who spake in this sort: "mephistophiles, tell me how and after what sort god made the world and all the creatures in it? and why man was made after the image of god?" the spirit hearing this, answered faustus: "thou knowest that all this is in vain for thee to ask. i know that thou art sorry for what thou hast done, but it availeth thee not; for i will tear thee in a thousand pieces if thou change not thy opinions." and hereat he vanished away. whereat faustus, all sorrowful that he had put forth such a question, fell to weeping and to howling bitterly, not for his sins towards god, but that the devil was departed from him so suddenly in such a rage. and being in this perplexity, he was suddenly taken with such extreme cold, as if he would have frozen in the place where he sat, in which the greatest devil in hell appeared unto him, with certain of his hideous and infernal company, in most ugly shapes, that it was impossible to think upon; and traversing the chamber round about where faustus sat, faustus thought to himself, "now are they come for me, though my time be not come, and that because i have asked such questions of my servant mephistophiles." at whose cogitations the chiefest devil, which was the lord unto whom he gave his soul, that was lucifer, spake in this sort: "faustus, i have seen thy thoughts, which are not as thou hast vowed unto me, by the virtue of this letter [and showed him the obligation which he had written with his own blood]; wherefore i am come to visit thee, and to show thee some of our hellish pastimes, in hope that will draw and confirm thy mind a little more steadfast unto us." "content," quoth faustus: "go to, let me see what pastime you can make." at which words the great devil in his likeness sate him down by faustus, commanding the rest of his devils to appear in the form as if they were in hell. first entered belial, in form of a bear, with curled black hair to the ground, his ears standing upright; within his ears were as red as blood, out of which issued flames of fire; his teeth were at least a foot long, and as white as snow, with a tail three ells long at the least, having two wings, one behind each arm; and thus one after another they appeared to faustus in form as they were in hell. lucifer himself sate in a manner of a man all hairy, but of brown colour like a squirrel, curled, and his tail curling upwards on his back as the squirrels use. i think he could crack nuts too like a squirrel. after him came belzebub in curled hair of a horse-flesh colour, his head like the head of a bull, with a mighty pair of horns, and two long ears down to the ground, and two wings on his back, with two pricking things like horns; out of his wings issued flames of fire; his tail was like a cow's. then came astaroth in the form of a worm, going upright on his tail, and had no feet, but a tail like a glow-worm; under his chops grew two short hands, and his back was coal black; his belly thick in the middle, yellow, like gold, having many bristles on his back like a hedgehog. after him came cannagosta, being white and grey mixed, exceeding curled and hairy; he had a head like the head of an ass, and a tail like a cat, and claws like an ox, lacking nothing of an ell broad. then came anobis: this devil had a head like a dog, white and black hair; in shape like a hog, saving that he had but two feet--one under his throat, the other at his tail; he was four ells long, with hanging ears like a blood-hound. after him came dithican: he was a short thief, in form of a large bird, with shining feathers, and four feet; his neck was green, and body red, and his feet black. the last was called brachus, with very short feet, like a hedgehog, yellow and green; the upper side of his body was brown, and the belly like blue flames of fire, the tail red like the tail of a monkey. the rest of the devils were in form of unreasonable beasts, as swine, harts, bears, wolves, apes, buffes, goats, antelopes, elephants, dragons, horses, asses, lions, cats, snakes, toads, and all manner of ugly odious serpents and worms; yet came in such sort that every one at his entry into the hall made their reverence unto lucifer, and so took their places, standing in order as they came until they had filled the whole hall, wherewith suddenly fell a most horrible thunder-clap, that the house shook as if it would have fallen unto the ground; upon which every monster had a muck-fork in his hand, holding them towards faustus as though they would have run a tilt at him; which, when faustus perceived, he thought upon the words of mephistophiles, when he told him how the souls in hell were tormented, being cast from devil to devil upon muck-forks, he thought verily to have been tormented there by them in like sort. but lucifer perceiving his thought, spake to him, "my faustus, how likest thou this crew of mine?" quoth faustus, "why came you not in another manner of shape?" lucifer replied: "we cannot change our hellish form, we have showed ourselves here as we are there; yet can we blind men's eyes in such sort, that when we will, we appear unto them as if we were men or angels of light, although our dwelling be in darkness." then said faustus, "i like not so many of you together." whereupon lucifer commanded them to depart, except seven of the principal; forthwith they presently vanished, which faustus perceiving, he was somewhat better comforted, and spake to lucifer, "where is my servant mephistophiles? let me see if he can do the like." whereupon came a fierce dragon flying, and spitting fire round about the house, and coming towards lucifer, made reverence, and then changed himself to the form of a friar, saying, "faustus, what wilt thou?" faustus said, "i will that thou teach me to transform myself in like sort, as thou and the rest have done." then lucifer put forth his paw and gave faustus a book, saying, "hold, do what thou wilt." which he looking upon, straightways changed himself into a hog, then into a worm, then into a dragon, and finding thus for his purpose it liked him well. quoth he to lucifer, "and how cometh it that so many filthy forms are in the world?" lucifer answered, "they are ordained of god, as plagues unto men, and so shalt thou be plagued," quoth he; whereupon came scorpions, wasps, emets, bees, and gnats, which fell to stinging and biting him, and all the whole house was filled with a most horrible stinking fog, insomuch that faustus saw nothing, but still was tormented; wherefore he cried for help, saying, "mephistophiles, my faithful servant, where art thou? help, help, i pray thee." hereat the spirit answered nothing, but lucifer himself said, "ho, ho, ho, faustus, how likest thou the creation of the world?" and incontinent it was clear again, and the devils and all the filthy cattle were vanished, only faustus was left alone, seeing nothing, but hearing the sweetest music that ever he heard before; at which he was so ravished with delight, that he forgot his fears he was in before, and it repented him that he had seen no more of their pastime. chapter xx. _how dr. faustus desired to see hell, and of the manner how he was used therein._ dr. faustus bethinking how his time went away, and how he had spent eight years thereof, he meant to spend the rest to his better contentment, intending quite to forget any such motions as might offend the devil any more: wherefore on a time he called his spirit mephistophiles, and said unto him, "bring thou hither unto me thy lord lucifer or belial." he brought him (notwithstanding) one that was called belzebub, the which asked faustus his pleasure. quoth faustus, "i will know of thee if i might see hell, and take a view thereof?" "that thou shalt," said the devil, "and at midnight i will fetch thee." well, night being come, dr. faustus waited very diligently for the coming of the devil to fetch him, and thinking that he tarried too long, he went to the window, where he pulled open a casement, and looking into the element, he saw a cloud in the north more black, and darker, and obscurer than all the rest of the sky, from whence the wind blew most horribly right into faustus's chamber, and filled the whole house with smoke, that faustus was almost smothered; hereat fell an exceeding thunder-clap, and withal came a great rugged black bear all curled, and upon his back a chair of beaten gold, and spake to faustus, saying, "sir, up and away with me:" and dr. faustus that had so long abode the smoke, wished rather to be in hell than there, got on the devil, and so they went on together. mark how the devil blinded him, and made him believe he carried him into hell, for he carried him into the lake, where faustus fell into a sound sleep, as if he had sate into a warm water or bath: at last they came to a place which burneth continually with flashing flames of fire and brimstone, whereout issued an exceeding mighty clap of thunder, with so horrible a noise that faustus awaked. but the devil went forth on his way, and carried faustus therein, yea, notwithstanding however it burnt, dr. faustus felt no more heat than as it were the glimpse of the sun in may; there heard he all manner of music to overcome him, but saw none playing on them; it pleased him well, but he durst not ask, for he was forbidden it before. to meet the devil and the guest that came with him came three other ugly devils, the which ran back again before the bear, to make the way; against whom there came running an exceeding great hart, which would have thrust faustus out of the chair; but being defended by the other three devils, the hart was put to the repulse: thence going on the way, faustus looked, and behold there was nothing but snakes, and all manner of venomous beasts about him, which were exceeding great: unto the which snakes came many storks, and swallowed up the whole multitude of snakes, that they left not one: which when faustus saw, he marvelled greatly. but proceeding farther on their hellish voyage, there came forth out of a hollow clift an exceeding great flying bull, the which with such a force hit faustus's chair with his head and horns, that he turned faustus and his bear over and over, so that the bear vanished away: whereat faustus began to cry, "oh! woe to me that ever i came here!" for he thought there to have been beguiled of the devil; and to make an end before his time appointed or conditioned of the devil: but shortly after came to him a monstrous ape, bidding faustus to be of good cheer, and said, "get upon me." all the fire in hell seemed to faustus to have been put out, whereupon followed a monstrous thick fog, that he saw nothing, but shortly after it seemed to him to wax clear, where he saw two great dragons fastened unto a waggon, in the which the ape ascended and set faustus therein; forth flew the dragons into an exceeding dark cloud, where faustus saw neither dragons nor chariot wherein he sate, and such were the cries of tormented souls, with mighty thunder-claps and flashing lightnings about his ears, that poor faustus shook for fear; upon this they came to a water, stinking and filthy, thick like mud, into the which ran the dragons, sinking under with waggon and all; but faustus felt no water, but as it were a small mist, saving that the waves beat so sore upon him, that he saw nothing under or over him but only water, in the which he lost his dragons, ape, and waggon; and sinking deeper and deeper, he came at last as it were upon a high rock, where the waters parted and left him thereon: but when the water was gone, it seemed to him he should there have ended his life, for he saw no way but death. the rock was so high from the bottom as heaven is from the earth. there sate he, seeing nor hearing any man, and looked ever upon the rock. at length he saw a little hole out of which issued fire. thought he, "how shall i now do? i must either fall to the bottom or burn in the fire, or sit in despair." with that, in his madness he gave a skip into the fire-hole, saying, "hold, you infernal hags! take here this sacrifice as my last end, that which i have justly deserved." upon this he was entered, and finding himself as yet unburned or touched of that fire, he was the better appayed. but there was so great a noise that he never heard the like before; it passed all the thunder that ever he had heard. and coming down farther to the bottom of the rock, he saw a fire, wherein were many worthy and noble personages, as emperors, kings, dukes, and lords, and many thousand more tormented souls, at the edge of which fire ran a most pleasant, clear, and cold water to behold; into the which many tormented souls sprang out of the fire to cool themselves, but being so freezing cold, they were constrained to return again into the fire, and thus wearied themselves and spent their endless torments out of one labyrinth into another, one while in heat, another while in cold. but faustus, standing here all this while gazing on them that were thus tormented, he saw one leaping out of the fire, shrieking horribly, whom he thought to have known, wherefore he would fain have spoken unto him, but remembering he was forbidden, he refrained speaking. then this devil that brought him in, came to him again in likeness of a bear, with the chair on his back, and bid him sit up, for it was time to depart. so faustus got up, and the devil carried him out into the air, where he had so sweet music that he fell asleep by the way. his boy christopher, being all this while at home, and missing his master so long, thought his master would have tarried and dwelt with the devil for ever; but whilst the boy was in these cogitations, his master came home; for the devil brought him home fast asleep as he sate in his chair, and threw him on his bed, where (being thus left of the devil) he lay until day. when he awaked, he was amazed, like a man who had been in a dark dungeon; musing with himself, if it were true or false that he had seen hell, or whether he was blinded or not; but he rather persuaded himself he had been there than otherwise, because he had seen such wonderful things; wherefore he most carefully took pen and ink, and wrote those things in order as he had seen; which writing was afterwards found by his boy in his study, which afterwards was published to the whole city of wittenburg in print, for example to all christians. chapter xxi. _how dr. faustus was carried through the air, up to the heavens to see the whole world, and how the sky and planets ruled; after the which he wrote a letter to his friend of the same to liptzig, and how he went about the world in eight days._ this letter was found by a freeman and citizen of wittenburg, written with his own hand, and sent to his friend at liptzig, a physician, named love victori, the contents of which were as followeth: "amongst other things, my beloved friend and brother, i remember yet the former friendship we had together when we were schoolfellows and students in the university at wittenburg; whereas you first studied physic, astronomy, astrology, geometry, and cosmography, i, to the contrary, you know, studied divinity, notwithstanding now in any of your own studies i am sure i have proceeded farther than yourself; for since i began i have never erred, for, might i speak it without affecting mine own praise, my calendars and other practices have not only the commendations of the common sort, but also the chiefest lords and nobles of this our dutch nation, because (which is chiefly to be noted) i write and presage of matters to come, which all accord and fall out so right, as if they had already been before. and for thee, my beloved victori, you write to know my voyage which i made unto the heavens, the which (as you certify me) you have had some suspicion of, although you partly persuade yourself that it is a thing impossible; no matter for that, it is as it is, and let it be as it will, once it is done in such a manner as now according, unto your request, i will give you here to understand. i being once laid in my bed, and i could not sleep for thinking on my calendar and practice, i marvelled with myself how it were possible that the firmament should be known, and so largely written of by men, or whether they write true or false, by their own opinions and suppositions, or by due observation and true course of the heavens; behold, i thought my house would have been blown down, so that all my doors and chests flew open, whereat i was not a little astonished, for withal i heard a groaning voice, which said, 'get up; the desire of thy heart, mind, and thought thou shalt see.' at the which i answered, 'what my heart desireth that would i fain see; and to make proof if i shall see, i will away with thee.' 'why, then,' quoth he, 'look out the window, there cometh a messenger for thee.' that did i; and behold, there stood a waggon with two dragons before it to draw the same, and all the waggon was of a light burning fire, and for that the moon shone i was the willinger at that time to depart. but the voice spoke again: 'sit up, and let us away.' 'i will,' said i, 'go with thee, but upon condition that i may ask after all things that i see, hear, or think on.' the voice answered: 'i am content for this time.' hereupon i got me into the waggon, so that the dragons carried me up right into the air. "the waggon had four wheels, the which rattled so, and made such a noise, as if it had been all this while running on the stones, and round about us flew flames of fire; and the higher that i came, the more the earth seemed to be darkened, so that methought i came out of a dungeon; and looking down from heaven, behold mephistophiles my spirit and servant was behind me; and when he perceived that i saw him, he came and sate by me; to whom i said, 'i pray thee, mephistophiles, whither shall i go now?' 'let not that trouble thy mind,' said he; and yet they carried us higher up. and now i will tell thee, good friend and schoolfellow, what things i have seen and proved; for on the tuesday i went out, and on tuesday seven nights following i came home again, that's eight days, in which time i slept not, no not one wink came within my eyes; and we went invisible of any man; and as the day began to appear, after the first night's journey, i said to my spirit mephistophiles, 'i pray thee how far have we now ridden? i am sure thou knowest, for methinks we have ridden exceeding far, the world seemeth so little.' mephistophiles answered me, 'my faustus, believe me, that from the place from whence thou camest unto this place where we now are is already forty-seven leagues right in height.' and as the day increased, i looked down into the world. asia, europe, and africa, i had a sight of; and being so high, quoth i to my spirit, 'tell me how these kingdoms lie, and what they are called?' the which he denied not, saying, 'see this on our left hand is hungaria, this is also prussia on our left hand, and poland, muscovia, tartary, silesia, bohemia, saxony; and here on our right hand, spain, portugal, france, england, and scotland; then right on before us lie the kingdoms of persia, india, arabia, the king of althar, and the great cham. now we are come to wittenburg, and are right over the town of weim, in austria, and ere long we will be at constantinople, tripoli, and jerusalem, and after will we pierce the frozen zone, and shortly touch the horizon and the zenith of wittenburg.' there looked i on the ocean sea, and beheld a great many ships and galleys ready to battle one against another; and thus i spent my journey, and i cast my eyes here, now there, towards south, north, east, and west. i have been in one place where it rained and hailed, and in another where the sun shone excellent fair; and so i think that i saw most things in and about the world, with great admiration; that in one place it rained, and in another hail and snow; on this side the sun shone bright, some hills covered with snow never consuming, others were so hot that grass and trees were burned and consumed therewith. then looked i up to the heavens, and behold they went so swift, that i thought they would have sprung into thousands; likewise it was so clear and so hot, that i could not gaze upon it, it so dimmed my sight; and had not my spirit mephistophiles covered me, as it were with a shadowing cloud, i had been burnt with the extreme heat thereof; for the sky which we behold here, when we look up from the earth, is so fast and thick as a wall, clear and shining bright as crystal, in which is placed the sun, which casteth forth his rays and beams over the whole world, to the uttermost confines of the earth. but we think that the sun is very little; no, it is altogether as big as the world; indeed the body substantial is but little in compass, but the rays or streams that it casteth forth by reason of the thing wherein it is placed, maketh him to extend and show himself all over the whole world; and we think that the sun runneth his course, and that the heavens stand still; no, it is the heavens that moves his course, and the sun abideth perpetually in his place, he is permanent and fixed in his place; and although we see him beginning to ascend in the orient or east, at the highest in the meridian or south, setting in occident or west, yet is he in the lowest in septentrio or north, and yet he moveth not, it is the axle of the heavens that moveth, the whole firmament being a chaos or confused thing, and for that proof i will show this example: like as thou seest a bubble made of water and soap blown out of a quill, it is in form of a confused mass or chaos, and being in this form is moved at pleasure of the wind, which runneth round about that chaos, and moveth him also round; even so the whole firmament or chaos, wherein are placed the sun and the rest of the planets, is turned and carried at the pleasure of the spirit of god, which is wind. yea, christian reader, to the glory of god, and to the profit of my soul, i will open unto thee a divine opinion touching the rule of this confounded chaos, far more than my rude german author, being possessed with the devil, was able to utter, and prove some of my sentences before to be true; look into genesis, into the works of god, at the creation of the world, there shalt thou find that the spirit of god moved upon the water, before heaven and earth were made. mark how he made it, and how by his word every element took his place; these were not his works, but his words, for all the words he used before, concluded afterwards in one work, which was in making man. mark, reader, with patience, for thy soul's health, see into all that was done by the word and work of god. light and darkness was, the firmament stood, and the great and little light in it; the moist waters were in one place, the earth was dry, and every element brought forth according to the word of god. now follow his works: he made man after his own image. how? out of the earth. the earth will shape no image without water; there was one of the elements; but all this while there was wind. all elements were at the word of god. man was made, and in a form by the work of god, yet moved not that work before god had breathed the spirit of life into his nostrils, and made him a living soul. here was the first wind and spirit of god, out of his own mouth; which we have likewise from the same seed which was only planted by god in adam; which wind, breath, or spirit, when he had received, he was living and moved on earth; for it was ordained of god for his habitation, but the heavens are the habitation of the lord. and like as i showed before of the bubble or confused chaos made of water and soap, through the wind and breath of man is turned round and carried with the wind, even so the firmaments wherein the sun and the rest of the planets are fixed, be moved, turned, and carried with the wind, breath, and spirit of god; for the heavens and firmaments are moveable as the chaos, but the sun is fixed in the firmament. and farther, my good schoolfellow, i was thus nigh the heavens, where methought every planet was but as half the earth, and under the firmament ruled the spirits in the air. as i came down, i looked upon the world and heavens, and methought that the earth was inclosed (in comparison) within the firmament as the yolk of an egg within the white; methought that the whole length of the earth was not a span long, and the water was as it had been twice as broad and as long as the earth. even thus, at eight days' end, i came home again, and fell asleep, and so i continued sleeping three days and three nights together, and the first hour i waked, fell fresh again to my calendars, and have made them in right ample manner as you know. and to satisfy your request for that you write unto me, i have (in consideration of our old friendship had at the university of wittenburg) declared unto you my heavenly voyage, wishing no worse unto you than unto myself, that is, that your mind were as mine in all respects. dixi, dr. faustus the astrologian." chapter xxii. _how dr. faustus made his journey through the principal and most famous lands in the world._ dr. faustus having overrun fifteen years of his appointed time, he took upon him a journey, with full intent to see the whole world, and calling his spirit mephistophiles unto him, he said, "thou knowest that thou art bound unto me upon conditions, to form and fulfil my desire in all things, wherefore my intent is to visit the whole face of the earth, visible and invisible, when it pleaseth me; therefore i command and enjoin thee to the same." whereupon mephistophiles answered, "i am ready, my lord, at thy command;" and forthwith the spirit changed himself into the likeness of a flying horse, saying, "faustus, sit up, i am ready." dr. faustus softly sate upon him, and forwards they went. faustus came through many a land and province, as pannonia, austria, germany, bohemia, silesia, saxony, messene, during, frankland, swaalband, byerland, sayrir, corinthia, poland, litaw, lesland, prussia, denmark, muscovia, tartaria, turkey, persia, cathai, alexandria, barbaria, ginny, porut, the straights maghellane, india, all about the frozen zone, and terra-incognita, nova hispaniola, the isles of tereza, madera, st. michaels, the canaries, and the trenorirolcio into spain, and mainland, portugal, italy, campania, the kingdom of naples, the isles of sicilia, malta, majorca, minorca, to the knights of the rhodes, candy or crete, cypress, corinth, switzerland, france, freezeland, westphalia, zealand, holland, brabant, and all the seventeen provinces in netherland, england, scotland, ireland, and america, and island, the gut-isles of scotland, the orcades, norway, the bishopric of bream; and so home again. all these kingdoms, and provinces, and countries he passed in twenty-five days, in which time he saw nothing that delighted his mind; wherefore he took little rest at home, and burning in desire to see more at large, and to behold the secrets of each kingdom, he set forward again on his journey on his swift horse mephistophiles, and came to trent, for that he chiefly desired to see this town, and the monuments thereof, but there he saw not any wonders, except two fair palaces that belonged unto the bishop, and also a mighty large castle that was built with brick, with three walls, and three great trenches, so strong that it was impossible for any prince's power to win it; then he saw a church wherein was buried simon and the bishop of popo. their tombs are of most sumptuous stone-marble, closed and joined together with great bars of iron. from thence he departed to paris, where he liked well the academy; and what place or kingdom soever fell in his mind, the same he visited. he came from paris to mentz, where the river of maine falls into the rhine, notwithstanding he tarried not long there, but went into campania, in the kingdom of neapoly, in which he saw an innumerable sort of cloisters, nunneries, and churches, and great houses of stone, the streets fair and large, and straight forth from one end of the town to the other all alike, and all the pavement of the city was of brick, and the more it rained in the town the fairer the streets were. there saw he the tomb of virgil, and the highway that he cut through the mighty hill of stone in one night, the whole length of an english mile, where he saw the number of galleys and argosies that lay there at the city head, the windmill that stood in the water, the castle in the water, and the houses above the water, where many galleys might ride most safely from rain or wind; then he saw the castle on the hill over the town, and many monuments therein, also the hill called vesuvius, whereon groweth all the greekish wine and most pleasant sweet olives. from thence he came to venice, whereat he wondered not a little to see a city so famously built standing in the sea, where through every street the water came in such largeness that great ships and barques might pass from one street to another, having yet a way on both sides the water whereon men and horses might pass. he marvelled also how it was possible so much victuals to be found in the town, and so good and cheap, considering that for a whole league nothing grew near the same. he wondered not a little at the fairness of st. mark's place, and the sumptuous church standing thereon, called st. mark; how all the pavement was set with coloured stones, and all the rood or loft of the church double gilded over. leaving this, he came to padua, beholding the manner of their academy, which is called the mother or nurse of christendom; there heard he the doctors, and saw most of the monuments of the town, entered his name in the university of the german nation, and wrote himself dr. faustus, the insatiable speculator. then saw he the worthiest monument in the world for a church, named st. anthony's cloister, which for the pinnacles thereof and the contrivement of the church, hath not the like in christendom. the town is fenced about with three mighty walls of stone and earth, betwixt the which runneth goodly ditches of water. betwixt every four-and-twenty hours passeth boats betwixt padua and venice with passengers, as they do here betwixt london and gravesend, and even so far they differ in distance. faustus beheld likewise the council-house and castle, with no small wonder. well, forward he went to rome, which lay, and doth yet lie, on the river tibris, the which divideth the city into two parts. over the river are four great stone bridges, and upon the one bridge, called ponte st. angelo, is the castle of st. angelo, wherein are so many great cast pieces as there are days in the year, and such pieces as will shoot seven bullets off with one fire. to this castle cometh a privy vault from the church and the palace of st. peter, through the which the pope (if any danger be) passeth from his palace to the castle for safeguard. the city hath eleven gates, and a hill called vaticinium, whereupon st. peter's church is built. in that church the holy fathers will hear no confessions without the penitent bring money in his hand. adjoining to the church is the campo santo, the which carolus magnus built, where every day thirteen pilgrims have their dinners served of the best; that is to say, christ and his twelve apostles. hard by this he visited the churchyard of st. peter, where he saw that pyramid that julius cæsar brought forth of africa; it stood in faustus's time leaning against the church-wall of st. peter's; but pope sixtus hath erected it in the middle of st. peter's churchyard. it is fourteen fathom long, and at the lower end five fathom four square, and so forth smaller upwards. on the top is a crucifix of beaten gold, the stone standing on four lions of brass. then he visited the seven churches of rome, that were st. peter, st. paul, st. sebastian, st. john lateran, st. laurence, st. mary magdalen, and st. mary majora. then went he without the town, where he saw the conduits of water that run level through hill and dale, bringing water into the town fifteen italian miles off. other mountains he saw, too many to recite. but amongst the rest he was desirous to see the pope's court, and his manner of service at his table, wherefore he and his spirit made themselves invisible, and came to the pope's court and privy-chamber, where he was; there saw he many servants attending on his holiness, with many a flattering sycophant carrying his meat; and there he marked the pope, and the manner of his service, which he seeing to be so unmeasurable and sumptuous: "fie," quoth faustus, "why had not the devil made a pope of me?" faustus saw there notwithstanding such as were like to himself, proud, stout, wilful gluttons, drunkards, whoremongers, breakers of wedlock, and followers of all manner of ungodly excess; wherefore he said to his spirit, "i thought that i had been alone a hog or pork of the devil's, but he must bear with me a little longer; for these hogs of rome are ready fatted, and fitted to make him roast meat; the devil might do well to spit them all, and have them to the fire, and let him summon the nuns to turn the spits; for as none must confess the nun but the friar, so none should turn the roasting friar but the nun." thus continued faustus three days in the pope's palace, and yet had no lust to his meat, but stood still in the pope's chamber, and saw everything whatsoever it was. on a time the pope would have a feast prepared for the cardinal of pavia, and for his first welcome the cardinal was bidden to dinner, and as he sate at meat the pope would ever be blessing and crossing over his mouth. faustus would suffer it no longer, but up with his fist and smote the pope on his face, and withal he laughed that the whole house might hear him, yet none of them saw him, or knew where he was. the pope persuaded his company that it was a damned soul, commanding mass presently to be said for his delivery out of purgatory, which was done; the pope sat still at meat, but when the latter mess came to the pope's board, dr. faustus laid hands thereon, saying, "this is mine," and so he took both dish and meat, and flew into the capitol or campadolia, calling his spirit unto him, and said, "come, let us be merry, for thou must fetch me some wine, and the cup that the pope drinks out of; and hereupon morte caval, we will make good cheer in spite of the pope and all his fat abbey lubbers." his spirit hearing this, departed towards the pope's chamber, where he found them yet sitting, quaking; wherefore he took from before the pope the fairest piece of plate, or drinking goblet, and a flagon of wine, and brought it to faustus. but when the pope and the rest of his crew perceived they were robbed, and knew not after what sort, they persuaded themselves that it was a damned soul that before had vexed the pope so, and that smote him on the face; wherefore he sent commandment through the whole city of rome, that they should say a mass in every church, and ring all the bells, for to lay the walking spirit, and to curse him with bell, book, and candle, that so invisibly had misused the pope's holiness, with the cardinal of pavia, and the rest of their company. but faustus notwithstanding made good cheer with that which he had beguiled the pope of, and in the midst of the order of st. bernard's, bare-footed friars, as they were going on procession through the market-place, called campo de fiore, he let fall his plate, dish, and cup, and withal for a farewell he made such a thunder-clap and storm of rain, as though heaven and earth would have met together, and left rome, and came to millain in italy, near the alps or borders of switzerland, where he praised much to his spirit the pleasures of the place, the city being founded in so brave a plain, by the which ran most pleasant rivers on every side of the same, having besides within the compass of a circuit of seven miles, seven small seas: he saw also therein many fair places, and goodly buildings, the duke's palace, and the mighty strong castle, which is in a manner half the bigness of the town. moreover, it liked him well to see the hospital of st. mary, with divers other things: he did there nothing worthy of memory, but he departed back again towards bologna, and from thence to florence, where he was well pleased to see the pleasant walk of merchants, the goodly vaults of the city, for that almost the whole city is vaulted, and the houses themselves are built outwardly in such sort, that the people go under them as under a vault: then he perused the sumptuous church in the duke's castle, called nostra dama, our lady's church, in which he saw many monuments, as a marble door most huge to look upon; the gates of the castle are bell-metal, wherein are graven the holy patriarchs, with christ and his twelve apostles, and divers other histories out of the old and new testament. then went he to siena, where he highly praised the church and hospital of sancta maria formosa, with the goodly buildings, and especially the fairness and greatness of the city, and beautiful women: then came he to lyons in france, where he marked the situation of the city, which lay between two hills, environed with two waters; one worthy monument pleased him well, that was the great church, with the image therein; he commended the city highly for the great resort that it had unto it of strangers. from thence he went to cullen, which lieth upon the river of rhine, wherein he saw one of the ancientest monuments in the world, the which was the tomb of the three kings that came by the angel of god, and their knowledge they had in the stars, to worship christ, which when faustus saw, he spake in this manner: "ah! alas, good men! how have you erred, and lost your way! you should have gone to palestina, and bethlehem in judea; how came you hither? or belike after your death you were thrown into mare mediterraneum, about tripolis in syria, and so you steered out of the straights of gibralterra, in the ocean seas, and so into the bay of portugal. and not finding any rest, you are driven along the coast of gallicia, biscay and france, and into the narrow seas: then from thence into mare germanicum, and taken up i think about the town of dort in holland: you were brought to cullen to be buried, or else (i think) you came most easily with a whirlwind over the alps, and being thrown into the river of rhine, it conveyed you to this place where you are kept a monument." then saw he the church of st. ursula, where remains a monument of the thousand virgins; it pleased him also to see the beauty of the women. not far from cullen lieth the town of ach, where he saw the gorgeous temple that the emperor carolus quartus built of marble-stone for a remembrance of him, to the end that all his successors should there be crowned. from cullen and ach he went to geneva, a city in savoy, lying near switzerland; it is a town of great traffic, the lord thereof is a bishop, whose wine-cellar faustus and his spirit visited for the love of his good wine. from thence he went to strasburg, where he beheld the fairest temple that ever he had seen in his life before, for on every side thereof he might see through, even from the covering of the minster to the top of the pinnacle, and it is named one of the wonders of the world; wherefore, he demanded why it is called strasburg? his spirit answered, "because it hath so many highways common to it on every side, for stros in dutch is a highway, and hereof came the name: yea," said mephistophiles, "the church that thou so wonderest at, hath more revenues belonging to it than the twelve dukes of silesia are worth, for there pertain unto this church fifty-five towns, and four hundred and sixty-three villages, besides many houses in the town." from thence went faustus to basil, in switzerland, where the river of rhine runneth through the town, parting the same as the river of thames doth london: in the town of basil he saw many rich monuments, the town walled with brick round about, without it goeth a great trench: no church pleased him but the jesuits' church, which was sumptuously builded, and set full of alabaster pillars, where the spirit told faustus that before the city was founded, there used a basiliscus, a kind of serpent: this serpent killed as many men, women and children as he took a sight of, but there was a knight that made himself a cover of crystal, to come over his head and down to the ground, and being first covered with a black cloth, over that he put the crystal, and so boldly went to see the basiliscus, and finding the place where she haunted, he expected her coming even before the mouth of the cave, where standing a while, the basiliscus came forth, where when she saw her own venomous shadow in the crystal, she split in a thousand pieces, wherefore the knight was richly rewarded of the emperor, after the which the knight founded this town upon the place where he had slain the serpent, and gave it the name basil, in remembrance of his deed. from basil, faustus went to costnitz in sweitz, at the head of the rhine, where is a most sumptuous bridge that goeth over the rhine, even from the gates of the town to the other side of the stream; at the head of the river of rhine, is a small sea, called of the switzers the black sea, twenty thousand paces long, and fifty hundred paces broad. the town costnitz took the name of this; the emperor gave it a clown for expounding of his riddle: wherefore the clown named the town costnitz, that is in english, "cost me nothing." from costnitz he came to ulm, where he saw the sumptuous town house built by two-and-fifty of the ancient senators of the city; it took the name ulm, because the whole land thereabouts is full of elms: but faustus minding to depart from thence, his spirit said unto him, "faustus, think of the town as you will; it hath three dukedoms belonging to it, the which they have bought with ready money." from ulm he came unto watzberg, the chiefest town in frankland, wherein the bishop altogether keepeth his court, through the which town passeth the river mayne, that runs into the rhine; thereabouts groweth strong and pleasant wine, the which faustus well proved: the castle standeth on a hill on the north side of the town, at the foot thereof runneth the river. this town is full of beggarly friars, nuns, priests, and jesuits; for there are five sorts of begging friars, besides three cloisters of nuns; at the foot of the castle stands a church, in the which there is an altar, where are engraven all the four elements, and all the orders and degrees in heaven, that any man of understanding whosoever, that hath a light thereof, may say that it is the artificialist thing that ever he beheld. from thence he went to norenberg, whither as he went by the way his spirit informed him that the town was named of claudius tiberius, the son of nero the tyrant. in the town are two famous cathedral churches, one called st. sabelt, the other st. laurence; in which church stands all the relics of carolus magnus, that is to say, his cloak, his hose, his doublet, his sword and crown, the sceptre and apple. it hath a very glorious gilded conduit in the market-place of st. laurence; in which conduit is the spear that thrust our saviour into the side, and a piece of the holy cross; the wall is called the fair wall of norenberg, and five hundred and twenty-eight streets, a hundred and sixty wells, four great and two small clocks, six great gates, two small doors, eight stone bridges, twelve small hills, ten fair market-places, thirteen common hot-houses, ten churches; within the town are twenty wheels of water-mills, it hath a hundred and thirty-eight tall ships, two mighty town walls of hewed stone and earth, with very deep trenches: the walls have a hundred and eighty towers about them, and four fair platforms, ten apothecaries, ten doctors of the common law, fourteen doctors of physic. from norenberg he went to auspurg, where at the break of the day he demanded of his spirit whereupon the town took his name. "this town," quoth he, "hath had many names; when it was first built, it was called vindelica; secondly, it was called zizaria, the iron-bridge; lastly, by the emperor octavus augustus, it was called augusta, and by the corruption of language, the germans had named it auspurg." now, for because that faustus had been there before, he departed (without seeing their monuments) to ravensberg, where his spirit certified him that the city had seven names: the first diperia, the second quadratis, the third heaspolis, the fourth reginipolis, the fifth imbripolis, the sixth ratisbona, the last is ravensberg. the situation of this city pleased faustus well, also the strong and sumptuous building; by the walls thereof runneth the river danubius, in dutch called danow, into which not far from the compass of the city falleth near hand threescore other small rivers and fresh waters. faustus also liked the sumptuous stone bridge over the same water, with the church standing thereon, the which was founded anno , the name whereof is called st. remedian; in the town faustus went into the cellar of an inn-holder, and let out all the beer and wine that was in the cellar. after which feat, he returned into mentz in bavaria, a right princely town: the town appeared as if it were new, with great streets therein, both of breadth and length from mentz to salisburg, where the bishop is always resident: here saw he all the commodities that were possible to be seen, for at the hill he saw the form of a bell made in crystal, a huge thing to look upon, that every year groweth bigger and bigger, by reason of the freezing cold. from thence he went to vienna in austria; the town is of great antiquity, that it is not possible to find the like. "in this town," said the spirit, "is more wine than water, for all under the town are wells, which are filled every year with wine, and all the water that they have runneth by this town; this is the river danubius." from thence he went into prage, the chief city of bohemia; this is divided into three parts, that is old prage, little prage, and new prage. little prage is the place where the emperor's court is placed; upon an exceeding high mountain there is a castle, where are two fair churches; in the one he found a monument which might well have been a mirror for himself, and that was the sepulchre of a notable conjurer, which by his magic had so enchanted his sepulchre that whosoever set foot thereon, should be sure never to die in their beds. from this castle he came and went down over the bridge; this bridge has twenty-four arches, and in the middle of the bridge stands a very fair monument, being a cross builded of stone, and most artificially carved. from thence he went into the old prage, the which is separated from the new prage, with an exceeding deep ditch, and round about enclosed with a wall of brick; unto this is adjoining the jews' town, wherein are thirteen thousand men, women, and children, all jews; there he viewed the college and the gardens, where all manner of savage beasts are kept; and from thence he fetched a compass round about the three towns, whereat he wondered greatly to see so mighty a city stand all within the walls. from prage he flew into the air, and bethought himself what he might do, or which way to take; so looked round about, and behold he espied a passing fair city, which lay not far from prage, about some four-and-twenty miles, and that was bressaw in silesia, in which when he was entered, it seemed to him that he had been in paradise, so neat and clean were the streets, and so sumptuous were their buildings. in the city he saw not many wonders, except the brazen virgin that standeth on a bridge over the water, and under which standeth a mill like a paper-mill, which virgin is made to do execution upon those disobedient town-born children that be so wild that their parents cannot bridle them; which, when any such are found with some heinous offence, turning to the shame of their parents and kindred, they are brought to kiss the virgin, which openeth her arms. the person then to be executed kisseth her, then doth she close her arms together with such violence, that she crusheth out the breath of the party, breaketh his bulk, and so he dieth; but being dead she openeth her arms again, and letteth the party fall into the mill, where he is stamped into small morsels, which the water carrieth away, so that no part is found again. from bressaw he went toward cracovia, in the kingdom of polionia, where he beheld the academy, the which pleased him wonderful well. in the city the king most commonly holdeth his court at a castle, in which castle are many famous monuments; there is a most sumptuous church in the same, in which standeth a silver altar gilded and set with rich stones, and over it is a covenance full of all manner of silver ornaments belonging to mass. in the church hangeth the jaw-bones of a huge dragon, that kept the rock before the castle was edified thereon: it is full of all manner of munition, and hath always victuals for three years to serve three thousand men; through the town runneth a river, called the vessnal or wessel, where over is a fair wooden bridge; this water divideth the town and gasmere; in this gasmere dwell the jews, being a small walled town by themselves, to the number of twenty-five thousand men, women and children; within one mile of the town there is a salt mine, where they found stones of pure salt, one thousand pound, two thousand pound, or more in weight, and that in great quantity: this salt is as black as the newcastle coal when it comes out of the mines, but being beaten to powder, it is as white as snow. the like they have four miles from thence at a town called buckma. from thence faustus went to sandentz, the captain thereof was called don spicket jordan. in this town are many monuments, as the tomb and sepulchre of christ, in as ample a manner as that is at jerusalem, at the proper costs of a gentleman that went thrice a year to jerusalem from that place and returned again. not far from that town is a new town wherein is a nunnery of the order of st. dioclesian, into which order may none come except they be gentlewomen, and well formed, and fair to look upon, which pleased faustus well; but having a will to travel further, and to see more wonders, mounting up towards the east, over many lands and provinces, as in hungaria, transilvania, shede, ingatz, sardinia, and so into constantinople, where the turkish emperor kept his court. this city was surnamed by constantine, the founder thereof, being builded of very fair stone. in the same the great turk hath three fair palaces: the walls are strong, the pinnacles are very huge, and the streets very large. but this liked not faustus that one man should have as many wives as he would. the sea runneth hard by the city; the wall hath eleven gates. faustus abode there a certain time to see the manner of the turkish emperor's service at his table, where he saw his royal service to be such that he thought if all the christian princes should banquet together, and every one adorn the feast to the utmost, that they were not able to compare with the turk and his table, and the rest of his country service. wherefore it so affrighted faustus that he vowed to be revenged on him, for his pomp, he thought, was more fit for himself; wherefore as the turk sate at meat faustus showed them a little apish play, for round about the privy-chamber he sent forth flashing flames of fire, insomuch that the whole company forsook their meat and fled, except only the great turk himself; him faustus charmed in such sort that he could neither rise nor fall, neither could any man pull him up. with this was the hall so light as if the sun had shined in the house. then came faustus in form of a pope to the great turk, saying, "all hail, emperor, now art thou honoured, that i so worthily appear unto thee as thy mahomet was wont to do." hereupon he vanished, and forthwith it thundered that the whole palace shook. the turk greatly marvelled what this should be that so vexed him, and was persuaded by the chiefest counsellors that it was mahomet, his prophet, which had so appeared unto them; whereupon the turk commanded them to fall down on their knees and to give him thanks for doing them so great honour as to show himself unto them. but the next day faustus went into the castle where he kept his wives and concubines, in which castle might no man, upon the pain of death, come, except those that were appointed by the great turk to do him service, and they were all eunuchs, which when faustus perceived, he said to his spirit mephistophiles, "how likest thou this sport? are not these fair ladies greatly to be pitied that thus consume their youth at the pleasure of one only man?" "why," quoth the spirit, "mayst not thou instead of the emperor embrace these fair ladies? do what thy heart desireth herein, and i will aid thee, and what thou wishest thou shalt have it performed." wherefore faustus (being before this counsel apt enough to put such matters in practice) caused a great fog to be round about the castle, both within and without, and he himself appeared amongst the ladies in all points as they used to paint mahomet; at which sight the ladies fell on their knees and worshipped him. then faustus took the fairest by the hand, and when he had delighted himself sufficiently with her, he put her away, and made his spirit bring him another; and so he passed away six days, all which time the fog was so thick and so stinking that they within the house thought that they had been in hell for the time, and they without wondered thereat, in such sort that they went to their prayers, calling on their god mahomet, and worshipping of the image; where the sixth day faustus exalted himself into the air like a pope, in the sight of the great turk and all his people, and he had no sooner departed the castle but the fog vanished away. whence presently the turk went to his wives and concubines, demanding of them if they knew the cause why the castle was beset with a mist so long. they said it was the god mahomet himself that had caused it, and how he was in the castle personally six days. the turk, hearing this, fell down upon his knees and gave mahomet thanks, desiring him to forgive him for being offended with his visiting his castle and wives these six days. from thence faustus went to alker, the which before times was called chairam, or memphis. in this city the egyptian soldan holdeth his court; from thence the river nilus hath his head and spring. it is the greatest fresh water river that is in the whole world, and always when the sun is in cancer it overfloweth the whole land of egypt. then he returned again towards the north-east, and to the town of osen and sebasa in hungaria. this osen is the closest city in hungaria, and standing in a fertile soil, wherein groweth most excellent wine; and not far from the tower there is a well called zipzan, the water whereof changeth iron into copper. there are mines of gold and silver and all manner of metal. we germans call this town osen, but in the hungarian speech it is start. in the town standeth a very fair castle, and very well fortified. from thence he went to austria, and so through silesia into saxony, unto the towns of magdeburg, and lipzig, and lubeck. magdeburg is a bishopric. in this city is one of the pitchers wherein christ changed the water into wine in cana in galilee. at lipzig nothing pleased faustus so well as the great vessel in the castle made of wood, the which is bound about with twenty-four iron hoops, and every hoop weighed two hundred pound weight. you must go upon a ladder thirty steps high before you can look into it. he saw also the new churchyard where it was walled, and standeth upon a fair plain. the yard is two hundred paces long, and round about the side of the wall are good places, separated one from each other to see sepulchres in, which in the middle of the yard standeth very sumptuous; therein standeth a pulpit of white work and gold. from thence he went to lubeck and jamberg, where he made no abode, but away again to erford in duriten, where he visited the frescold; and from erford he went home to wittenburg, when he had seen and visited many a strange place, being from home one year and a half, in which time he wrought more wonders than are here declared. chapter xxiii. _how dr. faustus had sight of paradise._ after this dr. faustus set forth again to visit the countries of spain, portugal, france, england, scotland, denmark, sweden, poland, muscovy, india, cataia, africa, persia, and lastly, into barbaria, amongst the black moors; and in all his wandering he was desirous to visit the ancient monuments and mighty hills, amongst the rest, beholding the high hill called theno reise, was desirous to rest upon it. from thence he went into the isle of britain, wherein he was greatly delighted to see the fair water and warm baths, the divers sorts of metal, with many precious stones and divers other commodities, the which faustus brought thence with him. he was also at the orcades behind scotland, where he saw the tree that bringeth forth fruit, that when it is ripe, openeth and falleth in the water, wherein engendereth a certain kind of fowl and birds. these islands are in number twenty-three, but ten of them are not habitable, the other thirteen were inhabited. from thence he went to the hill caucasus, which is the highest in all that tropic: it lieth near the borders of scythia. hereon faustus stood and beheld many lands and kingdoms. faustus, being on such a high hill, thought to look over all the world, and beyond, for he went to paradise, but he durst not commune with his spirit thereof; and being on the hill caucasus, he saw the whole land of india and scythia, and as he looked towards the east, he saw a mighty clear streak of fire coming from heaven upon earth, even as if it had been one of the beams of the sun. he saw in the water four mighty waters springing, one had his course towards india, the second towards egypt, the third and fourth towards armenia. when he saw these he would needs know of his spirit what waters they were, and from whence they came? his spirit gave him gently an answer, saying, "it is paradise that lieth so far in the east, the garden that god himself hath planted with all manner of pleasure; and the fiery streams which thou seest is the wall or fence of the garden; but the clear light which thou seest afar of, that is the angel that hath the custody thereof with a fiery sword; and although thou thinkest thyself to be hard by, thou are yet further thither from hence than thou hast ever been. the water that thou seest divided in four parts, is the water that issueth out of the well in the middle of paradise. the first is called ganges or pison, the second gihon, the third tygris, and the fourth euphrates; also thou seest that he standeth under libra and aries, right towards the zenith; and upon this fiery wall standeth the angel michael with his flaming sword, to keep the tree of life, which he hath in charge. but," the spirit said to faustus, "neither thou, nor i, nor any after us, yea, all men whatsoever, are denied to visit, or come any nearer than we be." chapter xxiv. _of a certain comet that appeared in germany, and how dr. faustus was desired by certain friends of his to know the meaning thereof._ in germany, over the town of st. elzeben, was seen a mighty great comet, whereat the people wondered, but dr. faustus being there, was asked of certain of his friends his judgment or opinion in the matter; whereupon he answered: "it falleth out often by the course and change of the sun and moon, that the sun is under the earth, and the moon above; but when the moon draweth near the change, then is the sun so strong that it taketh away the light of the moon in such sort as she is red as blood; and, on the contrary side, after they have been together, she soon taketh her light from him, and so increasing in light to the full, she will be as red as the sun was before, and change herself into divers and sundry colours, of which springeth the prodigal monster, or, as you call it, a comet, which is a figure or token appointed of god as a forewarning of his displeasure: as at one time he sendeth hunger, plague, sword, or such like, being all tokens of his judgments, which comet cometh through the conjunction of the sun and moon, and begetteth a monster, whose father is the sun, and whose mother is the moon: moon and sun." chapter xxv. _another question put forth to dr. faustus concerning the stars._ there was a learned man of the town of halberstat, named n. w., who invited dr. faustus to his table, but falling into communication before supper was ready, they looked out of the window, and seeing many stars in the firmament, this man being a doctor of physic, and a good astrologian, said: "dr. faustus, i have invited you as my guest, hoping you will take in good part with me, and withal, i request you to impart some of your experience in the stars and planets;" and seeing a star fall, he said: "i pray you, faustus, what is the condition, quality, or greatness of the stars in the firmament?" faustus answered him: "my friend and brother, you see that the stars that fall from heaven, when they come to the earth, they be very small to our thinking as candles, but being fixed in the firmament, they are many as great as a city, some as great as a province or dukedom, others as great as the whole earth, other some far greater than the earth twelve times, and from the height of the heavens there is scarce any earth to be seen--yea, the planets in the heavens are some so great as this land, some so great as the whole empire of rome, some as turkey, yea, some as great as the whole world." chapter xxvi. _how faustus was asked a question concerning the spirits that vexed men._ "that is most true," said he to faustus, "concerning the stars and planets; but, i pray you, in what kind or manner do the spirits use to vex men so little by day and so greatly by night?" dr. faustus answered: "because the spirits are of god forbidden the light; their dwelling is in darkness, and the clearer the sun shineth, the farther the spirits have their abiding from it, but in the night when it is dark, they have their familiarity and abiding near unto us men. for although in the night we see not the sun, yet the brightness thereof so lighted the first moving of the firmament, as it doth here on earth in the day, by which reason we are able to see the stars and planets in the night, even so the rays of the sun piercing upwards into the firmament, the spirits abandon the place, and so come near us on earth, the darkness filling our heads with heavy dreams and fond fancies, with shrieking and crying in many deformed shapes: and sometimes when men go forth without light, there falleth to them a fear, that their hairs standeth up on end, so many start in their sleep, thinking there is a spirit by them, groping or feeling for him, going round about the house in their sleep, and many such like fancies, and all this is, because in the night the spirits are more familiarly by us than we are desirous of their company, and so they carry us, blinding us, and plaguing us more than we are able to perceive." chapter xxvii. _how dr. faustus was asked a question concerning the stars that fell from heaven._ dr. faustus being demanded the cause why the stars fall from heaven, he answered: "that it is but our opinion; for if one star fall, it is the great judgment of god upon us, as a forewarning of some great thing to come: for when we think that a star falleth, it is but as a spark that issueth from a candle or flame of fire; for if it were a substantial thing, we should not so soon lose the sight of them as we do. but likewise if so be that we see as it were a stream of fire fall from the firmament, as it oft happeneth, yet are they not stars, but as it were a flame of fire vanishing, but the stars are substantial; therefore are they firm and not falling; if there fall any, it is a sign of some great matter to come, as a scourge to a people or country; and then such stars falling, and the gates of heaven are opened, and the clouds send forth floods and other plagues, to the damage of the whole land and people." chapter xxviii. _how faustus was asked a question concerning thunder._ in the month of august there was over wittenburg a mighty great lightning and thunder; and as dr. faustus was jesting merrily in the market-place with certain of his friends and companions, being physicians, they desired him to tell them the cause of that weather. faustus answered: "it hath been commonly seen heretofore that, before a thunder-clap, fell a shower of rain or a gale of wind; for commonly after a wind falleth rain, and after rain a thunder-clap, such thickness come to pass when the four winds meet together in the heavens, the airy clouds are by force beaten against the fixed crystal firmament, but when the airy clouds meet with the firmament, they are congealed, and so strike, and rush against the firmament, as great pieces of ice when they meet on the water; then each other sounded in our ears, and that we call thunder, which indeed was none other than you have heard." the third and last of dr. faustus his merry conceits, showing after what sort he practised necromancy in the courts of great princes: and, lastly, of his fearful and pitiful end. chapter xxix. _how the emperor carolus quintus requested of faustus to see some of his cunning, whereunto he agreed._ the emperor charles the fifth of that name, was personally, with the rest of the nobles and gentlemen, at the town of intzbrack, where he kept his court, unto the which also dr. faustus resorted, and being there well known of divers nobles and gentlemen, he was invited in the court to meat, even in the presence of the emperor, whom when the emperor saw, he looked earnestly upon him, thinking by his looks he was some wonderful fellow; wherefore he asked one of his nobles whom he should be? he answered, that he was called dr. faustus. whereupon the emperor held his peace until he had taken his repast; after which he called unto him faustus into his privy-chamber; where being come, he said unto him: "faustus, i have heard much of thee, that thou art excellent in the black art, and none like thee in my empire; for men say that thou hast a familiar spirit with thee, and that thou canst do what thou list. it is, therefore," said the emperor, "my request of thee that thou let me see proof of thy experience, and i vow unto thee, by the honour of my imperial crown, none evil shall happen unto thee for so doing." hereupon dr. faustus answered his majesty, that upon those conditions he was ready in anything that he could to do his highness's command in what service he could appoint him. "well, hear then what i say," quoth the emperor. "being once solitary in my house, i called to mind my elders and ancestors, how it was possible for them to attain to so great a degree and authority, yea, so high, that we, the successors of that line, are not able to come near. as for example, the great and mighty monarch of the world, alexander magnus, was such a pattern and spectacle to all his successors, as the chronicles make mention of, having so great riches, conquering and subduing so many kingdoms, the which i and those that follow me (i fear) shall never be able to attain unto; wherefore, faustus, my hearty desire is that thou wouldst vouchsafe to let me see that alexander and his paramour, the which was praised to be so fair; and i pray thee show me them in such sort that i may see their personages, shapes, gesture and apparel, as they used in their lifetime, and that here before my face, to that end that i may say, i have my long desire fulfilled, and to praise thee to be a famous man in thy art and experience." dr. faustus answered: "my most excellent lord, i am ready to accomplish your request in all things, so far forth as i and my spirit are able to perform; yet your majesty shall know that their dead bodies are not able substantially to be brought before you; but such spirits as have seen alexander and his paramour alive shall appear unto you in manner and form as they both lived in their most flourishing time, and herewith i hope to please your imperial majesty." then faustus went a little aside and spoke to his spirit, but he returned again presently, saying, "now, if it please your majesty, you shall see them, yet upon this condition, that you demand no question of them, nor speak unto them;" which the emperor agreed unto. whereupon dr. faustus opened the privy-chamber door, where presently entered the great and mighty emperor, alexander magnus, in all things to look upon as if he had been alive; in proportion, a strong set thick man, of a middle stature, black hair, and that both thick and curled, head and beard, red cheeks, and a broad face, with eyes like a basilisk; he had a complete harness furnished and engraven, exceeding rich to look upon; and so passing towards the emperor carolus he made a low and reverend courtesy; whereat the emperor carolus would have stood up to receive and greet him with the like reverence. faustus took hold on him, and would not permit him to do it. shortly after alexander made humble reverence, and went out again, and coming to the door, his paramour met him. she coming in, made the emperor likewise reverence. she was clothed in blue velvet, wrought and embroidered with pearls and gold; she was also excellent fair, like blood and milk mixed, tall and slender, with a face as round as an apple, and thus passed they certain times up and down the house, which the emperor marking, said to himself, "now i have seen two persons which my heart hath long wished to behold; and sure it cannot otherwise be," said he to himself, "but that the spirits have changed themselves into these forms, and have but deceived me," calling to mind the woman that raised the prophet samuel. and for that the emperor should be more satisfied in the matter, he said, "i have often heard that behind in her neck she had a great wart or wen;" wherefore he took faustus by the hand without any words, and went to see if it were able to be seen on her or not; but she perceiving that he came to her, bowed down her neck, where he saw a great wart, and hereupon she vanished, leaving the emperor and the rest well contented. chapter xxx. _how dr. faustus, in the sight of the emperor, conjured a pair of hart's horns upon a knight's head, that slept out at a casement._ when dr. faustus had accomplished the emperor's desire in all things as he was requested, he went forth into the gallery, and leaning over a rail to look into the privy garden, he saw many of the emperor's courtiers walking and talking together, and casting his eyes now this way, now that way, he espied a knight leaning out of the window of the great hall, who was fast asleep (for in those days it was hot); but the person shall be nameless that slept, for that he was a knight, though it was all done to no little disgrace of the gentleman. it pleased dr. faustus, through the help of his spirit mephistophiles, to fix on his head as he slept a huge pair of hart's horns; and as the knight awaked, thinking to pull in his head, he hit his horns against the glass, that the panes thereof flew about his ears. think here how this good gentleman was vexed, for he could neither get backward nor forward; which, when the emperor heard, all the courtiers laughed, and came for to see what had happened. the emperor also, when he beheld the knight with so fair a head, laughed heartily thereat, and was therewith well pleased. at last faustus made him quit of his horns again, but the knight perceived not how they came. chapter xxxi. _how the above-mentioned knight went about to be revenged of dr. faustus._ dr. faustus took his leave of the emperor and the rest of the courtiers, at whose departure they were sorry, giving him many rewards and gifts; but being a league and a half out of the city, he came into a wood, where he beheld the knight that he had jested with at the court with others in harness, mounted upon fair palfreys, and running with full charge towards faustus; but he seeing their intent ran towards the bushes, and before he came among the bushes he returned again, running as it were to meet them that chased him: whereupon suddenly all the bushes were turned into horsemen, which also ran to encounter with the knight and his company, and coming to them, they enclosed the knight and the rest, and told them they must pay their ransom before they departed; whereupon the knight seeing himself in such distress, besought faustus to be good to them, which he denied not but let them loose; yet he so charmed them, that every one, knight and other, for the space of a whole month did wear a pair of goat's horns on their brows, and every palfrey a pair of ox's horns on his head; and this was their penance appointed by faustus. chapter xxxii. _how three young dukes being together at wittenburg, to behold the university, requested faustus to help them at a wish to the town of muncheon, in bavaria, there to see the duke of bavaria's son's wedding._ three worthy young dukes, the which are not here to be named, but being students all together, at the university of wittenburg, met on a time all together, where they fell in reasoning concerning the pomp and bravery that should be in the city of muncheon in bavaria, at the wedding of the duke's son, wishing themselves there but one half hour to see the manner of their jollity; to whom one replied, saying to the two other gentlemen, "if it please you to give me the hearing, i will give you good counsel, that you may see the wedding, and be here again to-night, and this is my meaning: let us send to dr. faustus, make him a present of some rare thing, and open our minds unto him, desiring him to assist us in our enterprise, and assure ye he will not deny to fulfil our request." hereupon they all concluded: sent for faustus, told him their minds, and gave him a gift, and invited him to a sumptuous banquet, wherewith faustus was well contented, and promised to further their journey to the uttermost: and when the time was come that the three young gentlemen came into his house, commanding them that they would put on their best apparel, and adorn themselves as rich as they could. he took off his great large cloak, went into the garden that was adjoining unto his house, and set the three young dukes upon his cloak, and he himself in the midst: but he gave them in charge, that in anywise they should not at once open their mouths to speak, or make answer to any man so soon as they went out, not so much as if the duke of bavaria or his son should speak to them, or offer them courtesy, they should give no word or answer again; to which they all agreed. these conditions being made, dr. faustus began to conjure, and on a sudden arose a mighty wind, heaving up the cloak, and so carried them away in the air, and in due time they came unto muncheon to the duke's court; where being entered into the utmost court, the marshal had espied them, who presently went to the duke, showing his grace that all the lords and gentlemen were ready set at the table, notwithstanding there were newly come three goodly gentlemen with one servant, the which stood without in the court, wherefore the good old duke came out unto them, welcoming them, requiring what they were, and whence? but they made no answer at all; whereat the duke wondered, thinking they had been all dumb: notwithstanding for his honour's sake he took them into the court, and feasted them. faustus notwithstanding spake to them, "if anything happen otherwise than well, when i say, sit up, then fall you all on the cloak, and good enough." well, the water being brought, and that they must wash, one of the three had some manners as to desire his friend to wash first, which when faustus heard, he said, "sit up;" and all at once they got on the cloak, but he that spoke fell off again, the other two with dr. faustus were again presently at wittenburg: but he that remained was taken and laid in prison: wherefore the other two gentlemen were very sorrowful for their friend, but faustus comforted them, promising that on the morrow he should also be at wittenburg. now all this while was the duke taken in great fear, and strucken into an exceeding dumps, wondering with himself that his hap was so hard to be left behind, and not the rest: and now being locked and watched with so many keepers: there was also certain of the guests that fell to reasoning with him to know what he was, and also what the other were that were vanished away? but the poor prisoner thought with himself, "if i open what they are, then it will be evil also with me." wherefore all this while he gave no man any answer, so that he was there a whole day and gave no man a word: wherefore the old duke gave charge that the next morning they should rack him until he had confessed; which when the young duke heard, he began to sorrow, and to say with himself, "it may be, that to-morrow (if dr. faustus come not to aid me) i shall be racked and grievously tormented, insomuch that i shall be constrained by force to say more than willingly i would do." but he comforted himself with hope that his friends would entreat dr. faustus about his deliverance, as also it came to pass: for that before it was day, dr. faustus was by him, and he conjured them that watched him into such a heavy sleep, that he with his charms made open all the locks in the prison, and therewithal brought the young duke again in safety to the rest of his fellows and friends, where they presented faustus with a sumptuous gift, and so departed one from another. chapter xxxiii. _how dr. faustus borrowed money of a jew, and laid his own leg in pawn for it._ it is a common proverb in germany that, although a conjurer have all things at command, the day will come that he shall not be worth a penny: so it is like to fall out with dr. faustus in promising the devil so largely; but as the devil is the author of all lies, even so he led faustus his mind in practising things to deceive the people, and blinding them, wherein he took his whole delight, thereby to bring himself to riches. notwithstanding, in the end he was never the richer; and although during twenty-four years of his time that the devil set him he wanted nothing, yet was he best pleased when he might deceive anybody; for out of the mightiest potentates' courts in all these countries he would send his spirit to fetch away their best cheer. and on a time, being in his merriment, where he was banqueting with other students in an inn, thereunto resorted many jews; which when dr. faustus perceived, he was minded to play a merry jest to deceive a jew, desiring one of them to lend him some money for a time. the jew was content, and lent faustus threescore dollars for a month, which time being expired, the jew came for his money and interest; but dr. faustus was never minded to pay the jew again. at length the jew coming home to his house, and calling importunately for his money, dr. faustus made him this answer: "jew, i have no money, nor know i how to pay thee; but notwithstanding to the end thou mayst be contented, i will cut off a limb of my body, be it arm or leg, and the same thou shalt have in pawn for thy money; yet with this condition, that when i shall pay thee thy money again, then thou shalt give me my limb." the jew, that was never a friend to a christian, thought with himself, 'this fellow is right for my purpose, that will lay his limbs in pawn for money,' and was therewith very well content. wherefore dr. faustus took a saw and therewith seemed to cut off his leg, being notwithstanding nothing so. well, he gave it to the jew, yet upon this condition, when he got money to pay the jew should deliver him his leg, to the end he might set it on again. the jew was with this matter very well pleased, took his leg and departed; and having to go far home he was somewhat weary, and by the way he thus bethought him: "what helpeth me a knave's leg? if i should carry it home it would stink and infect my house; besides, it is too hard a piece of work to set it on again: wherefore, what an ass was faustus to lay so great a pawn for so small a sum of money! and for my part," quoth the jew to himself, "this will never profit me anything;" and with these words he cast the leg away from him into a ditch. all this dr. faustus knew right well, therefore within three days after sent for the jew to make him payment of his sixty dollars. the jew came, and dr. faustus demanded his pawn--there was his money ready for him. the jew answered, "the pawn was not profitable nor necessary for anything, so i cast it away." but faustus, threatening, replied, "i will have my leg again, or else one of thine for it." the jew fell to intreat, promising him to give him what money he would ask if he would not deal strictly with him. wherefore the jew was constrained to give him sixty dollars more to be rid of him; and yet faustus had his leg on, for he had but blinded the jew. chapter xxxiv. _how dr. faustus deceived the horse-courser._ after this manner he deceived a horse-courser at a fair, called pheifering: for faustus, through his conjuring, had gotten an excellent fair horse, whereupon he rid to the fair, where he had many chapmen that offered him money; lastly, he sold him for forty dollars, and willing him that bought him, that in anywise he should not ride him over the water. but the horse-courser marvelled with himself that faustus bade him ride over no water. "but," quoth he, "i will prove;" and forthwith he rid him into the river. presently the horse vanished from under him, and he was left on a bottle of straw, insomuch that the man was almost drowned. the horse-courser knew well where he lay that had sold him his horse; whereupon he went angerly to his inn, where he found dr. faustus fast asleep and snorting on a bed. but the horse-courser could no longer forbear him, but took him by the leg and began to pull him off the bed; but he pulled him so that he pulled his leg from his body, insomuch that the horse-courser fell backwards in the place. then began dr. faustus to cry with open throat, "he hath murdered me." hereat the horse-courser was afraid, and gave the flight, thinking no other with himself but that he had pulled his leg from his body. by this means dr. faustus kept his money. chapter xxxv. _how dr. faustus ate a load of hay._ dr. faustus being at a town in germany called zwickow, where he was accompanied with many doctors and masters, and going forth to walk after supper, they met with a clown that drew a load of hay. "good even, good fellow," said faustus to the clown, "what shall i give thee to let me eat my bellyful of hay?" the clown thought with himself, "what a madman is this to eat hay." thought he with himself, "thou wilt not eat much." they agreed for three farthings he should eat as much as he could. wherefore dr. faustus began to eat, and so ravenously, that all the rest of the company fell a-laughing; blinding so the poor clown that he was sorry at his heart, for he seemed to have eaten more than half of the hay; wherefore the clown began to speak him fair, for fear he should have eaten the other half also. faustus made as though he had pity on the clown, and went away. when the clown came in the place where he would be, he had his hay again as he had before, a full load. chapter xxxvi. _how dr. faustus served the twelve students._ at wittenburg, before faustus's house, there was a quarrel between seven students, and five that came to part the rest, one part stronger than the other. wherefore dr. faustus, seeing them to be over-matched, conjured them all blind, insomuch that the one could not see the other, and he dealt so with them, that they fought and smote at one another still; whereat all the beholders fell a-laughing; and thus they continued blind, beating one another until the people parted them and led each one to his own house, where being entered into their houses, they received their sight presently again. chapter xxxvii. _how dr. faustus served the drunken clowns._ dr. faustus went into an inn wherein were many tables full of clowns, the which were tippling can after can of excellent wine; and to be short, they were all drunken; and as they sate, they so sang and holloaed, that one could not hear a man speak for them. this angered dr. faustus; wherefore he said to them that called him in, "mark, my masters, i will show a merry jest." the clowns continued still holloaing and singing; he conjured them that their mouths stood as wide open as it was possible for them to hold them, and never a one of them was able to close his mouth again; by-and-by the noise was gone; the clowns notwithstanding looked earnest one upon another, and knew not what was happened. one by one they went out, and so soon as they came without, they were all as well as ever they were, but none of them desired to go in any more. chapter xxxviii. _how dr. faustus sold five swine for six dollars apiece._ dr. faustus began another jest. he made ready five fat swine the which he sold to one for six dollars apiece, upon this condition, that the swine-driver should not drive them into the water. dr. faustus went home again, and as the swine had fouled themselves in the mud, the swine-driver drove them into the water, where presently they were changed into so many bundles of straw, swimming upright in the water. the buyer looked wistfully upon them, and was sorry in his heart; but he knew not where to find faustus; so he was content to let all go, and lose both money and hogs. chapter xxxix. _how dr. faustus played a merry jest with the duke of anhalt in his court._ dr. faustus on a time went to the duke of anhalt, who welcomed him very courteously. this was in the month of january; where sitting at table, he perceived the duchess to be with child; and forbearing himself until the meat was taken from the table, and that they brought in the banqueting dishes, dr. faustus said to the duchess, "gracious lady, i have always heard that women with child do always long for some dainties; i beseech therefore your grace, hide not your mind from me, but tell me what you desire to eat." she answered him: "dr. faustus, now truly i will not hide from you what my heart doth much desire; namely, that if it were now harvest, i would eat my fill of grapes and other dainty fruit." dr. faustus answered hereupon: "gracious lady, this is a small thing for me to do, for i can do more than this." wherefore he took a plate and set it upon one of the casements of the window, holding it forth, where incontinent he had his dish full of all manner of fruit, as red and white grapes, pears, and apples, the which came from out of strange countries. all these he presented to the duchess, saying: "madam, i pray you vouchsafe to taste of this dainty fruit, the which came from a far country, for there the summer is not yet ended." the duchess thanked faustus highly, and she fell to her fruit with full appetite. the duke of anhalt notwithstanding could not withhold to ask faustus with what reason there were such young fruits to be had at that time of the year? dr. faustus told him: "may it please your grace to understand, that the year is divided into two circles of the whole world, that when with us it is winter, in the contrary circle it is notwithstanding summer; for in india and saba there falleth or setteth a sun, so that it is so warm, that they have twice a year fruit; and, gracious lord, i have a swift spirit, the which can in a twinkling of an eye fulfil my desire in anything; wherefore i sent him into those countries, who hath brought this fruit as you see;" whereat the duke greatly admired. chapter xl. _how dr. faustus, through his charms, made a great castle in the presence of the duke of anhalt._ dr. faustus desired the duke of anhalt to walk a little forth of the court with him; wherefore they went together in the field, where dr. faustus (through his skill) had placed a mighty castle, which when the duke saw he wondered thereat, so did the duchess and all the beholders, that on that hill which is called rohumbuel, should on the sudden be so fair a castle. at length dr. faustus desired the duke and duchess to walk with him into the castle, which they denied not. this castle was so wonderful strong, having about it a great deep trench of water, the which was full of fish, and all manner of water-fowl, as swans, ducks, geese, bitterns, and such like; about the wall was five stone doors, and two other doors also; within was a great open court, wherein was enchanted all manner of wild beasts, especially such as was not to be found in germany, as apes, bears, buffes, antelopes, and many more strange beasts; also there were harts, hinds, roebucks, and does, and wild swine; all manner of land-fowl that any man could think on, which flew from one tree to another. after all this he set his guests to the table, being the duke and duchess, with all their train, for he had provided them a most sumptuous feast both of meat, and also of drink; for he set nine messes of meat upon the board at once. and all this must his wagner do, to place all things on the board, the which was brought unto him by the spirit invisibly, of all things their hearts could desire, as wild-fowl, venison, and all manner of dainty fish that could be thought on. of wine also great plenty, and of divers sorts, french wine, cullen wine, crabashir wine, renish wine, spanish wine, hungarian wine, waszburg wine, malmsey, and sack; in the whole there was one hundred cans standing round about the house. this sumptuous banquet the duke took thankfully, and afterwards he departed homeward; but to their thinking they had neither eat nor drank, so were they blinded while they were in the castle. but as they were in their palace, they looked towards the castle, and beheld it all on a flame of fire, and all those that saw it wondered to hear so strange a noise, as if a great ordnance had been shot off. and thus the castle burned and consumed clean away; which done, dr. faustus returned to the duke, who gave him great thanks for showing of him so great a courtesy, and gave him a hundred dollars, and liberty to depart or stay there at his own discretion. chapter xli. _how dr. faustus, with his company, visited the bishop of salisburg's wine-cellar._ dr. faustus having taken leave of the duke, he went to wittenburg, near about shrovetide, and being in company with certain students, dr. faustus was himself the god of bacchus, who having well feasted the students before with dainty fare, after the manner of germany, where it is counted no feast unless all the bidden guests be drunk, which dr. faustus intending, said, "gentlemen, and my guests, will it please you to take a cup of wine with me in a place or cellar whereunto i will bring you?" they all said willingly, "we will;" which, when dr. faustus heard, he took them forth, set each of them upon a holly-wand, and so was conjured into the bishop of salisburg's cellar, for thereabouts grew excellent pleasant wine. there fell faustus and his company a-drinking and swilling, not of the worst, but of the best. and as they were merry in the cellar, came to draw drink the bishop's butler; which when he perceived so many persons there, he cried with a loud voice, "thieves, thieves!" this spited dr. faustus wonderfully, wherefore he made every one of his company to sit on their holly-wand, and so vanished away. and in parting, dr. faustus took the butler by the hair of the head, and carried him away with them, until they came to a mighty high-lopped tree; and on the top of that huge tree he set the butler, where he remained in a most fearful perplexity. dr. faustus departed to his house, where they took their valete one after another, drinking the wine that they had stolen in their bottles out of the bishop's cellar. the butler, that had held himself by the hands upon the lopped tree all the night, was almost frozen with the cold, espying the day, and seeing the tree of huge great highness, thought with himself, "it is impossible to come off this tree without peril of death." at length, espying certain clowns passing by, he cried, "for the love of god help me down!" the clowns, seeing him so high, wondered what madman would climb up so huge a tree; wherefore, as a thing most miraculous, they carried tidings to the bishop of salisburg. then was there great running on every side to see him on the tree, and many devices they practised to get him down with ropes, and being demanded of the bishop how he came there, he said that he was brought thither, by the hair of the head, by certain thieves that were robbing of the wine-cellar, but what they were he knew not; "for," said he, "they had faces like men, but they wrought like devils." chapter xlii. _how dr. faustus kept his shrovetide._ there were seven students and masters that studied divinity, jurisprudentiæ, and medicinæ. all these having consented, were agreed to visit dr. faustus, and to celebrate shrovetide with him; who being come to his house, he gave them their welcome, for they were his dear friends, desiring them to sit down, where he served them with a very good supper of hens, fish, and other roast, yet were they but slightly cheered; wherefore dr. faustus comforted his guests, excusing himself that they had stolen upon him so suddenly, that he had not leisure to provide for them so well as they were worthy. "but, my good friends," quoth he, "according to the use of our country, we must drink all this night; and so a draught of the best wine bedwards is commendable. for you know that in great potentates' courts they use at this night great feasting, the like will i do for you; for i have three great flagons of wine: the first is full of hungarian wine, containing eight gallons; the second of italian wine, containing seven gallons; the third containing six gallons of spanish wine; all the which we will tipple up before it be day. besides, we have fifteen dishes of meat, the which my spirit mephistophiles hath fetched so far, that it was cold before he brought it, and they are all full of the daintiest things that one's heart can devise. but," saith faustus, "i must make them hot again; and you may believe me, gentlemen, that this is no blinding of you; whereas you think that this is no natural food, verily it is as good and as pleasant as ever you eat." and having ended his tale, he commanded his boy to lay his cloth, which done, he served them with fifteen messes of meat, having three dishes in a mess; in the which were all manner of venison, and dainty wild-fowl; and for wine there was no lack, as italian wine, hungarian wine, and spanish wine; and when they were all made drunk, and that they had eaten their good cheer, they began to sing and dance until it was day. and so they departed every one to his own habitation; at whose departing, dr. faustus desired them to be his guests again the next day following. chapter xliii. _how dr. faustus feasted his guests on ash wednesday._ upon ash wednesday came unto dr. faustus his bidden guests, the students, whom he feasted very royally, insomuch that they were all full and lusty, dancing and singing as the night before; and when the high glasses and goblets were caroused one to another, dr. faustus began to play them some pretty feats, insomuch that round about the hall was heard most pleasant music, and that in sundry places: in this corner a lute, in another a cornet, in another a cittern, clarigols, harp, hornpipe, in fine, all manner of music was heard there in that instant; whereat all the glasses and goblets, cups, and pots, dishes, and all that stood upon the board began to dance. then dr. faustus took ten stone pots and set them down on the floor, where presently they began to dance, and to smite one against another, that the shivers flew round about the whole house, whereat the whole company fell a-laughing. then began he another jest: he set an instrument upon the table, and caused a mighty great ape to come among them, which ape began to dance and skip, showing them merry conceits. in this and such pastime they passed away the whole day. when night being come dr. faustus bid them all to supper, which they lightly agreed unto, for students in these cases are easily intreated; wherefore he promised to feast them with a banquet of fowl, and afterwards they would go all about with a mask. then dr. faustus put forth a long pole out of the window, whereupon presently there came innumerable numbers of birds and wild-fowl, and so many as came had not the power to fly away again; but he took them and flung them to the students, who lightly pulled off the necks of them, and being roasted, they made their supper, which being ended, they made themselves ready for the mask. dr. faustus commanded every one to put on a clean shirt over the other clothes, which being done, they looked one upon another. it seemed to each one of them that they had no heads; and so they went forth unto certain of their neighbours, at which sight the people were most wonderfully afraid; and as the use of germany is, that wheresoever a mask entereth the good man of the house must feast him, so as these maskers were set to their banquet, they seemed again in their former shape with heads, insomuch that they were all known whom they were; and having sat and well eat and drank, dr. faustus made that every one had an ass's head on, with great long ears, so they fell to dancing and to drive away the time until it was midnight, and then every one departed home; and as soon as they were out of the house, each one was in his natural shape, and so they ended and went to sleep. chapter xliv. _how dr. faustus the day following was feasted by the students, and of his merry jests with them while he was in their company._ the last bacchanalia was held on thursday, where ensued a great snow, and dr. faustus was invited unto the students that were with him the day before, where they prepared an excellent banquet for him, which banquet being ended, dr. faustus began to play his old projects. and forthwith was in the place thirteen apes, that took hands and danced round in a ring together; then they fell to tumbling and vaulting one after another, that it was most pleasant to behold; then they leaped out of the window and vanished away. then they set before dr. faustus a roasted calf's head, which one of the students cut a piece off, and laid it on dr. faustus his trencher, which piece was no sooner laid down but the calf's head began to cry mainly out like a man, "murder, murder! out, alas! what dost thou to me?" whereat they were all amazed, but after a while, considering of faustus's jesting tricks, they began to laugh, and they pulled asunder the calf's head and eat it up. whereupon dr. faustus asked leave to depart, but they would in nowise agree to let him go, except that he would promise to come again presently. then faustus, through his cunning, made a sledge, the which was drawn about the house with four fiery dragons. this was fearful for the students to behold, for they saw faustus ride up and down, as though he would have fired and slain all them that were in the house. this sport continued until midnight, with such a noise that they could not hear one another; the heads of the students were so light that they thought themselves to be in the air all that time. chapter xlv. _how dr. faustus showed the fair helena unto the students upon the sunday following._ the sunday following came the students home to dr. faustus his own house, and brought their meat and drink with them. those men were right welcome guests unto faustus, wherefore they all fell to drinking of wine smoothly; and being merry, they began some of them to talk of beauty of women, and every one gave forth his verdict what he had seen, and what he had heard. so one amongst the rest said, "i was never so desirous of anything in this world as to have a sight (if it were possible) of fair helena of greece, for whom the worthy town of troy was destroyed and razed down to the ground; therefore," saith he, "that in all men's judgments she was more than commonly fair, because that when she was stolen away from her husband there was for her recovery so great bloodshed." dr. faustus answered: "for that you are all my friends, and are so desirous to see that stately pearl of greece, fair helena, the wife to king menelaus, and daughter of tyndarus and leda, sister to castor and pollux, who was the fairest lady of all greece, i will therefore bring her into your presence personally, and in the same form and attire as she used to go when she was in her chiefest flower and choicest prime of youth. the like have i done for the emperor carolus magnus; at his desire i showed him alexander the great, and his paramour. but," said dr. faustus, "i charge you all that upon your perils you speak not a word, nor rise up from the table so long as she is in your presence." and so he went out of the hall, returning presently again, after whom immediately followed the fair and beautiful helena, whose beauty was such that the students were all amazed to see her, esteeming her rather to be an heavenly than an earthly creature. this lady appeared before them in a most rich gown of purple velvet, costly embroidered; her hair hanging down loose, as fair as the beaten gold, and of such length that it reached down to her hams; having most amorous coal-black eyes; a sweet and pleasant round face, with lips as red as any cherry; her cheeks of a rose colour, her mouth small; her neck white like a swan, tall and slender of personage; in sum, there was no imperfect place in her. she looked round about her with a rolling hawk's eye, a smiling and wanton countenance, which near hand inflamed the hearts of all the students, but that they persuaded themselves she was a spirit, which made them lightly pass away such fancies; and thus fair helena and faustus went out again one with another. but the students, at faustus entering in the hall again, requested him to let them see her again the next day, for that they will bring with them a painter to take a counterfeit, which he denied, affirming that he could not always raise up his spirit, but only at certain times. "yet," said he, "i will give unto you her counterfeit, which shall be as good to you as if yourself should see the drawing thereof;" which they received according to his promise, but soon after lost it again. the students departed from faustus to their several lodgings, but none of them could sleep that night for thinking of the beauty of fair helena; therefore a man may see how the devil blindeth and inflameth the heart oftentimes, that men fall in love with harlots, from which their minds can afterwards be hardly removed. chapter xlvi. _how dr. faustus conjured the four wheels from the clown's waggon._ dr. faustus was sent for to come to the marshal of brunswick, who was marvellously troubled with the falling sickness. now faustus had this quality, he seldom rid, but commonly walked afoot to ease himself when he list; and as he came near unto the town of brunswick there overtook him a clown with four horses and an empty waggon, to whom dr. faustus (jestingly, to try him) said: "i pray thee, good fellow, let me ride a little to ease my weary legs;" which the buzzardly ass denied, saying that his horse was weary; and he would not let him get up. dr. faustus did this but to prove this clown if there were any courtesy to be found in him if need were; but such churlishness is usually found among clowns. but he was well requited by faustus, even with the like payment: for he said to him, "thou dotish clown, void of all humanity, seeing thou art of so churlish a disposition, i will pay thee as thou hast deserved, for the four wheels of thy waggon thou shalt have taken from thee; let me see then how thou canst shift." whereupon his wheels were gone, his horses fell also down to the ground as though they had been dead; whereat the clown was sore affrighted, measuring it as a just scourge of god for his sins and churlishness. wherefore with a trembling and wailing he humbly besought dr. faustus to be good unto him, confessing he was worthy of it; notwithstanding if it pleased him to forgive him he would hereafter do better. which submission made faustus his heart to relent, answering him on this manner: "well, do so no more; but when a poor man desireth thee, see that thou let him ride. but yet thou shalt not go altogether clear, for although thou have again thy four wheels, yet thou shalt fetch them at the four gates of the city." so he threw dust on the horses and revived them again. and the clown for his churlishness was fain to fetch his wheels, spending his time with weariness; whereas if before he had showed a little kindness he might quietly have gone about his business. chapter xlvii. _how four jugglers cut one another's heads off, and set them on again, and faustus deceived them._ dr. faustus came in lent unto frankland fair, where his spirit mephistophiles gave him to understand that in an inn were four jugglers that cut one another's heads off: and after their cutting off sent them to the barber to be trimmed, which many people saw. this angered faustus, for he meant to have himself the only cook in the devil's banquet, and went to the place where they were, to beguile them, and as the jugglers were together, ready one to cut off another's head, there stood also the barber ready to trim them, and by them upon the table stood likewise a glass full of stilled waters, and he that was the chiefest among them stood by it. thus they began; they smote off the head of the first, and presently there was a lily in the glass of distilled water, where faustus perceived this lily as it was springing, and the chief juggler named it the tree of life. thus dealt he with the first, making the barber wash and comb his head, and then he set it on again. presently the lily vanished away out of the water; hereat the man had his head whole and sound again. the like did he with the other two; and as the turn and lot came to the chief juggler, that he also should be beheaded, and that this lily was most pleasant, fair, and flourishing green, they smote his head off, and when it came to be barbed, it troubled faustus his conscience, insomuch that he could not abide to see another do anything, for he thought himself to be the principal conjurer in the world; wherefore dr. faustus went to the table whereat the other jugglers kept that lily, and so he took a small knife and cut off the stalk of the lily, saying to himself, "none of them shall blind faustus." yet no man saw faustus to cut the lily; but when the rest of the jugglers thought to have set on their master's head, they could not; wherefore they looked on the lily, and found it bleeding. by this means the juggler was beguiled, and so died in his wickedness; yet no one thought that dr. faustus had done it. chapter xlviii. _how an old man, the neighbour of faustus, sought to persuade him to mend his life, and to fall unto repentance._ a good christian, an honest and virtuous old man, a lover of the holy scriptures, who was neighbour to dr. faustus, when he perceived that many students had their recourse in and out unto dr. faustus, he suspected his evil life, wherefore like a friend he invited dr. faustus to supper unto his house, to which he agreed, and having entered their banquet, the old man began with these words: "my loving friend and neighbour, dr. faustus, i am to desire of you a friendly and christian request, beseeching you would vouchsafe not to be angry with me, but friendly resolve me in my doubt, and take my poor inviting in good part." to whom dr. faustus answered, "my good neighbour, i pray you say your mind." then began the old patron to say, "my good neighbour, you know in the beginning how that you have defied god and all the host of heaven, and given your soul to the devil, wherewith you have incurred god's high displeasure, and are become from a christian far worse than a heathen person. oh! consider what you have done, it is not only the pleasure of the body, but the safety of the soul that you must have respect unto; of which, if you be careless, then are you cast away, and shall remain in the anger of the almighty god. but yet it is time enough, o faustus! if you repent, and call upon the lord for mercy, as we have example in the acts of the apostles, the eighth chapter, of simon in samaria, who was led out of the way, affirming that he was simon homo sanctus. this man notwithstanding in the end, was converted, after he had heard the sermon of philip, for he was baptized and saw his sin and repented. likewise i beseech you, good brother, dr. faustus, let my rude sermon be unto you a conversion, and forget thy filthy life that thou hast led, repent, ask mercy, and live: for christ saith, 'come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and i will refresh you.' and in ezekiel, 'i desire not the death of a sinner, but rather that he will convert and live.' let my words, good brother faustus, pierce into your adamant heart, and desire god for his son christ his sake to forgive you. wherefore have you lived so long in your devilish practices, knowing that in the old and new testament you are forbidden, and men should not suffer any such to live, neither have any conversation with them, for it is an abomination unto the lord, and that such persons have no part in the kingdom of god." all this while dr. faustus heard him very attentively, and replied: "father, your persuasions like me wondrous well, and i thank you with all my heart for your good will and counsel, promising you, as far as i may, to allow your discipline." whereupon he took his leave, and being come home, he laid him very pensive on his bed, bethinking himself of the words of this old man, and in a manner began to repent that he had given his soul to the devil, intending to deny all that he had promised to lucifer. continuing in these cogitations, suddenly his spirit appeared unto him, clapping him upon the head, and wrung it as though he would have pulled his head from his shoulders, saying unto him, "thou knowest, faustus, that thou hast given thyself, body and soul, to my lord lucifer, and thou hast vowed thyself an enemy to god and to all men; and now thou beginnest to hearken to an old doting fool, which persuadeth thee as it were to good, when indeed it is too late, for thou art the devil's, and he hath great power presently to fetch thee. wherefore he hath sent me unto thee to tell thee, that seeing thou hast sorrowed for that which thou hast done, begin again, and write another writing with thine own blood; if not, then will i tear thee in pieces." hereat dr. faustus was sore afraid, and said, "my mephistophiles, i will write again what thou wilt." then presently he sat him down, and with his own blood wrote as followeth: which writing was afterwards sent to a dear friend of faustus, being his kinsman. chapter xlix. _how dr. faustus wrote the second time with his own blood, and gave it to the devil._ i, dr. john faustus, _do acknowledge by this my deed and handwriting, that since my first writing, which is seventeen years past, i have right willingly held, and have been an utter enemy to god and all men; the which i once again confirm, and give fully and wholly myself unto the devil, both body and soul, even unto great lucifer, and that at the end of seven years ensuing after the date hereof, he shall have to do with me according as it pleaseth him, either to lengthen or shorten my life as it pleaseth him; and hereupon i renounce all persuaders, that seek to withdraw me from my purpose by the word of god, either ghostly or bodily; and farther i will never give ear to any man, be he spiritual or temporal, that moveth any matter for the salvation of my soul. of all this writing, and that therein contained, be witness my blood, which with my own hands i have begun and ended. dated at wittenburg, the th of july._ and presently upon the making of this writing, he became so great an enemy to the poor old man, that he sought his life by all means possible; but this good old man was strong in the holy ghost, that he could not be vanquished by any means; for about two days after that he had exhorted faustus, as the poor old man lay in his bed, suddenly there was a mighty rumbling in the chamber, which he was never wont to hear, and he heard as it had been the groaning of a sow, which lasted long: whereupon the good old man began to jest and mock, and said, "oh! what barbarian cry is this? oh, fair bird! what foul music is this? a fair angel, that could not tarry two days in this place? beginnest thou now to turn into a poor man's house, where thou hast no power, and wert not able to keep thine own two days?" with these and such like words the spirit departed; and when he came home, faustus asked him how he had sped with the old man, to whom the spirit answered: "the old man was harnessed so, that he could not once lay hold upon him;" but he would not tell how the old man had mocked him, for the devils can never abide to hear of their fall. thus doth god defend the hearts of all honest christians that betake themselves to his tuition. chapter l. _how dr. faustus made a marriage between two lovers._ in the city of wittenburg was a student, a gallant gentleman, named n. n. this gentleman was far in love with a gentlewoman, fair and proper of personage: this gentlewoman had a knight that was a suitor unto her, and many other gentlemen, which desired her in marriage, but none could obtain her. so it was that in despair with himself, that he pined away to skin and bones. but when he opened the matter to dr. faustus, he asked counsel of his spirit mephistophiles, the which told him what to do. hereupon dr. faustus went home to the gentleman, who bade him be of good cheer, for he should have his desire, for he would help him to that he wished for, and that this gentlewoman should love none other but him only: wherefore dr. faustus so changed the mind of the damsel by the practice he wrought, that she could do no other thing but think on him whom before she had hated, neither cared she for any man but him alone. the device was thus: faustus commanded the gentleman that he should clothe himself in all the best apparel that he had, and that he should go unto the gentlewoman and show himself, giving him a ring, commanding him in anywise that he should dance with her before he departed; who following his counsel, went to her, and when they began to dance, they that were suitors began to take every one his lady by the hand; this gentleman took her who before had so disdained him, and in the dance he put the ring into her hand that faustus had given him, which she no sooner touched, but she fell presently in love with him, smiling at him in the dance, and many times winking at him, rolling her eyes, and in the end she asked him if he could love her, and make her his wife. he gladly answered that he was content; whereupon they concluded, and were married by the means and help of faustus, for which the gentleman well rewarded him. chapter li. _how dr. faustus led his friends into his garden at christmas, and showed them many strange sights, in the nineteenth year._ in december, about christmas, in the city of wittenburg, were many young gentlemen, which were come out of the country to be merry with their friends, amongst whom there were certain well acquainted with dr. faustus, who often invited them home unto his house. they being there on a certain time, after dinner he had them into his garden, where they beheld all manner of flowers and fresh herbs, and trees bearing fruit, and blossoms of all sorts; who wondered to see that his garden should so flourish at that time, as in the midst of the summer, when abroad in the streets and all the country lay full of snow and ice; wherefore this was noted of them as a thing miraculous, every one gathering and carrying away all such things as they best liked, and so departed, delighted with their sweet-smelling flowers. chapter lii. _how dr. faustus gathered together a great army of men in his extremity, against a knight that would have conjured him on his own journey._ dr. faustus travelled towards evzeleben, and when he was nigh half the way, he espied seven horsemen, and the chief of them he knew to be the knight with whom he had jested in the emperor's court, for he had left a great pair of hart's horns upon his head; and when the knight now saw that he had a fit opportunity to be revenged of faustus, he ran upon him, and those that were with him, to mischief himself, intending privily to slay him; which when faustus espied, he vanished away into a wood that was hard by them, but when the knight perceived that he was vanished away, he caused his men to stand still; but where they remained, they heard all manner of warlike instruments of music, as drums, flutes, trumpets, and such like, and a certain troop of horsemen running towards them; then they turned another way, and were also met on that side; then another way, and yet were freshly assaulted, so that which way soever they turned themselves, they were encountered, insomuch that when the knight perceived that he could escape no way, but that his enemies lay on him which way soever he offered to fly, he took good heart, and ran amongst the thickest, and thought with himself better to die than to live with so great infamy; therefore being at handy blows with them, he demanded the cause why they should so use them? but none of them would give him answer, until dr. faustus showed himself unto the knight; whereupon they enclosed him round, and dr. faustus said unto him, "sir, yield your weapon and yourself, otherwise it will go hard with you." the knight knew no other but that he was conjured with a host of men, whereas indeed they were none other but devils, yielded; then faustus took away his sword, his piece, and horse, with all the rest of his companions. and farther he said unto him: "sir, the chiefest general of our army hath commanded me to deal with you, according to the law of arms; you shall depart in peace, whither you please." and then he gave the knight a horse, after the manner, and set him thereon, so he rode, the rest went on foot, until they came to their inn where he being alighted, his page rode on his horse to the water, and presently the horse vanished away, the page being almost sunk and drowned, but he escaped; and coming home, the knight perceiving the page to be bemired, and on foot, asked where his horse was; who answered, that he was vanished away. which when the knight heard, he said, "of a truth this is faustus his doing, for he serveth me now, as he did before at the court, only to make me a scorn and laughing-stock." chapter liii. _how dr. faustus used mephistophiles, to bring him seven of the fairest women he could find in all the countries he had travelled the twenty years._ when dr. faustus called to mind that his time from day to day drew nigh, he began to live a swinish and epicurish life. wherefore he commanded his spirit mephistophiles to bring him seven of the fairest women that he had seen in all the times of his travel; which being brought, he liked them so well that he continued with them in all manner of love, and made them to travel with him all his journeys. these women were two netherland, one hungarian, one scottish, two walloon, one franklander. and with these sweet personages he continued long, yea, even to his last end. chapter liv. _how dr. faustus found a mass of money, when he had consumed twenty-two of his years._ to the end that the devil would make faustus his only heir, he showed unto him where he should go and find a mighty huge mass of money, and that he should find it in an old chapel that was fallen down, half a mile distance from wittenburg. there he bade him to dig, and he should find it, which he did; and having digged reasonable deep, he saw a mighty huge serpent, which lay on the treasure itself; the treasure itself lay like a huge light burning; but dr. faustus charmed the serpent, that he crept into a hole, and when he digged deeper to get up the treasure, he found nothing but coals of fire. there he also saw and heard many that were tormented; yet notwithstanding he brought away the coals, and when he was come home, it was turned into silver and gold; and after his death it was found by his servant, which was almost, by estimation, one thousand guilders. chapter lv. _how dr. faustus made the spirit of fair helena of greece his own paramour in his twenty-third year._ to the end that this miserable faustus might fill the lust of his flesh and live in all manner of voluptuous pleasure, it came in his mind, after he had slept his first sleep, and in the twenty-third year past of his time, that he had a great desire to lie with fair helena of greece, especially her whom he had seen and shown unto the students at wittenburg; wherefore he called his spirit mephistophiles, commanding him to bring to him the fair helena, which he also did. whereupon he fell in love with her, and made her his common companion, for she was so beautiful and delightful that he could not be an hour from her; if he should therefore have suffered death, she had stolen away his heart, and to his seeming in time she had child, whom faustus named justus faustus. the child told dr. faustus many things which were done in foreign countries, but in the end, when faustus lost his life, the mother and the child vanished away both together. chapter lvi. _how dr. faustus made his will, in which he named his servant wagner to be his heir._ dr. faustus was now in his twenty-fourth and last year, and he had a pretty stripling to his servant, which had studied also at the university of wittenburg. this youth was very well acquainted with his knaveries and sorceries, so that he was hated as well for his own knavery as also for his master's, for no man would give him entertainment into his service because of his unhappiness but faustus. this wagner was so well beloved of faustus that he used him as his son, for do what he would, his master was always therewith contented. and then when the time drew nigh that faustus should end, he called unto him a notary and certain masters, the which were his friends and often conversant with him, in whose presence he gave this wagner his house and garden. item, he gave him in ready money sixteen thousand guilders. item, one farm. item, a gold chain, much plate, and other household stuff, that gave he to his servant, and the rest of his time he meant to spend in inns and students' company, drinking and eating, with other jollity. and thus he finished his will at that time. chapter lvii. _how dr. faustus fell in talk with his servant, touching his testament, and the covenants thereof._ now when this will was made, dr. faustus called unto his servant, saying, "i have thought upon thee in my testament, for that thou hast been a trusty servant unto me, and faithful, and hast not opened my secrets. and yet farther," said he, "ask of me before i die what thou wilt, and i will give it unto thee." his servant rashly answered, "i pray you, let me have your cunning." to which dr. faustus answered, "i have given thee all my books, upon this condition, that thou wouldst not let them be common, but use them for thy own pleasure, and study carefully in them; and dost thou also desire my cunning? that thou mayst peradventure have, if thou love and peruse my books well." "farther," said dr. faustus, "seeing that thou desirest of me this request, i will resolve thee. my spirit mephistophiles his time is out with me, and i have nought to command him, as touching thee. yet i will help thee to another if thou like well thereof." and within three days after he called his servant unto him, saying, "art thou resolved? wouldst thou verily have a spirit? then tell me in what manner or form thou wouldst have him." to whom his servant answered that he would have him in the form of an ape. whereupon appeared presently a spirit unto him in manner and form of an ape, the which leaped about the house. then said faustus, "see, there thou hast thy request; but yet he will not obey thee until i be dead, for when my spirit mephistophiles shall fetch me away, then shall thy spirit be bound unto thee, if thou agree, and thy spirit shalt thou name aberecock, for so he is called. but all this upon a condition, that you publish my cunning and my merry conceits, with all that i have done (when i am dead) in an history, and if thou canst not remember all, the spirit aberecock will help thee; so shall the acts that i have done be made manifest unto the world." chapter lviii. _how dr. faustus having but one month of his appointed time to come, fell to mourning and sorrowing with himself for his devilish exercise._ time ran away with faustus, as the hour-glass; for he had but one month to come of his twenty-four years, at the end whereof he had given himself to the devil, body and soul, as is before specified. here was the first token, for he was like a taken murderer, or a thief, the which finding himself guilty in conscience before the judge has given sentence, fears every hour to die; for he was grieved, and in wailing spent the time, went talking to himself, wringing of his hands, sobbing and sighing. his flesh fell away, and he was very lean, and kept himself close; neither could he abide, see, or hear of his mephistophiles any more. chapter lix. _how dr. faustus complained that he should in his lusty time, and youthful years, die so miserably._ the sorrowful time drawing near, so troubled dr. faustus, that he began to write his mind, to the end he might peruse it often and not forget it, which was in manner as followeth:--"ah! faustus, thou sorrowful and woeful man, now must thou go to the damnable company in unquenchable fire, whereas thou mightest have had the joyful immortality of thy soul, the which now thou hast lost! ah! gross understanding and wilful will! what seizeth upon thy limbs, other than robbing of my life? bewail with me, my sound and healthful body, will, and soul; bewail with me, my senses, for you have had your part and pleasure as well as i. oh! envy and disdain! how have you crept both at once upon me, and now for your sakes i must suffer all these torments! ah! whither is pity and mercy fled? upon what occasion hath heaven repaid me with this reward, by sufferance, to suffer me to perish? wherefore was i created a man? the punishment i see prepared for me of myself, now must i suffer. ah! miserable wretch! there is nothing in this world to show me comfort! then woe is me! what helpeth my wailing?" chapter lx. _how dr. faustus bewailed to think on hell, and the miserable pains therein provided for him._ now thou faustus, damned wretch! how happy wert thou if, as an unreasonable beast, thou mightest die with a soul? so shouldest thou not feel any more doubts; but now the devil will take thee away, both body and soul, and set thee in an unspeakable place of darkness; for although other souls have rest and peace, yet i, poor damned wretch, must suffer all manner of filthy stench, pains, cold, hunger, thirst, heat, freezing, burning, hissing, gnashing, and all the wrath and curse of god; yea, all the creatures god hath created are enemies to me. and too late i remember that my spirit mephistophiles did once tell me there was great difference amongst the damned, for the greater the sin the greater the torment; as the twigs of a tree make greater flames than the trunk thereof, and yet the trunk continueth longer in burning, even so the more that a man is rooted in sin, the greater is his punishment. ah! thou perpetual damned wretch! how art thou thrown into the everlasting fiery lake that shall never be quenched! there must i dwell in all manner of wailing, sorrow, misery, pain, torment, grief, howling, sighing, sobbing, running at the eyes, stinking at the nose, gnashing of teeth, snare to the ears, horror to the conscience, and shaking both of hand and foot? ah! that i could carry the heavens upon my shoulders, so that there were time at last to quit me of this everlasting damnation. oh! what can deliver me out of the fearful tormenting flame, the which i see prepared for me? oh! there is no help, nor can any man deliver me; nor my wailing of sins can help me; neither is there rest for me to be found day or night! ah! woe is me! for there is no help for me, no shield, no defence, no comfort; where is my help? knowledge dare i not trust; and for a soul to godwards, that have i not, for i ashame to speak unto him; if i do, no answer shall be made me; but he will hide his face from me, to the end that i should not behold the joys of the chosen. what mean i then to complain, where no help is? no, i know no hope resteth in my groanings; i had desired it would be so, and god hath said, amen, to my misdoings; for now i must have shame to comfort me in my calamities. chapter lxi. _here followeth the miserable and lamentable end of doctor faustus, by which all christians may take an example and warning._ the full time of dr. faustus, his four-and-twenty years being come, his spirit appeared unto him, giving him his writing again, and commanding him to make preparation, for that the devil would fetch him against a certain time appointed. dr. faustus mourned and sighed wonderfully, and never went to bed, nor slept a wink for sorrow. wherefore his spirit appeared again, comforting him, and saying: "my faustus, be not thou so cowardly minded; for although thou lovest thy body, it is long unto the day of judgment, and thou must die at the last, although thou live many thousand years. the turks, the jews, and many an unchristian emperor are in the same condemnation; therefore, my faustus, be of good courage, and be not discomforted, for the devil hath promised that thou shalt not be in pains, as the rest of the damned are." this and such like comfort he gave him, for he told him false, and against the saying of the holy scriptures. yet dr. faustus, that had no other expectation but to pay his debt, with his own skin, went (on the same day that his spirit said the devil would fetch him) unto his trusty and dearly beloved brethren and companions, as masters and bachelors of art, and other students more, the which did often visit him at his house in merriment; these he intreated that they would walk into the village called rimlich, half a mile from wittenburg, and that they would there take with him for their repast a small banquet; the which they agreed unto; so they went together, and there held their dinner in a most sumptuous manner. dr. faustus with them, dissemblingly was merry, but not from the heart; wherefore he requested them that they would also take part of his rude supper, the which they agreed unto; "for," quoth he, "i must tell you what is the victualler's due;" and when they slept (for drink was in their heads) then dr. faustus paid the shot, and bound the students and masters to go with him into another room, for he had many wonderful matters to tell them; and when they were entered the room, as he requested, dr. faustus said unto them as followeth: chapter lxii. _an oration of dr. faustus to the students._ "my trusty and well-beloved friends, the cause why i have invited you in this place is this: forasmuch as you have known me these many years, what manner of life i have lived; practising all manner of conjurations and wicked exercises, the which i obtained through the help of the devil, into whose devilish fellowship they have brought me; the which use, the art, and practice, urged by the detestable provocation of my flesh and my stiff-necked and rebellious will, with my filthy infernal thoughts, the which were ever before me, pricking me forward so earnestly that i must perforce have the consent of the devil to aid me in my devices. and to the end i might the better bring my purpose to pass, to have the devil's aid and furtherance, which i never have wanted in my actions, i have promised unto him at the end, and accomplishment of twenty-four years, both body and soul, to do therewith at his pleasure. "this dismal day, these twenty-four years are fully expired; for night beginning, my hour-glass is at an end, the direful finishing whereof i carefully expect; for out of all doubt, this night he will fetch me to whom i have given myself in recompense of his service, body and soul, and twice confirmed writings with my proper blood. "now have i called you, my well-beloved lords, friends and brethren, before that fatal hour, to take my friendly farewell, to the end that my departure may not hereafter be hidden from you, beseeching you herewith (courteous loving lords and brethren) not to take in evil part anything done by me, but with friendly commendations to salute all my friends and companions wheresoever, desiring both you and them, if ever i have trespassed against your minds in anything, that you would heartily forgive me; and as for those lewd practices, the which these full twenty-four years i have followed, you shall hereafter find them in writing: and i beseech you let this my lamentable end, to the residue of your lives, be a sufficient warning, that you have god always before your eyes, praying unto him, that he will defend you from the temptation of the devil, and all his false deceits, not falling altogether from god, as i wretched and ungodly damned creature have done; having denied and defied baptism, the sacrament of christ's body, god himself, and heavenly powers, and earthly men: yea, i have denied such a god, that desireth not to have one lost. neither let the evil fellowship of wicked companions mislead you, as it hath done me: visit earnestly and often the church; war and strive continually against the devil, with a good and steadfast belief in god and jesus christ, and use your vocation and holiness. "lastly, to knit my troubled oration, this is my friendly request, that you would go to rest, and let nothing trouble you: also if you chance to hear any noise or rumbling about the house, be not therewith afraid, for there shall no evil happen unto you; also i pray you rise not out of your beds; but above all things, i intreat you, if hereafter you find my dead carcass, convey it unto the earth, for i die both a good and bad christian, though i know the devil will have my body, and that would i willingly give him, so that he would leave my soul to quiet; wherefore i pray you, that you would depart to bed, and so i wish you a quiet night, which unto me, notwithstanding, shall be horrible and fearful." this oration was made by dr. faustus, and that with a hearty and resolute mind, to the end he might not discomfort them; but the students wondered greatly thereat, that he was so blinded, for knavery, conjuration, and such foolish things, to give his body and soul unto the devil, for they loved him entirely, and never suspected any such thing, before he had opened his mind unto them. wherefore one of them said unto him, "ah! friend faustus, what have you done to conceal this matter so long from us? we would by the help of good divines, and the grace of god, have brought you out of this net, and have torn you out of the bondage and chains of satan, whereas we fear now it is too late, to the utter ruin both of body and soul." dr. faustus answered, "i durst never do it, although often minded to settle myself to godly people, to desire counsel and help; and once my old neighbour counselled me, that i should follow his learning, and leave all my conjurations: yet when i was minded to amend, and to follow that good counsel, then came the devil, and would have had me away, as this night he is like to do: and said, so soon as i turned again to god, he would dispatch me altogether. thus, even thus (good gentlemen and dear friends) was i inthralled in that fanatical bond, all good desires drowned, all piety vanished, all purposes of amendment truly exiled, by the tyrannous oppression of my deadly enemy." but when the students heard his words, they gave him counsel to do nothing else but call upon god, desiring him, for the love of his sweet son jesus christ his sake, to have mercy upon him: teaching him this form of prayer: "o god! be merciful unto me, poor and miserable sinner; and enter not into judgment with me, for no flesh is able to stand before thee; although, o lord! i must leave my sinful body unto the devil, being by him deluded, yet thou in mercy may preserve my soul." this they repeated to him, yet he could take no hold; but even as cain, he also said, that his sins were greater than god was able to forgive, for all his thought was on the writing: he meant he had made it too filthy in writing with his own blood. the students and the others that were there, when they had prayed for him, they wept, and so went forth. but faustus tarried in the hall; and when the gentlemen were laid in bed, none of them could sleep, for that they attended to hear if they might be privy of his end. it happened that between twelve and one o'clock of midnight, there blew a mighty storm of wind against the house, as though it would have blown the foundation thereof out of its place. hereupon the students began to fear, and go out of their beds, but they would not stir out of the chamber, and the host of the house ran out of doors, thinking the house would fall. the students lay near unto the hall wherein dr. faustus lay, and they heard a mighty noise and hissing, as if the hall had been full of snakes and adders. with that the hall door flew open wherein dr. faustus was. then he began to cry for help, saying, "murder, murder!" but it was with a half voice, and very hollow. shortly after they heard him no more. but when it was day, the students, that had taken no rest that night, arose and went into the hall in which they left dr. faustus, where notwithstanding they found not faustus, but all the hall sprinkled with blood, the brains cleaving to the wall, for the devil had beaten him from one wall against another. in one corner lay his eyes, in another his teeth, a fearful and pitiful sight to behold. then began the students to wail and weep for him, and sought for his body in many places. lastly, they came into the yard, where they found his body lying on the horse dung, most monstrously torn, and fearful to behold, for his head and all his joints were dashed to pieces. the forenamed students and masters that were at his death, obtained so much, that they buried him in the village where he was so grievously tormented. after the which they turned to wittenburg, and coming into the house of faustus they found the servant of faustus very sad, unto whom they opened all the matter, who took it exceedingly heavy. there they found this history of dr. faustus noted, and of him written, as is before declared, all save only his end, the which was after by the students thereunto annexed. farther, what his servant noted thereof was made in another book. and you have heard he held by him, in his life, the spirit of fair helena, who had by him one son, the which he named justus faustus: even the same day of his death they vanished away, both mother and son. the house before was so dark that scarce anybody could abide therein. the same night dr. faustus appeared unto his servant lively, and showed unto him many secret things which he had done and hidden in his lifetime. likewise there were certain which saw dr. faustus look out of the window by night as they passed by the house. and thus ended the whole history of dr. faustus, his conjuration, and other acts that he did in his life, out of which example every christian may learn, but chiefly the stiff-necked and high-minded, may thereby learn to fear god, and to be careful of their vocation, and to be at defiance with all devilish works, as god hath most precisely forbidden. to the end we should not invite the devil as a guest, nor give him place, as that wicked faustus hath done, for here we have a wicked example of his writing, promise, and end, that we may remember him, that we may not go astray, but take god always before our eyes, to call alone upon him, and to honour him all the days of our life, with heart and hearty prayer, and with all our strength and soul to glorify his holy name, defying the devil and all his works; to the end we may remain with christ in all endless joy. amen, amen. that wish i to every christian heart, and god's name be glorified. amen. the end. footnotes : the names of four of these cities were--ubeda, abela, baeza, and granada. : there is another ballad which represents gayferos, now grown to be a man, as coming in the disguise of a pilgrim to his mother's house, and slaying his stepfather with his own hand. the countess is only satisfied as to his identity by the circumstance of _the finger_-- el dedo bien es aqueste, aqui lo vereys faltar la condesa que esto oyera empezole de abraçar. : sansueña is the ancient name of zaragoza. : the arms of leon. : the arms of castile. : the arms of france. : "per ecclesias proclamare fecit." this may either mean that a notice was fastened to the church door, or given out from the pulpit. the last is most probable. : as these are probably the only verses on record of the devil's composition (at least, so well authenticated), i transcribe them for the information of the curious. "nexus ovem binam, per spinam traxit equinam; læsus surgit equus, pendet utrumque pecus. ad molendinum, pondus portabat equinum, dispergendo focum, se cremat atque locum. custodes aberant; singula damna ferant." transcriber's note contemporary spellings have been retained even where inconsistent; missing punctuation has been silently added. the following additional changes have been made to the text: let it brought before these sees let it be brought before these sees durenda durendal thou till shouldst prop thou still shouldst prop studies in mediÆval life and literature by edward tompkins mclaughlin professor of rhetoric and belles-lettres in yale university [decoration] g. p. putnam's sons new york london west twenty-third street bedford street, strand the knickerbocker press copyright, by sarah b. mclaughlin _entered at stationers' hall, london_ by g. p. putnam's sons electrotyped, printed and bound by the knickerbocker press, new york g. p. putnam's sons [decoration] contents. page introduction v the mediÆval feeling for nature ulrich von liechtenstein: the memoirs of an old german gallant neidhart von reuenthal and his bavarian peasants meier helmbrecht: a german farmer of the thirteenth century childhood in mediÆval literature a mediÆval woman appendix [decoration] [decoration] introduction. edward tompkins mclaughlin, the writer of the essays contained in this volume, was born at sharon, connecticut, on may , . he was the son of the reverend d. d. t. mclaughlin, a graduate of yale college of the class of . his mother's maiden name was mary whittlesey brownell. she was the daughter of the reverend grove l. brownell, who was settled for many years over the congregational church of cromwell, connecticut. thus it will be seen that the author of this work belonged on both sides to what oliver wendell holmes has aptly called the brahman caste of new england. at the time of his birth his father was pastor of the congregational church of sharon, connecticut, but in left that place for morris in the same county. there he remained until when he gave up parish duties entirely, and retired to litchfield, which he thenceforward made his permanent home. with the exception of a short time spent in the litchfield academy, the son was fitted for college almost wholly by his father, who was himself a finished scholar in latin and greek. he entered yale in the autumn of , and received the degree of a.b. in . from the very beginning of his university life he was distinguished for his interest in english literature, and during the entire course of it displayed remarkable proficiency in the pursuit of that study. to him, before his graduation, fell the highest honors which the college has to bestow in that department. after receiving his bachelor's degree he remained another year in new haven as a graduate student. during that time he devoted himself with increased ardor to the special branches of study in which from the outset he had been interested. in the following year he was made tutor in english. this position he held until , when he was appointed assistant professor of the same subject. at the meeting of the corporation of the university in may, , he was elected by it to the chair of rhetoric and belles-lettres. happily married to a wife of congenial tastes, who speedily learned to sympathize with him in the studies which he had made peculiarly his own, he had every reason to expect a long career of usefulness, which would be attended with distinction to himself and would confer distinction upon the institution with which he was connected. but his health had never been vigorous, and in the very summer vacation following his appointment a fever, which came upon him almost without warning, and which seemed at first of slight importance, carried him off after an illness that lasted little more than a week. he died on the th of july, , at the age of thirty-three. he lies buried at litchfield. such is a brief sketch of the life of the author of this volume. he had at the time of his death many projects on hand, some partly carried out, some only in contemplation. in he had edited a volume of selections from english writers under the title of _literary criticism for students_; and since his death a school-edition of marlowe's _edward ii._, prepared by him, but left mainly in manuscript, has come from the press. but these were in a measure tasks imposed upon him by the needs of students, and not those undertaken in consequence of his own inclinations. during the last year of his life, however, he had been devoting himself to the preparation for publication of the following essays. he had long been a student of mediæval literature, not merely of that found in the english tongue, but of the much fuller and more varied work that had been produced at an early period on the continent. the writers of france, of germany, and of italy, belonging to that period, were in truth so familiar to him that he was sometimes disposed to assume that general acquaintance with them on the part of others which it is the fortune of but few to possess. some results of this study he now set about putting into permanent form. the first rough draft of the essays here printed had been finished when the fatal illness fell upon him that carried him away. there is no intention of apologizing either for the matter or the manner of the pieces contained in this volume. they are in no need of it, and in any event what is published must stand or fall upon its own merits. yet it is the barest justice to the author of these essays to state that not in a single instance do they represent the final form they would have assumed, had he lived to review and revise the first sketches he made. in the case of two of them, which were nearest to the condition in which they were ultimately to appear, evidences of their incompleteness in his own eyes are plainly seen in the manuscripts. against particular passages and sometimes whole paragraphs there were marginal notes, indicating that the expression was to undergo alteration of various kinds. in several instances a place was marked for the insertion of a transition paragraph which had apparently never been written out, though its character was suggested. these, of course, had all to be disregarded. the condition of things, furthermore, was much worse with the four which had not been so fully completed as the two just mentioned. in the case of these the matter had to be collected and pieced together, at no slight expenditure of time and trouble, from scattered leaves of manuscript, in which it was not always easy to trace out the exact order. unfortunately, one essay, intended to be the longest and most important of all, could not be included in this volume. professor mclaughlin had been for many years an ardent admirer of dante. to a study of the early life of the great italian poet he had devoted years of patient research. it was the one subject in which he had the deepest interest, and upon which he had expended the most labor, and he purposed to make the essay dealing with it the principal piece in the work he was preparing. but, as was not unnatural, it was the one essay which needed most the revising hand of its composer. the gaps in it were too numerous and important to justify its insertion in the unfinished condition in which it existed, and this particular piece, upon which the author himself set most store, has been reluctantly laid aside. but while it is simple justice to state the facts just given, it must not be inferred that these essays, unfinished and even fragmentary as they might have seemed to the writer, will so appear to the reader. few there will be who will detect that any part of them has failed to receive the full attention to which it is entitled. nor is it likely, indeed, that the sentiments expressed in these essays would have undergone any material modification, whatever changes might have been made in the manner in which they were set forth. doubtless some of the points now found in them would have been amplified, others would have been retrenched. other views again, to which no allusion is made here, would have been introduced. still, so complete in themselves are the essays in most particulars, that no thought of their incompleteness would have arrested the attention of any save the smallest possible number of readers, had not the condition in which they were left been mentioned in this introduction. but even had these essays needed much more than they do the revising hand of the author, none the less cordially would they have been received by those who were familiar with his personal presence. especially is this true of students possessed of literary taste, who have been under his instruction, and it is largely in compliance with their wishes that the publication of this volume was determined upon. for as a teacher professor mclaughlin, though still young, had attained eminence. he had in particular the rare quality of inspiring those under him with the same zeal for learning and the same love of literature that animated himself. the teacher of english, it must be confessed, has set before him a task of special difficulty. in the case of other tongues the business of translation, with the verbal and grammatical investigation implied by it, must always constitute the principal part of the work of preparation for the class-room; and the skill and knowledge with which it is performed will of necessity be the main element in testing the proficiency and success of the student. but in the case of english this main part of the usual preparation has been reduced to a minimum. the business has already been done at the pupil's hands. he knows, at least after a fashion, the meaning of the words, even if he does not always comprehend the meaning of the phrase or sentence as a whole in which they are found. the hard task is, therefore, given the teacher of english of starting in his instruction at the point where the teacher of other languages ends. he is, furthermore, to make his subject one of pleasure and profit to that select body of students, who are eager to gain from the pursuit of it all the benefit possible. he is at the same time expected to exact some degree of labor from those who, whether by their own fault or the fault of others, have no interest in this particular subject, if indeed they have interest in any subject whatever. the temptation naturally presents itself to sacrifice the former class to the latter. especially does this appeal to instructors who are deficient in the literary sense, or who possessing it, lack the ability to arouse it in those under them. the easy process is resorted to of turning the study into one of a purely linguistic character, in which the discussion of words will take the place of the discussion of literature. this is a cheap though convenient method for the teacher to evade the real work he is called upon to perform, and while it may be followed by some incidental advantages, it is almost in the nature of a crime against letters to associate in the minds of young men, at the most impressionable period of their lives, the writings of a great author with a drill that is mainly verbal or philological. it was the rare fortune of professor mclaughlin that he solved this problem, presented to every instructor in english, with a felicity that does not fall often to the lot of those engaged in the same occupation. it was not so much in imparting knowledge that his peculiar distinction lay; it was in his success in inspiring interest in the subject and zeal for its prosecution. it is, therefore, more especially to those who have been under his teaching that this little volume is addressed as a memorial of one to whom many will acknowledge is due the first bent their minds received to the study and appreciation of what is best and highest in literature. what its author would have accomplished with his remarkable powers of acquisition and assimilation, had he lived to carry out and perfect plans which he had in contemplation, it is idle to conjecture; and the world, which cares but little for what is actually done in the field in which he was largely working, cannot be expected to concern itself with that which was never more than projected. but there are some to whom the result of his labors, shown in this volume, will prove of interest for what it is; while to those who have known him personally, it will, even in its comparatively imperfect state, furnish a suggestive intimation of what might have been. t. r. lounsbury yale university, march , . [decoration] mediÆval life and literature the mediÆval feeling for nature. on the th april, , mt. ventoux, near avignon, was the scene of a remarkable occurrence. petrarch was the hero, and on the evening of that day, while the impression was yet strong upon him, he wrote an account of it to a friend. the incident was nothing less than climbing a mountain for æsthetic gratification. that he cared to do it showed that petrarch was on the outskirts of mediævalism. the narrative is so interesting that i may translate a part of it; for the great humanist's letters are inaccessible to general readers. he says that he had thought of climbing the mountain for many years, since he had known the country from early boyhood, and the great mass of rocky cliff, entirely rugged and almost inaccessible, was constantly and everywhere visible. he took with him his brother and two servants. as they were starting on the ascent, they fell in with an aged shepherd, who tried to dissuade them. fifty years before he had climbed to the summit, moved by a boyish impulse--and he supposed himself the only one who had ever done it; his recollections were full of awe and terror. but the poet pressed on, beguiling the weariness, which at times amounted almost to exhaustion, by moralizing on the labor as a type of spiritual attainments. at the summit of the highest peak, "moved deeply at first by that vast spectacle, and affected by the unusual lightness of the air, i stood as if overwhelmed. i looked, and under my feet i saw the clouds." his thoughts turned to the classical myths, and the history of his beloved italy. he recalled that ten years before, on that same day, he had left bologna and his studies. how many changes in his ways. his wrong loves--he loved them no longer, or rather he no longer liked to love them. he thought of his future. "thus rejoicing in what i had gained, regretful of my weakness, and pitying the common instability of human affections, i seemed to forget where i was and why i had come. at last i turned to the occasion of my expedition. the sinking sun and lengthening shadows admonished me that the hour of departure was at hand, and, as if started from sleep, i turned around and looked to the west. the pyrenees--the eye could not reach so far, but i saw the mountains of lyonnais distinctly, and the sea by marseilles; the rhone, too, was there before me. observing these closely, now thinking on the things of earth, and again, as if i had done with the body, lifting my mind on high, it occurred to me to take out the copy of st. augustine's _confessions_ that i always kept with me; a little volume, but of unlimited value and charm. and i call god to witness that the first words on which i cast mine eyes were these: 'men go to wonder at the heights of mountains, the ocean floods, rivers' long courses, ocean's immensity, the revolutions of the stars,--and of themselves they have no care!' my brother asked me what was the matter. i bade him not disturb me. i closed the book, angry with myself for not ceasing to admire things of earth, instead of remembering that the human soul is beyond comparison the subject for admiration. once and again, as i descended, i gazed back, and the lofty summit of the mountain seemed to me scarcely a cubit high, compared with the sublime dignity of man."[ ] in these sentences we find the new life and the old in the same mind. such an action would have been impossible for a genuine son of the middle ages, but could petrarch stand on a mountain top to-day, such an outcome of it would be equally impossible. his feeling for nature was intense even to a sense of the charm of ruggedness in hills, as burckhardt, who refers to this letter in his work on _the italian renaissance_, shows by ample quotations; but the intense lover of nature in the nineteenth century, though his ethical sense be as deep as wordsworth's, finds a different influence in such a scene. indeed, read in wordsworth himself, the modern contrast: "ocean and earth, the solid frame of earth and ocean's liquid mass, in gladness lay beneath him; far and wide the clouds were touched, and in their silent faces could he read unutterable love. sound needed none, nor any voice of joy; his spirit drank the spectacle; sensation, soul, and form, all melted into him; they swallowed up his animal being, in them did he live, and by them did he live: they were his life. in such access of mind, in such high hour of visitation from the living god, thought was not; in enjoyment it expired. no thanks he breathed, he proffered no request, rapt into still communion, that transcends the imperfect offices of prayer and praise." how far apart is the piety of the two poets, how different their absorption. this identification of the human mood with nature, and the spiritual elation that arises from the union, is thoroughly characteristic of the present century. wordsworth's peculiar beauty, as hartley coleridge told caroline fox, "consisted in viewing things as amongst them, mixing himself up in everything that he mentions, so that you admire the man in the thing, the involved man." and hartley's inspired father uttered a great criticism on the modern feeling for nature, when in the _ode on dejection_ he cried, "oh, lady, we receive but what we give, and in our life alone doth nature live." no literary contemporaries were ever more apart than wordsworth and byron, yet _childe harold_ has the same note: "i live not in myself, but i become portion of that around me; and to me _high mountains are a feeling_. . . . . the soul can flee and with the sky, the peak, the heaving plain of ocean, or the stars, mingle and not in vain." we discover the same sentiment, more delicately held, in keats, as in some of his sayings about flowers, and shelley, speaking of the longing for a response to one's own nature, says: "the discovery of its antitype, this is the invisible and unattainable point to which love tends.... hence in solitude, or in that state when we are surrounded by human beings, and yet they sympathize not with us, we love the flowers, and the grass, and the waters, and the sky. in the motions of the very leaves of spring, in the blue air, there is found a secret correspondence with our heart, that awakens the spirits to a dance of breathless rapture, and brings tears of mysterious tenderness to the eyes, like the enthusiasm of patriotic rapture, or the voice of one beloved singing to you alone." yet this spirit, with which our later poetry is almost everywhere touched, "this mysterious analogy between human emotions and the phenomena of the world without us," as von humboldt expresses it, in its present comprehensiveness is new to literature. to feel for mountains, forests, or the ocean, with mingled awe, love, and ecstasy, seems so natural to us, that we can hardly realize that gray was striking a novel and significant chord when he wrote at the grande chartreuse, "one of the most solemn, the most romantic, and the most astonishing scenes.... not a precipice, not a torrent, not a cliff, but is pregnant with religion and poetry." in petrarch's letter we observe the deficiency in absorbing enthusiasm for the grander forms of nature, as well as his sense of the isolation of such sentiment from true spiritual life. yet this letter is the most significant indication which we possess from the middle ages of a capacity for enjoying the sublimity of heights. in _præterita_, ruskin, while describing his eagerness at the first sight of the alps, as a boy, has written two or three sentences that we may employ to illustrate the contrast between petrarch and his predecessors: "till rousseau's time there had been no 'sentimental' love of nature ... st. bernard of la fontaine, looking out to mont blanc with his child's eyes, sees above mont blanc the madonna; st. bernard of talloires, not the lake of annecy, but the dead between martigny and aosta. but for me, the alps and their people were alike beautiful in their snow, and their humanity; and i wanted, neither for them nor myself, sight of any thrones in heaven but the rocks, or of any spirits in heaven but the clouds." others, beside the bernards, men from whose culture and intelligence we should expect fine appreciation, felt nothing august or inspiring in the material world. so far as we have any record, the fourteenth-century laureate was the first of the moderns to climb a mountain for the æsthetic pleasure of the view. burckhardt's suggestion that this honor belongs to dante, on the strength of a passage in the fourth canto of the _purgatory_, is surely not tenable; for the top of bismantova possessed a citadel in dante's time to which business may easily have called him. all through the middle ages, the lofty elevations between central europe and italy were constantly being crossed. the most cultivated men were going back and forth as couriers on business of the church, and the political relations, especially between italy and germany, kept up a continual stream of travel. yet one recalls no lines in any mediæval poem that describe or express sensations of the least interest concerning the sights that have bowed the strongest souls of our era, that have been felt by thousands, and put into words by so many poets. there is, indeed, in the beginning of a passage from a famous scholar, john of salisbury, an apparent exception to this strange indifference; but a few clauses correct the hasty judgment. writing from lombardy, he explained why he could not send a letter from the great st. bernard: "i have been on the mount of jove: on the one hand looking up to the heaven of the mountains; on the other, shuddering at the hell of the valleys; feeling myself so much nearer to heaven that i was more sure that my prayer would be heard." yet this was due to no rapture of soul, for--"lord, i said, restore me to my brethren, that they come not into this place of torment." he goes on to specify the perils of ice, precipice, and cold, and nothing disturbs him so much as that his ink was frozen. but there is not a suggestion of anything worth looking at. even cæsar, as von humboldt reminds us, composed a rhetorical treatise while crossing the alps. but the poet of vaucluse did climb a mountain for the love of the view, and the very fact that his æsthetic attention was distracted by ethical introspection is an indication of that serious sensibility which was destined to become such an essential element in our feeling for nature; what for every wordsworthian is summed up in the second mood of _tintern abbey_. this incapacity for appreciating mountainous sublimity involved a blindness to the rugged and picturesque on smaller scales. in minor chords, and in combinations of tone superficially discordant, we have learned to recognize some of nature's richest harmonies; this is one of our marks of development. closely linked, too, with this first of modern passions for nature, indeed unified with it by the qualities of strength and massiveness, is our feeling for the ocean and great woods. "there is a pleasure in the pathless woods, there is a rapture on the lonely shore: there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar." even deeper than the idea of companionship here is the mystical sense of absorption into that physical world which seems the very dwelling-place of the infinite soul, which finds one of its most remarkable manifestations in an intense and almost defiant sensation of human transitoriness and unimportance, and which is frequently blended with very exultation in the reflection that presently we ourselves shall be unified forever with the unconscious life that stretches out before us: "rolled round in earth's diurnal course with rocks, and stones, and trees." there is a strange fascination to the modern mind, in presence of the majesties of nature, in this thought of humanity's return to the earth-mother. innumerable generations have come home to her, as many or more are to be born that they may follow them, and she remains. perhaps we are never so serenely conscious of self, as in these rare moments when we bear without a pang the thought of losing personal identity. there is something more here than the certainty of at least materialistic immortality, and the impression of infinite repose and beauty. the projection of our immediate sensation into the long future silence suffuses nature with pantheistic life, until the eager and buoyant thrills of spiritual realization render one grateful to have been permitted to gain such a sensation at what seems the trivial cost of feeling oneself the mere creature of a day. such a mood as this certainly comes but seldom, but probably every one who has ever experienced any imaginative sensibility to a grand landscape will recall a heightened sensation that is beyond description.[ ] but still stranger than the failure to catch the finer suggestions in the more strenuous forms of nature, is the way in which such sights are ignored. in southern europe, mountains, storms, rocks, the ocean, are scarcely ever described, even as objects of awe or terror. when in the course of a story they have to be mentioned, the treatment is brief and matter of fact. heinrich von veldeke in his famous epic, makes nothing of his necessary introduction of a storm at sea, nor does gottfried, or indeed any one of this whole period. _gudrun_, that epic of the people which deserves to stand near the more famous _niebelungen lied_, treats constantly of the ocean, yet never with any feeling except dread of shipwreck. this poem, however, shows a more northern tone in one or two descriptions of winter, that are at least elaborated. in the scene, for instance, when herwig and ortwin arrive at the shore where hildeburg and gudrun, almost naked, are washing the clothes for their cruel mistress, we find some realistic touches, such as their trembling before the march wind, in which their hair was streaming as they toiled on the beach, while before them the sea was full of cakes of ice that had broken up under the early spring. in another connection, too, the poet compares something to a thick snowstorm, driven by mountain winds. the sense of fitness in a sympathetic natural environment for the human action, that has been so generally regarded in literature, as by shakespeare, is indeed occasionally found in mediæval poetry; so in an interesting french romance that relates the trials of a heroine who barely escapes with her life, after the loss of everything dear: "the lady is in the wood and bitterly she wails. she hears the wolves howl, and the screech-owls cry; it lightens terribly, and the thunder is heavy, rain, hail, and wind--'tis wild for a lady all alone." exceptions occur now and then. dante, for example, was impressed by the mountains; no readers of the _purgatory_ need to be reminded of his experience in climbing them. the setting for a mood of unrealized love in one of his lyrics is in winter, among the whitened hills: "he wooed the lady in a lovely grassy meadow, surrounded by lofty hills." but the arbitrary verbal repetitions of the _sestina_ modify the original face of the image of the mountains towering about the lover's plain, and the pensive beauty of the whole poem may be connected with an allegory. but i believe that even in dante we never catch the sense of exultation in the earth's power and majesty. our modern feeling for forests is not only at times sombre and oppressive; we also derive a sense of sublime composure from them. this latter sentiment was hardly shared by the mediævals. dante was only following earlier poets when he located the opening of hell by a gloomy wood, and his repeated metaphor of life as a forest, "confusing," "gloomy," and "dark," accords with the feeling of his age. he would not have appreciated chateaubriand. he has left us, however, a rare and interesting reference to the soughing in the pines on the adriatic, which shows how well his ear could interpret its solemn beauty. the mystical apple-tree, moreover, near the close of the _purgatory_, whose blossoms are so exquisitely defined, indirectly reminds us how exceptional is a mention of fruit trees in flower. yet the provençal, french, and german lyrics constantly begin with the joyousness of spring, and the happy contrast from the season that destroys flowers and foliage. nothing is more conventional than these nature preludes. over and over, till we close our books impatiently, we hear reiterations of the charm of spring and summer. there is a slender kind of grace and sincerity that would lend interest to many of these, if they had come down by themselves; but they lie together in books in wearisome uniformity. a dandelion in april is much prettier than the dandelions in june. these preludes are usually in keeping with the love-phrases that follow, cold and imitative. for poets thought and felt in exterior generalities, rather than in detachment and inner consciousness. their typical landscape may be seen in a passage from gottfried von strassburg,--one of germany's most brilliant poets--where tristan and isolde have fled to the forest grotto, in fear of king mark. the grotto is fitted up luxuriously, in keeping with the temper of the entire poem, but since it is in the wilderness, far away from roads or paths, in a description of its surroundings we might certainly look for a sense of the picturesque. but so far from caring for the wild and rugged, gottfried does not even like a quiet woodland simplicity. "above the entrance stood three broad lindens, no more; but below, stretching down the slope, were innumerable trees that hid the retreat. on one side was a level stretch where a fountain flowed, a fresh, cool stream, clearer than the sun. above it, too, stood three beautiful shady lindens that shielded the spring from rain and the sun. bright blossoms and green grass struggled with each other sweetly on the field. one caught also the delightful songs of birds which sang more delightfully there than anywhere else. eye and ear each had its pleasure, there was shade and sun, air and breezes soft and pleasing." he goes on to describe the lovers, in a passage from which i translate the opening: when they waked and when they slept, side by side they ever kept. in the morning o'er the dew softly to the field they drew, where, beside the little pool, flowers and grass were dewy cool. and the cool fields pleased them well, pleased them, too, their love to tell, straying idly thro' the glade, hearing music, as they strayed. sweetly sang the birds, and then in their walk they turned again where the cool brook rippled by, listening to the melody, as it flowed and as it went: where across the field it bent, there they sat them down to hear, resting there, its murmur clear. and until the sunshine blazed, in the rivulet they gazed. these lines are characteristic of gottfried, even to the lingering verbal repetition, and the picture certainly is pretty, as is the whole account of the lovers' life that follows. nothing in early german literature comes closer to refined modern sensuousness than gottfried's best passages; there is a dreamy passion in them, and sometimes they flash. his rich voluptuous strain has more of the poet than the free-liver, and his general tone is curiously modern. it would be a showy phrase to call his _tristan_ the _don juan_ of the middle ages, for the poems are very dissimilar, yet it is safe to say that we think of byron as we read him. contrast these representative poets of the thirteenth and nineteenth centuries in this matter of their feeling for nature. for once among german settings we have a wild scene. but we observe how studiously it is modified into the conventional meadow, with trees in uniform little groups, a grassy field is sprinkled with flowers, there is a spring, and the little stream that escapes from it instead of tumbling down over a rocky bed into a glen, flows across the field. gottfried mentions mountains and rocks that lie round about, only to point out that they are types of the difficulties and perils to be undergone before reaching love's shrine. the almost inaccessible retreat was necessary as a shelter for the fugitives from mark's court; the poet has done his best to obliterate the reality. if we turn to byron, and look for instance at that incomparable passage in which he relates the early love of juan and haidee, we observe where he voluntarily places his lovers: "it was a wild and breaker-beaten coast, with cliffs above and a broad sandy shore; guarded by shoals and rocks as by a host, with here and there a creek, whose aspect wore a better welcome to the tempest-tost; and rarely ceased the haughty billows' roar." "and thus they wandered forth, and hand in hand, over the shining pebbles and the shells, glided along the smooth and hardened sand, and in the worn and wild receptacles worked by the storms, yet worked as it were planned, in hollow halls, with sparry roofs and cells, they turned to rest; and each clasped by an arm, yielded to the deep twilight's purple charm." and, to pass over the description of sky, sea, moon, and starlight, that follows, as elements in the nature-setting, notice the scene where juan is sleeping: "the lady watched her lover, and that hour of love's, and night's, and ocean's solitude, o'erflowed her soul with their united power, amid the barren sand and rocks so rude, she and her wave-worn love had made their bower." it would be easy to parallel these two situations; the older by no means ends with the middle ages, for eden's "blissful bower" is no exception in modern poetry before the romantic age: while in our own century counterparts to this conception of untrained and strenuous natural surroundings for even the happiest of emotions will occur to every one.[ ] the idle triteness in those inevitable scenes of spring, was manifest to some of the poets themselves. so the comte de champagne declares foliage and flowers of no service to poets, except for rhyming and to amuse commonplace people. the great wolfram himself derides the conventionality of all romance narratives falling in spring and early summer: arthur is the man of may; each event in every lay, happened or at whitsuntide or when the may was blooming wide. and uhland cites from the lives of the troubadours the contemporaneous criticism upon a minor poet of the twelfth century, who wrote in the old style about leaves, and flowers, and the song of birds,--nothing of any account. we may recollect that such criticisms go far back of the middle ages: horace glances at his contemporaries' conventional descriptions of a stream hastening through pleasant fields. in the widely popular romances of enid we find illustrations of welsh, french, and german treatment in the hands of leading authors, and there is one point in the narrative where we may compare their feeling for the natural environment. readers of tennyson will recall the passage in the wandering, where, after one of geraint's struggles with bandits, he comes upon a lad carrying provisions. chrestien's treatment of the episode is clear and straightforward; the youth and two comrades are taking cheese, cakes, and wine to the count's meadows for the haymakers. the young man notices the travellers' worn appearance, and invites them to sit down "in this fair meadow, under these ironwood trees," to rest and eat. hartmann von aue (whose paraphrase of the french poem is, by the way, far from the merit of his _iwein_) narrates the incident in the same manner, omitting the poetically specific touches of the haymaking, and the shady spot in the field; but characteristically inserting some courteous concern on the part of the young man, for the comfort of enid. but if we turn to the _mabinogion_ we come upon something very different: "and early in the day they left the wood, and they came to an open country, with meadows on one hand, and mowers mowing the meadows; and there was a river before them, and the horses bent down and drank the water. and they went up out of the river by a lofty steep, and there they met a slender stripling with a satchel about his neck, and they saw that there was something in the satchel, but they knew not what it was. and he had a small blue pitcher in his hand, and a bowl on the mouth of the pitcher." how charming it is, even to the lovely touch of color. we know here that the unremembered writer saw nature and cared for it as we do. indeed, this mediæval welshman satisfies us quite as well as does even tennyson's transcript: "so through the green gloom of the wood they passed, and issuing under open heavens beheld a little town with towers, upon a rock: and close beneath, a meadow gemlike chased in the brown wild, and mowers mowing in it: and down a rocky pathway from the place there came a fair-hair'd youth, that in his hand bare victual for the mowers." there we have a simplicity treated with tennysonian artifice, which "victual" does not succeed in correcting; beautiful in its way, though its way is perhaps not so fine as the prose. yet we notice the modern spirit in the appreciation of the "brown wild" as well as the meadow, and out of the more general and evasive "steep" is developed the picturesque "rocky pathway." except for the interest in establishing these forms of nature-appreciation from such older and more original sources, we might have satisfied ourselves with illustrations of them from chaucer's early poems, where his descriptions are almost wholly derivative. his feeling for "the smale, softe, swote gras," that was sweetly embroidered with flowers; the earth's joyous oblivion of the cold, in her enthusiasm of may; his constant delight in the "smale foules," and the like, are purely conventional, though the unction with which he writes shows his real enjoyment. there are touches in chaucer, however, that we miss in his romance predecessors, such as his eye for delicate effects--most interesting as marking the growth of accurate observation and sensitive rendering, like the description of twilight in _troylus and creyseyde_, when "white thynges wexen dymme and donne for lakke of lyght," or the graceful illustration in the same poem of a sudden troubling of one's mood: "but right as when the sonne shyneth brighte in march that chaungeth ofte tyme his face, and that a cloude is put with wynde to flyght, which overspret the sonne, as for a space, a cloudy thought gan through his soule pace." such a touch makes us feel how modern he is. yet he does not love the picturesque. under the influence of a breton lay, he writes in the loveliest of all his tales, of the rugged sea-coast on whose high bank dorigen and her friends used to walk (since "stood hire castel faste by the see") and look down upon "the grisly rokkes blake," which, in her apprehension for her lord's safe return, she would call "these grisly, feendly rokkes blake." but we feel that even had arviragus been at her side she would never have regarded the coast as we should regard it. still we observe the advance in observation and literary expression. in the _knight's tale_, the wild picturesque is employed again to connote the terrible, but no poet, from statius to boccaccio, his guides in the passage, had written such lines as his setting for the temple of the god of war: "first on the wal was peynted a forest in which there dwelleth neither man nor best, with knotty, knarry, bareyne trees olde of stubbes sharpe and hidous to biholde, in which ther ran a rumbel and a swough, as though a storm sholde bresten every bough." nothing even in _childe roland_ sketches desolating natural effects with more power. yet chaucer had a superior, in the sympathetic eye and adequate expression for the stern and stormy phases of nature, in a countryman of whom perhaps he never heard. we do not know the name of the author of _sir gawayn and the grene knyght_. but the poem marks on the whole the noblest conception in our literature before spenser. it possesses moral dignity, romantic interest, simplicity, and directness, united with deep seriousness of style, creative imagination in dealing both with character and with nature. chaucer wrote nothing so spiritual, though much of course more artistic and poetically valuable. in regard to this one matter of the interpretation of nature, it would be difficult to point out passages in the whole range of mediæval literature so fine and so remarkable as such descriptions as follow, of the northern winter scenes through which gawayn passed on his weird mission. a forest full deep, and wild to a wonder, high hills on each side, and crowded woods under, of oaks hoar and huge, a hundred together. the hazel and hawthorne were grown altogether everywhere coated by moss ragged, rough; many birds on bare branches, unhappy enough; that piteously piped there, for pain of the cold. wondrous fair was the earth, for the frost lay thereby; on the mist ruddy gleams the sun cast, as on high he coasted full clearly the clouds of the sky. they beat along banks where the branches are bare, they climbed along cliffs where clingeth the cold, the clouds yet held up, but 'twas ugly beneath. mist lowered on the moor, dissolved on the mountains. each hill had a hat, a huge misty cloak. brooks boiling and breaking dashed on the banks, shattered brightly on shore. that is what we find in the north, and such english feeling for the sublime is nothing new; it goes far back beyond these lines into the generations that seem misty as the air which their poets are wont to describe. mr. stopford brooke's recent volume on anglo-saxon poetry makes it unnecessary to enter into the subject of old england's eye and ear for nature. its accounts of the sympathy for the bold and fierce bear out what one might guess without knowledge--that the stern northern climate and familiarity with ocean life found large poetical expression. luxury, southern artifice of sentiment and literary manner, had not invaded the rugged men of the north; they delight in describing elemental conflicts, and sometimes with studied elaboration. but if the pictures of the german and french poets are uniform in their mildness, those of these anglo-saxons are marked by their stormy aspect. we exchange spring for winter. the same contrast holds true when we take up the scandinavian poets; they show much feeling and power, but little susceptibility to the beauty of gentleness and grace. mr. brooke has remarked upon a similarity between the _tempest_ of cynewulf and shelley's _ode to the west wind_. a closer parallel may be observed in the _lines among the euganean hills_ and the so-called helgi poet; where we find a curiously identical image of rooks and hawks flying into the early morning with wings sparkling from the mists through which they have passed. the norse poems are fond of screaming eagles, and ravens on the high branches. that weird northern imagination too has vivid pictures, as the shields of the night-warriors shining in the waning moon. nature also occasionally speaks to their personal moods, both by harmony and contrast. a poet's boat is swept fiercely by the tempest, as he dies with thoughts of his "linen-clad lady" in his heart. another watches the sea dashing against the steep cliff, and thinks of his far-away love, in the control of his rival. like the early english, they feel exultation in sea and storm. they know them intimately and their descriptions are spirited and faithful. they love them, but they love fiercely, terribly, as they do their women. yet even as in their human passions, there are tranquillities. "they rode their steeds through dewy dales and dusky glens: the air, a sea of mist, shook as they passed by." we linger behind the storming horsemen for a moment, to look back as the silence steals in again through those dusky glens. but to return to what is our real subject, the sentiment for nature in what we may term the polite literatures of mediævalism. the reason for their feeling about winter is summed up in one of the latin student songs, "the cold icy harshness of winter, its fierceness, and dull, miserable inactivity." it kept them within, when their interests and concerns were so mainly out-of-door. the poets are for ever singing in praise of spring, not so much because they loved it for itself, as because it brought them a life that was gay and easy. they seldom introduce touches of appreciation in their descriptions of the wintry season. snow may have appeared lovely to them, but we observe dante as doing something singular when he compares the talking of ladies, which was mingled with sighs and tears, to raindrops interspersed with beautiful snowflakes (_cp._ _inf._, , ; , ), and one of the most memorable lines in his friend guido cavalcanti's poems is the one which mentions the dreamy sinking down of snow, falling when the air is windless. the old-time gentlemen apparently hugged the fire and drank of "their bugle-horn the wyn," and ate "brawn of the tusked swyn," when winter came, instead of watching the snow, through their little windows. there are many phases of nature which it seems to us impossible not to notice and enjoy, of which we seldom find a trace. we should expect them in the large body of lyrical verse, and still more in the copious romance literature, which corresponds to the modern novel, both in incident and in the invitation to bits of passing local color. clouds, for instance, aside from their glory of line and mass, and the grace and loveliness of their lighter forms, are curious and oddly suggestive, as antony reminds eros, and they are constantly before the eye; yet let any reader of mediæval poetry recall how imperceptible a part they play in it, even as plain facts of description. a line in one of the latin songs expresses the feeling: their thought of clouds is, how delightful not to see them. moonlight, too, is seldom dwelt on as poetical; the most romantic touch that comes to my mind in connection with it, is in chrestien de troyes, where it shines over the reconciliation of estranged lovers. just as we find little notice of sunrise, sunset, clouds, and moon, we find little feeling for the stars. they are mentioned occasionally in a facile way, though scarcely ever with manifest sentiment. there are two or three passages, however, in _aucassin et nicolette_, that show the daintiest sort of sentiment for moonlight and stars. here, for instance, where the lovers are confined for the sake of thwarting their love: "'twas in summer time, in the month of may, when the days are warm, long, and clear and the nights calm and cloudless. nicolette was lying one night in her bed, and she saw the moon clearly shining through a window, and she heard the nightingale singing in the garden and she thought of aucassin her lover, whom she loved so much." so making a rope of the bedclothes she lets herself down into the garden. "then she caught her gown by one hand in front and by the other behind, and tucked it up on account of the dew which she saw was heavy on the grass, and she went down through the garden.... and the daisy-blossoms that she broke with the toes of her feet, that lay over on the small of her foot, were even black, by her feet and legs, so very white was the dear little girl. along the streets she passed in the shadow, for the moon shone very clear, and she went on till she came to the tower where her lover was." and again when the lover is in pursuit of her, after she had built herself a lodge in what she thought a safe retreat; he does not know where she is, and his thoughts are so absorbed that he falls and puts out his shoulder, and then creeps into her vacant shelter: "and he looked through a break in the lodge and saw the stars in the sky, and he saw one brighter than the rest, and he began to say: 'pretty little star, i see where the moon is leading thee. nicolette is with thee there, my darling with the golden hair; god would have her, i believe, to make beautiful the eve.'" yet even here there is nothing of the deeper sensibility to midnight sky, common alike to ancient and modern seriousness. yet we find notes also of this. it is hard, for example, to think of giving up the genuineness of dante's letter refusing to return to florence, if only for the rare touch of everywhere seeing the sun and the stars (_nonne solis astrorumque specula ubique conspiciam?_), that bears out such evidences as the last word of each of the divine canticles and other fine proofs that he felt the high wonder and peace of the stars at night. who can doubt that he did--that every deep nature always has? yet the poetical evidence for it is curiously scanty throughout these centuries. it is a surprise to come upon such an exclamation as this of freidank's: "the constellations sweep through heaven as if they were alive,--sun, moon, the bright stars,--there is nothing so wonderful!" indeed, i can recall no writer to whom the material world seems to suggest such inner sensations as he who called himself freidank, the german free-thinker. he was not much of a poet, so far as his verses go, but his soul knew life as mystery. he also made one of the band of reformers three centuries before luther. he saw the corruption of the church, yet he revered the sacred institution; in spite of his faith, he was a christian rationalist. some of his sentences almost startle us, as words before their season: "if the pope can forgive sins by indulgence, without repentance, people ought to stone him if he allows any one to go to hell." "god is constantly shaping new souls, which he gives to men--to be lost. how does the soul deserve god's wrath before it is born?" he is haunted by the secret of life: "how is the soul made? no one tells me that. if all souls could be in a hand, none could see or grasp their glory." "earth and heaven are full of the godhead. hell would be empty, were god not there." "whatever the sun touches, the sunlight keeps pure. however the priest may be, the mass is still pure. the mass and the sunshine will always be pure." "i never cease wondering how the soul is made. whence it came, and whither it fares--the path is hidden. nay, i know not who i am myself.[ ] lord god, grant me that i may know thee, and also myself." so when freidank hears the roar of the wind, its invisible might reminds his skepticism that the soul may well be great, though none can see it: while he watches the wide mist which no hand can seize upon, a symbolism of the soul comes to him again. he is oppressed by the restless energy of being: "our hearts beat unceasingly, our breaths are seldom still:--and then, our thoughts and dreams!" as he rides through spring, he observes the infinite diversity of nature: many hundred flowers, alike none ever grew; mark it well, no leaf of green is just another's hue. "many a man looks out at the stars, and tells what wonders take place there. let him tell me now (something closer at hand), what is the weed in the garden. if he tells me that truly, i shall be more ready to believe the other." it is the germ of tennyson's _flower in the crannied wall_. nature's commonplaces hold the heavenly mystery in a common bond with their own. such subtle blendings of the outward and inward vision could come only from a refined and pensive spirit--such as his who sums up thus the discipline of life: "many a time the lips must smile when the heart weeps." one of the marked deficiencies of all these descriptions of nature is in the indefiniteness of the terms employed. in minute accuracy, dante, to be sure, is one of the world's greatest masters; but elsewhere it is rarely that we come upon anything concrete or specific. it is not until centuries later, indeed, that, so far as nature goes, we find habitual composition "with the eye upon the object," but, as it seems, most mediæval poets never carried their observation beyond the barest general impressions. we do not expect tennyson's "more black than ashbuds in the front of march," or browning's eye for the fact that when "the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly," the red is about to turn gray. the outer world's "open secret" is not open enough to make us demand minute attention. but it is surprising that they did not more frequently record easy impressions, and in their inventions introduce definite details. the poetical effect of even apparently prosaic precision is at times imaginative, but the art of this was kept for the later romanticists. there is a lyric, however (belonging, i believe, to the twelfth century), by a poet of northern france, and written as a satire on the love-romance literature of the age, which contains one or two happy instances of just this missing trait. so charming it is in itself that i have translated it as a whole, though it belongs to an essay on the lyrical romances, instead of on nature. what a light touch the unknown writer shows, what dainty fancy! sir thopas is hardly a parallel to this blending of poetry with humor, a humor too gracious to be derisive, whose genial satire sparkles and dances to meet its sister wave of sentiment and beauty, till they ripple together, and each seems to have absorbed the other. the opening stanza is the poet's introduction of himself, and from the olive we may draw an inference respecting his local associations: will ye attend me, while i sing a song of love,--a pretty thing, not made on farms:-- nay, by a gentle knight 'twas made who lay beneath an olive's shade in his love's arms. . a linen undergown she wore, and a white ermine mantle, o'er a silken coat; with flowers of may to keep her feet, and round her ankles leggings neat, from lands remote. . her girdle was of leafage green; spring foliage, with a fringing sheen of gold above; and underneath a love-purse hung, by bloomy pendants featly strung, a gift of love. . upon a mule the lady rode, the which with silver shoes was shode; saddle gold-red; and behind rose-bushes three she had set up a canopy to shield her head. . as so she passed adown the meads, a gentle childe in knightly weeds cried: "fair one, wait! what region is thy heritance?" and she replied: "i am of france, of high estate. . "my father is the nightingale, who high within the bosky pale, on branches sings; my mother's the canary; she sings on the high banks where the sea its salt spray flings." . "fair lady, excellent thy birth; thou comest from the chief of earth, of high estate: ah, god our father, that to me thou hadst been given, fair ladye, my wedded mate!" everything here is definite and concrete, and how delightful the picture all is. such plastic art as the "rose-bushes three" is not unworthy of the great modern poets of whom its magic and romantic definiteness reminds us,--as the "five miles meandering of alph, the sacred river," or the "kisses four" with which the pale loiterer shut the eyes of la belle dame sans merci. the description of the nightingale on its high branches, too, is a noticeably accurate touch, as we compare it, for example, with coleridge's nightingale descriptions. the explanation for the usual vague and indefinite description is not found in saying that they could not describe minutely. we meet with abundant details of such material interests as embroideries or armor. there is artistic emotion in villehardouin's account of the glorious sight of constantinople, as it rose before the crusaders, just as distinctly as in lord byron's letter. but, to their simple eyes, nature not only failed to suggest associated fancies, like shakespeare's "wrinkled pebbles in the brook," or wordsworth's ash, "a soft eye-music of slow waving boughs," but they see natural objects as units, without lingering upon their parts. when we find, for example, a line that marks the jerky flight of a swallow, we are surprised at the specific touch; we look almost in vain for such landscape details as the colors of autumn. neidhart von reuenthal is marking his originality, when he speaks of the red tree-tops, falling down yellow. the want of observation and the shallow sympathy with nature shown by most poets before dante are much more surprising than their preference for placid effects. it is unusual, for instance, to meet such a suggestive note of association as in the stanza by the frenchman gaces brulles: the birds of my own land in brittany i hear, and seem to understand the distant in the near; in sweet champagne i stand, no longer here. this paraphrase, indeed, is unworthy of the charming simplicity of the original. surely, when matthew arnold made his sweeping characterization of mediæval poetry as grotesque, he forgot what a straightforward evolution of narrative or of quiet sentiment, and what a transparent expression, we find in some of these minor poets. they are as direct and unadorned, as they are graceful. it is almost impossible to translate them without substituting for the fresh and delicate touch, some metaphysical warping of the idea, or some rhetorical consciousness in words. what for instance could be more elegantly remote from the grotesque than this literal translation of brulles' expression of his sensibility to the song-birds of his home: "the birds of my country i have heard in brittany; by their song i know well that in sweet champagne i heard them of old." * * * * * we may sum up these outline statements to this effect. the northern poets described storm, winter, the ocean, and kindred subjects, with considerable force and fulness. in the cultivated literatures to the south, natural description was mainly confined to the agreeable forms of beauty; the grand, awesome, and inspiring were scarcely felt, and the literal fact of their physical expression was hardly ever noticed. the exterior world was not made a subject of close observation, nor was its poetic availability realized as a setting for action, or as an interpreter of emotion. the people of the north, through being habituated to severer weather, not merely as a fact of climate, but from their rougher, less politely organized habits of living, [we should especially observe their activity on the sea,] regarded the violent seasons and aspects of nature with the sympathetic acquiescence of custom. moreover, this influence tended to develop sturdier and more rugged character, race-temperament obviously being in part a geographical result, which acts with the forces of social organization, especially those that affect the moral qualities, such as rude or luxurious living. this vigorous character was more susceptible to impressions of native power, as well as from association more interested in recalling them. accordingly, we find the early northern poetry an anticipation of the seriousness of modern english literature, and, as well, of its unequalled recognition of physical symbolisms of the sublime. where the northern force blended with more southern lightness and elegance, as it did in the _mabinogion_, we find a deeper poetic sentiment; where it coincides with moral earnestness, we find such nature sensation as in the poetry of _sir gawayn_. but the literature of the germans and their romance originals, aim at courtly levities; they artificialize sentiment and thought, as well as manner. the deeper and more spiritually sympathetic minds did not as a rule devote themselves to _belles-lettres_. the church drew them into her sober service, and even though they wrote, the close theological faith was not favorable to their poetic expansion. most of all, there was but little individualism, and any artistic sensation of our modern complex inner consciousness was still crude, even when it existed at all. one point, however, should be observed in any inquiry into the reasons for the inadequateness of these ages' feeling for nature; that many latent sympathies may never have found a voice. many through the centuries before our later ease of publication, may have felt the modern sensations, without ever thinking of putting them into words. in any new movement, of art as of practice, a great leader of expression is needed. men are sheep to their leaders in various admirations, and many genuine æsthetic tastes are acquired, through stages of more or less unconscious imitation. browning puts this in an acute sentence where fra lippo lippi explains his usefulness as a painter: ". . . we're made so that we love, first when we see them painted, things we have passed perhaps a hundred times, nor cared to see." there were few new departures, there was little originality, in the methods of mediæval literature. descriptions of the physical world as a field of power and sublimity would have fallen dead on the ears of a public who had never dreamed that storm and cliffs were beautiful. what if wordsworth had tried to support himself and win fame by singing at castles? nor is it easy, though the taste has been established, to describe a sunset, or the sublimity of the alps. we say to each other "how beautiful!" "how grand!" seldom more. rare imagination and the tact of genius are necessary to tell what we really need to show. the sense of physical sublimity is complex. its distinctive element is moral or spiritual emotion. for a full delineation it requires a more subtle, verbal repertory than those popular poets usually possessed. yet these modifications no longer apply when we come to dante, and superior as his interpretations are to his predecessors' we miss even in him, as we miss in the great poets for four hundred years afterwards, appreciation of the material world's sublimity. macaulay and others have said that it was not until man had become the master of nature that he learned to love its stern and violent aspects. but thunder storms, for example, are as dangerous now as they ever were, at least to a traveller. still, byron wrote of them with raptures amid the pindus mountains as his predecessors did not. winter was scarcely colder or bleaker for mediæval poets than for scottish peasants a century ago, yet burns would sing as they could not: "e'en winter bleak has charms for me, when winds rave through the naked tree." others have accounted for this change by the era of science, with its close scrutiny of the world, and its enthusiasm for physical knowledge. but the scientist masters the world as a reality where the poet sees it as a symbol. the two modern tendencies may be the result of a common cause--that recognition of complexity, and disposition to observe, which is a main fact in man's expansion. a better explanation may be found, i believe, in modern refinement and ethical sensitiveness. side by side with the new appreciation of nature may be observed a steady growth in sensibility. our modern moods of inward contemplation--we are famous for them--our modern zeal for humanity down to its lowest grades; nay, even our tenderness for the brutes, have been distinguishing marks of the poet guides under whom we have learned to appreciate our new physical symbolisms of human emotion. modern melancholy, as well, a melancholy more subtle and thoughtful, more poetical too, than that of mediævalism, has touched men with its pensive fascination. philosophical pantheism such as wordsworth's or tennyson's, feels deity in nature; the new christianity incarnates divinity in universal man. man is more than he used to be, his moods are deeper, his thought freer. he seeks more ardently than of old, because with less constraint, the mystery in whom he lives and moves and has his being. he no longer quails before the majesty and awe of its forever elusive presence. for he knows that though he cannot find it, it enfolds him with love and beauty, it cries back to his passion and pain in winter and storm; from the solemn mountains it reminds him of himself, an unconquerable partner of its own eternity. [decoration] footnotes: [ ] _lit. fam._, iv., . [ ] since this passage was written, i have met with the following extract from a letter of tennyson's, dated in , though with no direct reference to the experience being associated with nature: "all at once, as it were out of the intensity of the consciousness of individuality, the individuality itself has seemed to dissolve and to fade away into boundless being; and this not a confused state, but the clearest of the clearest, the surest of the surest, utterly beyond words, where death was an almost laughable impossibility, the loss of personality (if so it were), seeming no extinction, but the only true life." [ ] any student of dante, who recalls his lovely early sonnet, _guido, vorrei che tu e lapo ed io_, and compares it with shelley's almost parallel conception of lovers sailing away in indivisible companionship, in the latter part of _epipsychidion_, will obtain an excellent illustration of this same difference of feeling about the natural setting for a happy love. in dante the sentiment is vague, and only what is peaceful, while shelley's ideal haunt of lovers admits owls and bats with the ring-dove, an "old cavern hoar" left unadorned, mossy mountains, and quivering waves. [ ] we recall his great countryman's modern cry: "wohin es geht, wer weiss es? erinnert er sich doch kaum, woher er kam." [decoration] ulrich von liechtenstein. the memoirs of an old german gallant. any one who has read freytag's excellent studies of german social life will recall a curious illustration in his first volume of the lawless violence of thirteenth-century knighthood, in the imprisonment of ulrich von liechtenstein by his liegeman pilgerin. the account not only proves the author's point, but it goes on to suggest a good deal besides. for the victim's unsophisticated and plaintive manner under his misfortune, the fashion in which he relates what he suffered, his allusions to his own life and character, and most of all to the consolations of his love, are all stimulating to one's curiosity about the writer. when we go to the mediæval shelves of a german library we find this curiosity satisfied in a long poem by the unfortunate ulrich, and immediately we are in that chivalric age which wins most of its romantic lustre from its devotion to womanhood. if our guesses at a truth beneath the stories of widowed ladies rescued from bandits of the forest and recreant knights, or of lovely ladies rescued from worse than death by the capture of castles through the prowess of generous champions--stories which every one knows and incredulously likes--send us to a study of the times when they were composed, we find that the age, when stripped of romantic embellishments, in its actual life felt a sentiment for women unequalled by earlier times. we wonder what caused it. can it have been the increase in the culture of the virgin, that beautiful and beneficent phase of mediæval religion? in its larger development, this appears rather the parallel expression of some common influence, these adorations of the divine and human conceptions of woman seeming to be mutually impulsive, and drawn alike from some undetermined tendency of social and spiritual refinement. or was it the crusades? for a german essayist has suggested that we may count this increase of sentimentalism among their many influences upon western europe; the beauty of the women and the more luxurious habits of the east, its more effeminate emotionalism, finding impressionable subjects in the hearts of those stranger knights lying, wakeful for home, beneath southern stars. perhaps the conjecture is equally reasonable that the influence came from french poets who, as they travelled with the early christian armies, caught such suggestions from snatches of oriental poetry. yet it seems more natural to regard the growth of knightly sentiment toward ladies as the more delicate manifestation of a spontaneous increase of social personality, which was stimulated by that general motion in mind and heart which we observe in the progress of chivalric and crusadal life, and based, as we must not forget, upon that teutonic character, whose ancient deference to woman is recorded by tacitus side by side with his account of knighting youthful soldiers with spear and shield. but, to waive the question of its origin, we find its main expression in the old society, in that protracted and conventional wooing which, we should remember, was not usually directed toward marriage. as gentlemen grew hyperbolical and fantastic in their professions of regard and devotion, feminine coquettishness and love of admiration naturally became fastidious and exacting. ladies grew arbitrary and capricious, and began to demand substantial proofs of their lovers' concern for them. it became a trait of elegant culture for a lady to pose as inexorable, while still retaining her control over the wooer; while he, complaisant to the sentimental fashion, sighed in a cheerful melancholy, obeyed, adored, and waited. the mistress set tasks, often no trifles, which the loyal subject must perform--hard feats of arms, long and perilous journeys, abnegations of pride or comfort. when these were accomplished, he sometimes returned to receive a new test, involving a continued delay of his reward. these mediæval ladies were as pitiless as the mystic spiritual dictatress of browning's _numpholeptos_, to their devotees: "seeking love at end of toil, and finding calm above their passion, the old statuesque regard." in the fourteenth century something of this romantic tyranny survived. we find chaucer, for instance, in one of his early poems, mentioning in praise of his heroine that she did not impose dangerous expeditions to distant countries, or extravagant exploits upon her lover: "and saye, 'sir, be now ryght ware that i may of you here seyn worshippe, or that ye come agayn.'" extended probations, courtships long enough to satisfy ruskin, were an established convention. wolfram von eschenbach, in the seventh book of _parzival_, represents obie as indignantly telling her royal lover, who has asked her to marry him after what seems to him a reasonable love-making, that if he had spent his days for five years, in hard service, under full armor, with distinction, and she had then said "yes" to his desire, she would be yielding too soon. jane austen, in the novel to which trollope gave the palm of english fiction before _henry esmond_, has expressed in mr. collins's address to elizabeth exactly the notion of the significance in a rejection, held by well-bred gentlemen six centuries earlier: "'i am not now to learn,' replied mr. collins, with a formal wave of the hand, 'that it is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept, when he first applies for their favor; and that sometimes the refusal is repeated a second or even a third time. i am therefore by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the altar ere long.'" but these exercises, as was suggested, were not usually directed toward the altar. a characteristic of the age is the relation, less or more sentimental, between a married knight and a lady not his wife; a relation rather expected of the former, and countenanced in the latter. this peculiar dual system of domestic and knightly love may be ascribed to various influences, such as the prosaic influence of early and dowered marriages, subject to parental arrangement, or the feudal life which for considerable periods kept gentlemen away from their own homes in residence in the larger castles, or the idleness of such a society, or again the popularity of love-lyrics and romance-recitals, which would tend to sentimentalize their audience. at any rate, it came to be a fashionable idea that the highest love was independent of marriage, and the most poetically inclined,--the troubadours and the minnesingers--were famous for their impassioned and submissive service of married ladies. it is from these poets' accounts of their own love-trials that we learn most about this phase of mediævalism, and in their contented sufferings we see once more that the joy of all romantic love is in the lover. although there is danger of generalizing too widely from literary indications, we may believe that chivalric society was appreciably marked by formal amatory disciplines. was it all for nothing these ceremonial disciplines? can it be that these don quixote prototypes, who trifled away their frivolous days in lady-worship so trivial, did anything to help the prince to take cinderella from the ashes? the ashes, then the fairy coach; first the drudge, then the sentimental plaything, then at last the friend. in those days, as perhaps always, the lover objectified himself in his love, to the extent of finding in her his own _ideal feminine_. the very fact that this self, which he probably called into conscious life only as he created it in another, represented the most refined side of his thought, as is shown in the old poets' recurrent epithets of "constant, chaste, good," etc., made the devotion a refining and dignifying experience, especially for the days when men and women had less in common than they have now. these lady-services, where the lover often was denied intimacy for a considerable time, kept up the illusion which the devotee himself may have half felt was sentimental and artificial. we may reply to little peterkin that some good did come of it at last, even for the more commonplace of these servants of abstract womanhood. even if the "visionary gleam" left no permanent illumination, the men were better for seeing it brightening through their darkness now and then. at its best, lady-loving gave the mediæval knights consideration for women and a measure of gentleness. if it only stimulated some to fight hard, they would have fought anyway, and the motive was a shade less brutal than a directly selfish one. but such an eccentric social idea, especially when the poetic exhilaration of its earlier hours has passed by, was sure to bring out extravagant sentimentalists, whose romantic sensibility with no check from practical judgment, ran wild steeplechases of nonsense. such, for example, was the provençal poet, peter vidal, one of the most famous troubadours, who carried his romantic infatuations so far that he became crack-brained. the name of one of his ladies was lupa, mistress wolf; and if he had contented himself with assuming a wolfish device for his coat-of-arms, as he did, and having himself called mr. wolf, he would have done nothing very peculiar, for that age. but it occurred to him that it would be a graceful symbol to wear a wolf's skin, and after he had procured one which quite covered him, he got down on all-fours, and trotted through the street; and all went charmingly until one day, while he was exhibiting himself in this fashion about his lady's estate, a pack of dogs was deceived by the metaphor, and the allegorical lover was badly bitten before rescue arrived. but the most detailed example of mediæval gallantry is that presented in the work already mentioned, the autobiography of the thirteenth-century minnesinger, ulrich von liechtenstein. the poem is a prolix narrative of his amatory religion, extending through some sixteen thousand lines, and containing a large number of lyrics composed in the wooing of two ladies to whom he consecrated his literary and romantic life. we utterly tire of the commonplaces in which he praises them. we reflect that not a single specific incident is ever introduced to illustrate the inner character of either; the descriptions have no color, except in the heartlessness of the first beloved, whose virtue and humor alike ulrich apparently misses. yet this presumably undesigned caricature of the more poetic twelfth-century chivalric love gives important suggestions of the times, and ulrich himself is a knight and a poet worth knowing. the impression that his romance makes upon a modern reader is something like that of a beetle hovering above a lily. he played zany to the gentlemen of an early generation who had amused their leisurely lives by courtly lady-service; as he emulated their feats of sentimental gallantry, he stumbled and fell. the odd thing is that after each fall he called for his tables: "meet it is i set it down." undoubtedly many marvelled and admired, as they looked on: others marvelled and laughed. perhaps he mistook the laughter for applause. it may be that the sound was lost in the applause of his own simple-minded complacency. but yet, though this gallant was born to a foolish horoscope, his life gained a good fortune denied multitudes who lived sensibly,--he saw the stars of his destiny, and he loved them. their combination caused a silly career, yet individually they were admirable,--simplicity of nature, theoretical reverence for womanhood, patient love, regard for stately old usages. if defective eyesight makes a man fancy a burdock a rosebush, and if he tends and cherishes the absurd idealization,--at least, the man has a sentiment for roses. the earliest fact which ulrich has confided to us, is that in his childhood he used to ride about on sticks, in imitation of the knights, and while in that simple age he noticed that the poetry which people read, and the conversation of wise men which he overheard, kept declaring that no one could become a worthy man without serving unwaveringly good ladies, and that "no one was right happy unless he loved as dearly as his own life some one whose virtue made her fitly called a woman." whereupon, he thought in his simplicity that since pure sweet women so ennoble men's lives, he, whatever happened, would always serve ladies. in such thoughts he grew up until his twelfth year, when he began a four or five years' term as page to a lady who was good, chaste, and gentle, complete in virtues, beautiful, and of high rank. she was destined to give ulrich much trouble, and the lover's sweet solicitude began at once, as he started in his teens. for his constant attention found nothing in her but what was good and charming, and he feared--this boy of thirteen--that she might not care for him. his ups and downs of fortune are reported for us in the popular mediæval form (used for example by map, and one as late as by villon), of a dialogue between his heart and his body. heart is hopeful, but body has the better wit. yet even if she is too high-born to notice him, he will always serve her late and early, and in the interim between his childish page-waiting, and the bold knighthood to be his when he grows up, he gathers pretty summer flowers, and carries them to her. when she took them in her white hand, he was happy. as the time came near for him to leave her household, the youth grew emotional: when at table water was poured over those lovely white hands, he transformed her finger-glass into a tumbler. a german dry-as-dust has laughed at ulrich for this. but the tender little teutonic blossom could unfold its youth no longer in the sunshine of its lady-desire. the stern father appeared, and transferred the lover, his "grief showing well the power of love," to the service of an austrian margrave. "my body departed, but my heart remained"; and ulrich pauses for a moment to point out the strangeness of the paradox. "whenever i rode or walked, my heart never left her; it saw her at all times, night and day." his new master was a knightly gentleman, professedly a lady-servant, and the lessons that ulrich had caught as a child from the conversation in his father's hall were reinforced by this margrave henry. he was taught the best style of riding, the refinements of address to ladies, and poetical composition, and assured that whoever would live worthily must be a lady's true subject. "it adorns a youth--sweet speech to women.... to succeed well with them, have sweet words with true deeds." after four years of such instruction, his father's death called him home to inherit his property, and he spent the three years that followed by tourneying in the noviciate of knighthood. at vienna, in , during the great festival in celebration of the marriage of leopold's daughter, where five thousand knights were present, and tourneying and other entertainments of chivalry were mingled with much dancing, ulrich made one of the two hundred and fifty squires who received their spurs. but the occasion was otherwise memorable to him, for here he saw his lady again. she recognized him, and told one of his friends of her pleasure at seeing become a knight one who had been her page when a little fellow. the mere simple foolish thought that she would perhaps have him for her own knight, as he tells us, was sweet and good, and put him in high spirits. indeed this was all the contentment which the blushing young knight desired: "dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?" ulrich did not wake from his to do anything so practical as to speak face to face with her, but gaily rode off to a summer of adventure in twelve tournaments, wherein he invariably fared well, thanks to his devotion. german sentiment has always shown a butterfly's sensibility to winter and rough weather, and with the last of autumn, ulrich's spirit grows heavy. he longs to see his lady, he knows that now he would speak to her. there are no tourneys to distract him, and in care of heart he rose, lay down, sat, and walked. as it chanced, a cousin of his knew this only lovely one, and the taxing office of a lover's confidante fell heavily upon her, and remained for some years. after beating about the bush with her for a while, he confessed the truth, only to receive point-blank advice to give up so hopeless an aspiration. never! on the contrary she must help him in his perseverance by visiting the lady and presenting her with a copy of the verses which ulrich has been composing for her as a confession of his love. his cousin consented, but her mission resulted in a scornful rejection of the suit, softened by compliments upon the poem. he was advised to abandon his quest, for the lady seriously objected to his mouth. "nothing but grim death can drive me from her; i will serve her all my life," he exclaimed. but he felt that the criticism upon his mouth was a fair one, and he determined to pay attention to it. poor ulrich, with so much sentiment, yet with such physical deficiencies; with such correct perception of the use of lips, yet having such uninviting ones of his own. in one of his songs he tells us: when a lady on her lover looks and smiles, and for a kiss shapes her lips, he can discover never joy so great; his bliss transcends measure: o'er all pleasures is his pleasure. but until he was quite in his twenties, his experience of this blessedness must have been of those "by hopeless fancy feigned on lips that are for others"; for ulrich confesses to the deformity of what he calls three lips; that is, a bad hare-lip. but this protagonist of mediæval quixotism has energy and nerve, as well as sentiment. in spite of his cousin's dissuasions (this plain-minded lady tells him to take the body god has given him, instead of arrogantly improving upon his creation), ulrich rides off to find the best surgeon in the country, and submit to an operation. but the doctor decides that the time of year is unsuitable; he must wait until winter is past, keep his three lips until may. at last spring comes and ulrich returns to the doctor. upon the way he meets a page of his lady's, to whom he confides the purpose of his journey, and whose presence he secures as a witness. early one monday morning the surgeon received his patient, laid out his instruments before him, and produced several straps. at sight of the latter, martial dignity recoiled, and ulrich refused to allow himself to be bound. it was to no purpose that he was told of the danger involved in even a twitch; he said with spirit that he came of his own will, and if anything happened amiss he alone would be to blame. whereupon he sat calmly upon a bench, and without a tremor allowed the surgeon to "cut his mouth above his teeth and farther up. he cut like a master, i endured like a man." ulrich describes the discomfort which he experienced during the healing of the wound, in details which give an unpleasant notion of the methods of mediæval surgery. as he was able to eat and drink scarcely anything, he wasted in flesh, and his only comfort was the thought of her for whom he had suffered. during the confinement, he composed another dancing song in her honor, which, after his recovery he entrusted to his cousin, who forwarded it with a letter of her own. presently an answer came. the lady is to spend the next monday night near by, in the course of a journey, and she will be very happy to see her friend's relative, and learn from himself how things are. time changes the significance of letters, among other things. this lady-like note, which gave such a heart-leap to ulrich's sentimental hope, interests scholars to-day as being the earliest prose letter in german. on tuesday morning, when ulrich appeared at the chapel where the lady's chaplain was singing mass before her, she bowed without speaking. after the service she rode off, and ulrich had found no chance to meet her. his cousin, however, told him that everything was favorable, and that the lady would allow him to ride with her that day. so he galloped off in gay spirits, and soon overtook the cavalcade. but alas for his self-possession; when he reaches her his head drops and he cannot find a single word. another knight was riding with her. ulrich's heart makes a speech to his body, reproaching it for cowardice; "if you go on without speaking to her now, she will never be good to you again." so he rides up to her and gets a sweet glance, but still he cannot speak. heart nudges body and whispers: "speak now, speak now, speak now!" all through the day body tries, he tries over and over, but he cannot. alas, as a poet of his own day said: "mit gedanken wirt erworben niemer wîbes kint: . . . . . . . des enkan sî wizzen niht."[ ] when they reach their lodging-place for the night, he wishes to assist the only one in dismounting, but she is not sufficiently flattered by his attentions to accept them; she says that he is sick and useless, and not strong enough to help her down. the attending gentlemen laugh merrily at that, and the ever sweet, constant, good, and so forth, as she slides from her horse, catches hold of ulrich's hair, without any one's noticing it (however that can have been done), and pulls a lock out by the roots. "take this for being afraid," she whispers; "i have been deceived by other accounts of you." reproaching himself, and wishing god to take his life, he stood gawkily where she left him, absorbed in remorse for his awkwardness, until a knight admonished him to step aside and allow the ladies to go by to their rooms. whereupon he rode off to his inn, and swore that he was ill. as he tossed restlessly through the night, he talked with himself as usual, lamenting his birth, and assuring himself that should he live a thousand years he could never again be happy. "not to speak one word to her! my worthlessness has lost my lady." but in the morning he rode up to her on the street. no silence this time: "thy grace, gracious lady! graciously be gracious to me. thou art my joy's abiding place, the festival of my joys." like many shy people, ulrich talked fluently enough when he was once started, and he was only in the midst of his protestations when the lady interrupted him. "hush, you are too young; ride on before me. talking may hurt you, it never can help you. it would be amiss for others to hear what you are saying. leave me in peace; you grow troublesome." then she beckoned to another knight, and directed that she should never again be attended by less than two gentlemen. it was in the book of lady-service that no repulse was a discouragement. "this morning," says the heroine in bret harte's parody of _jane eyre_, "this morning he flung his boot at me! now i know he loves me." ulrich rode off, thinking that he had met with good success in telling her a part of his love, before the interruption. another summer passed in tourneying, and during another winter he tried to amuse himself by making poetry for his lady. this time he sent her a more pretentious tribute, his first "büchlein," a poem of some four hundred lines. like most of its kind, it is formal, sentimentally prolix, and supplicatory, yet not without a certain pleasant interest. he begs her from the wealth of her loveliness to grant him some trifling favor which she never can miss: what is worse the bloomy heath, if a few flowers for the sake of a garland some one break? he wishes it were himself that the messenger is about to deliver to her: little book, i fain would be, when thou comest, changed to thee. when her fair white hand receives thine assemblement of leaves, and her glances, shyly playing, thee so happy are surveying. and her red mouth comes close by, i would steal a kiss, or die. but the unsatisfactory manuscripts were returned at once. the lady told the bearer that she recognized the merit of the poetry, but she would have nothing to do with it. like many poets of those days when monks and ladies constituted the educated classes, like his predecessor, the great master of high mediæval romance, ulrich could neither read nor write, and for such delicate personal affairs as correspondence with his lady he depended upon his confidential clerk. this confidant of his passion was absent when the "büchlein" came back, but the eager eyes of the poet looked through the pages over which they had evidently wandered before he dismissed his labors to their fate, repeating the lines from memory as he looked over the characters which should interpret his loving patience to the lady who would not let him speak it to her; and as he looked, he detected an addition to what he had sent, an appendix of ten lines. the slighted letter found a home in his bosom, and for ten days he awaited his secretary's return. his happy hopes--those ten days were so cheerful. but when the little response was at last interpreted, away with hopes and cheerfulness. to make plainness trebly plain, his cruel correspondent had copied out three times the sentiment: "whoever desires what he should not, has refused himself." summer again, and the lover has diversion in the sports of chivalry. any one interested in the details of mediæval tournaments will find in ulrich's narrative a valuable and lively record of the tourney held at friesach in . his sense for material splendor is well shown by his full accounts of the costuming and tent equipments. the trustworthiness of the minor points may be questioned when we recall that the _frauendienst_ was composed more than thirty years later, but as a sketch of thirteenth-century chivalry, no doubt it is accurate. the heralds running hither and thither, and shouting as they arranged for the contests, with their cries to "good gallant knights to risk honor, goods, and life for true women"; the squires crowding the ways, loud noise of drums, flute-playing, blowing of horns, great trumpeting,--we have the old picture, made vivid in english by chaucer in the _knight's tale_, and by tennyson. ulrich rode in disguise, prompted by the sentimentalist's self-consciousness, always delighted in attracting attention and making himself talked of. according to his own account, he did good hearty tourneying, breaking ten spears with one antagonist, seven with another, five with a third, six with a fourth, in a single day. the meeting continued for ten days, and ulrich grows prolix in his particulars, though he is modest enough about his own exploits, pronouncing himself neither the best nor the worst of the participants. the accidents of jousting, through which many were left at friesach with broken limbs and other injuries, and the misfortunes which compelled others to have recourse to the jews for loans, did not disturb the musical contestant. at the end he rode cheerfully off to his cousin with another song for the same inattentive ear. she promised to report, as she sent it, that no one in the great tourney had excelled him. this lyric is the poem by which modern german students of their old literature have been best pleased, and we shall hardly dissent from scherer's commendation. for it is both a typical minnesong, in its treatment of nature and love, and also fortunate in its union of sentiment, force, finish, and a ring of personal meaning. omitting two of its stanzas, it goes as follows: now the little birds are singing in the wood their darling lay; in the meadow flowers are springing, confident in sunny may. so my heart's bright spirits seem flowers her goodness doth embolden; for in her my life grows golden, as the poor man's in his dream. ah, her sweetness! free from turning is her true and constant heart; till possession banish yearning, let my dear hope not depart. only this her grace i'll pray: wake me from my tears, and after sighs let comfort come and laughter; let my joy not slip away. blissful may, the whole world's anguish finds in thee its single weal; yet the pain whereof i languish, thou, nor all the world, canst heal. what least joy may ye impart, she so dear and good denied me? in her comforts ever hide me, all my life her loving heart. but elegant and tender as in the original these verses are, their object returned a slighting answer, and added that the messenger must not be sent again. people would come to have suspicions. ulrich made another set of verses, and went off to another joust. there one of his fingers was seriously wounded, and in his anxiety to save it he offered a surgeon a thousand pounds for a cure. the treatment was unsuccessful, and, after showing a good deal of temper, he went to a new surgeon, on the way beguiling himself of his pain by composing another poem upon the old theme. but a shock was at hand; a friend divulged to him his closely kept secret. "this lady [still unnamed to us] is the may-time of your heart." what though this friend believed that the lady cared for him? "my head sank down, my heart sighed, my mouth was dumb," in terror lest it might be through his fault that the object of his devotion had been discovered. for secrecy was the first of a chivalric lover's virtues, even about the object of his passion. yet the pain was not without compensation, inasmuch as this gentleman, who declared that he had already kept the secret for two years and a half, volunteered to make another appeal. so off to the home of the inexorable went anew the story of unflinching devotion, the loss of a finger in a tournament for her glory not unmentioned. ulrich's cause was pleaded with fervor, and in winning style. the lover was praised and prayed for. the song he had sent was even sung, instead of being formally delivered. a faithful and versatile legate was this proxy wooer, but it was all to no purpose. the lady declared that she would grow old in entire ignorance of any love but her husband's. she warned the messenger that ulrich would find himself in trouble if he should persist in annoying her with such sentimental folly; she would not receive such attentions from the highest-born--not even from a king. the news saddened, but did not cast down. "what if she refuses me?" cried ulrich; "that shall not disturb me. if she hates me to-day, i will serve her so that later she shall like me. were i to give up for a cold greeting, could a little word drive me away from my high hope, i should have no sound mind or manly mood. whatever the true, sweet one does to me, for that i must be grateful." but now another summer was over, and he diverted himself by a pilgrimage to rome. after easter he returned, on his way composing this sweetly conceived and rather pretty lyric: ah, see, the touch of spring hath graced the wood with green; and see, o'er the wide plain sweet flowers on every spray. the birds in rapture sing; such joy was never seen: departed all their pain, comfort has come with may. may comforts all that lives, except me, love-sick man; love-stricken is my heart, this drives all joys away. when life some pleasure gives, in tears my heart will scan my face, and tell its smart; how then can pleasure stay? vowed constantly to woo high love am i; that good while i pursue, i see no promise of success. pure lady, constant, true, the crown of womanhood, think graciously of me, through thy high worthiness. the knight passed his summer in steierland under arms, and after pleasant experiences he sent his messenger again, only to have his suit repelled with the same coldness and decision as before. the report was even more discouraging, for the lady, who had been told of his losing a finger in her service, had now learned that he still had it; nor was she moved by the assurance that it was almost useless. the desire to keep the wounded member had led him to large expense of money and time, but he cared for it no longer. he set about the composition of another long elegy, which explains how his heart loves her, and weeps for her favor, as a poor and orphaned child weeps after comfort; so ardently he loves her, that he gladly sacrifices anything, and as a pledge of his constant fidelity, he sends her one of his fingers, lost in that service for which it was born. after the poem was ready, he directed a goldsmith to make a fine case, in which he enclosed it. but he put in something more; he had the convalescent finger amputated, and sent it to the chiding critic as a proof that he had not lied in saying that he had lost it for her. yet even this failed to please so unsympathetic a mistress. she said she wondered how any one could be so foolish as to cut off his finger: he would have been able to serve ladies better by keeping it. however, she would retain the token of his consideration, but a thousand years of his service would be lost on her. ulrich was jubilant, for he was confident that with this memento, she would always think of him.[ ] now a large idea visits this sanguine gentleman. gone to rome on a pilgrimage, that is what he will pretend; he rigs himself out with a wallet and staff which he obtains from a priest, and trudges off. but something more novel and magnificent is haunting his ingenious mind. it is to venice that he goes--cautiously, so as not to be observed. upon his arrival, he takes lodgings in an out-of-the-way inn, so that no one may hear of him. there he spends the winter, making a liberal expenditure for costumes for himself and a retinue. he dresses himself as queen venus, in complete feminine attire, even to the long braids of hair which figure so prominently in the descriptions of the ladies of that age. when spring came, he sent a courier over the route that he intended to take on his journey homeward, with a circular-letter that contained a list of thirty places at which lady venus would appear, and joust with all contestants. a ring which makes beautiful and keeps true love, was offered to whoever might break a spear against her. if she should cast a knight down, he should become a loyal knight to women everywhere; if he were to overthrow her, she would give him her horse. but to no one would she show her face or hand. thirty days later he started on his disguised errantry. his retinue consisted of a marshal, a cook, a banner-bearer, two trumpeters, three boys to take charge of three sumpters, three squires for the three war-steeds, four finely dressed squires, each holding three spears, two maids--good-looking, he tells us,--and two fiddlers. who raised my spirits, fiddling loud a marching tune, which made me proud. behind these he rode himself, dressed, like the entire cavalcade, entirely in white,--cape, hood, shirt, coat reaching to his feet, embroidered silk gloves, and those hair-braids hanging to his waist. "in my love-longing heart, i rejoiced thus to serve my lady." the narrative of this "venus-journey" is prolonged, detailed, and tedious, and only two or three episodes need be mentioned. at treviso, a crowd of women are gathered about his lodging, when he comes out on his way to early mass, and he takes comfort in thinking how well-dressed he is. in the church, a countess suggests kissing him, conformably to the kiss of peace custom; the attraction is stronger than the desire for disguise, and he lifts his veil. she sees that lady venus is a man, but she kisses him nevertheless. "that raised my spirits," ulrich confides to us, "for a lady's kiss is delightful"; and he goes on to say that "every one who ever kissed a lady's mouth knows that nothing is so sweet as the kiss of a noble lady. a high-born true woman who has a red mouth and a fair body, whenever she kisses a man he can judge of a lady's kiss, and of it he is ever glad. a lady's kiss is still better than good, and it fills a heart with joy." no wonder that many ladies collected at his inn, to bid so sentimental a knight god-speed. from their prayers he assures us that he gained good fortune, "for god cannot slight ladies' petitions," an imputation of gallantry to god, for which we find curious mediæval parallels. wherever the knight goes, numerous contestants are awaiting him, in this idle age when no one had anything to do. some of these, also, assume disguises, one as a monk, another in female costume, his shield and spear æsthetic with flowers. but the travelling combatant is always the winner. at one point during the journey he steals off for a couple of days to a place which he has never mentioned previously: namely, to his home. the love-stricken lady-servant speaks with the most unaffected simplicity of the joy with which he rode away to see his wife: "who was just as dear to me as she could be.... the good woman received me just as a lady should receive her very dear husband. i had made her happy by my visit. my arrival had taken away her sadness. she was glad to see me, and i was glad to see her; with kisses the good woman received me. the true woman was glad to see me, and joyously i took my ease and pleasure there two days." this appears tautological, but it also seems sincere. but a wound was in store for his sensibility. one day he had gone to a retired place for a bath, and his attendant had gone to bring a suit. while thus left quite alone and unprotected, a lady sent by her servant a suit of female garments, a piece of tapestry, a coat, a girdle, a fine buckle, a garland, a ring with a ruby red as a lady's sweet mouth, and a letter. to receive such a gift from a lady not one's love was treason. he bade the page take the things away, but he would not; nay, he presently returned with two others, carrying fresh beautiful roses, which they strewed all about ulrich in the bath, while he raged and fumed to think of the insult offered to his unprotected condition. to think of receiving a gift from any but his own lady! and, of all gifts, a ring! the next present that came was received very differently. after all these years of neglect, the mistress of his life sent ulrich an affectionate message, and a ring which her white hand had worn for ten years, as a token that she took part in the honors which he was gaining, and rejoiced in his worthiness. possibly the knight's name was gaining currency as genuinely valorous. but fancy his ecstasy! "this little ring shall ever lift up my heart. well for me that i was born, and that i found a lady so true, sweet, blissful, lady of all my joys, brightness of my heart's joys," and so forth. he was informed that many knights were waiting to contest with him at vienna. "what harm can happen to me, since my lady is gracious? if for every knight there were three, i could master them all." outside of amorous and knightly themes, ulrich's mind is not active, but he occasionally shows a philosophical observation on social topics, as in the present context, where he comments on female vanity in dress: "woman's nature, young and old, likes many clothes. even if she does not wear them all, she is pleased to have them, so that she can say, 'an if i liked, i could be better dressed than other people.' good clothes are becoming to beautiful women, and my foolish masculine opinion is that a man should take pleasure in dressing them well, since he should hold his wife as his own body." certainly ulrich took pleasure in dressing himself well. the venus-journey ended, and ulrich counted up the results. two hundred and seventy-one of his spears had been broken, and he had broken three hundred and seven; he had brought honor upon his lady by his loyalty and valor; and had shown her constant devotion, even though he had momentarily fallen in love with a bewitching woman at one of his stopping-places, and taken advantage of his disguise to kiss various fair ones at mass. is it possible that the anonymous heroine heard of such trivial infidelities? at any rate, the next visit of the messenger brought a bitter dismissal, with cruel charges of inconstancy. she would always hate him, and never hold him dear; she was angry with herself for giving him a ring; she bade him return it at once. alas, poor ulrich! never had he entertained a false thought; if he had ever been guilty of one, he would in no wise have survived it. "i sat weeping like a child; from weeping i was almost blind. i wrung my hands pitilessly; in my distress my limbs cracked as one snaps dry wood." well may the poet declare that exhibition of grief no child's play. as the lover and his bosom friend sat weeping together, ulrich's brother-in-law admonished him that such behavior disgraced the name of knight; moreover, there was no reason for melancholy now, when the champion ought to be happy in the fine reputation just made. "if women hear how you are behaving, they will always hate you for this weak mood." ulrich tried to tell about his grief for the lady whom he had served so long, but the strain was too great: "the blood in truth burst out from my mouth and my nose, so that i was all blood." it was perhaps natural for his friend to thank god that "before his death he had been permitted to see one man who truly loves." yet he bade him be courageous. "nothing helps so much with ladies as good courage. melancholy doesn't succeed with them at all. joyousness always has served well with women." water is stable compared with ulrich's temperament. close upon the anguish of this renewed rejection he goes home for a ten-days' visit with his wife,--"my dear wife, who could not be dearer to me even though i had another woman for the lady of my life." within eight lines this mercurial poet speaks of his comfort with his wife, and of the suffering of his love-languishing heart. another message from his dream brought a renewed expression of coldness. she felt kindly to him, but she never would grant favor to any one. but another song and messenger secure at last the promise of an interview. yet notice the conditions. evidently this lady was a humorist, to whom her former page was amusing when her less complaisant mood did not find him tiresome. and perhaps she thought that he could not accept her terms. she says she will see him if he will come the next sunday morning before breakfast, dressed in poor clothes, and in company with a squad of lepers who have a camp near her castle. but even then he is to indulge in no hope of her love. the distance is so great that he thinks he will be unable to cover it in time; but he is told that he must, for "women are very strange; they wish men constantly to carry out their desires, and to any one who fails to do so they are not well disposed." on saturday he rode thirty-six miles, lost two horses by the forced journey, very likely over rough country, and was wearied by the exertion of so hard an effort. but he succeeded, and as soon as they reach the neighborhood of the castle, he and his two companions put on poor clothes--the shabbiest they could procure,--and with leper cups and long knives for their safety among such outcasts of society, they go to the spot where thirty lepers are huddled together. mediæval charity and religion are illustrated by this incident; the miserable beggars explain that a lady of the castle is ill, and therefore they often receive food and money in recompense for their prayers for her recovery. beating his clapper like one of them, he goes toward the castle gate, and meets an envoy maid who bids him beware of failing to obey every command literally, and adds that her mistress will not see him yet awhile. that personal vanity which always marked him had submitted to stains of herbs to disguise his face, as well as to miserable and ragged dress, and off he went, in the servitude of love, and sat among the lepers, ate and drank among them--nay, even went about begging for scraps, which, however, he threw under a bush. the foul odors and the filthiness of the wretches about him made the day almost insufferable, but at last night came, and he hid himself in a field of grain, getting well stung by insects and drenched in a cold storm. but he told himself that "whoever has in his troubles sweet anticipation, he can endure them." in the morning he went to the castle again, and was encouraged to believe that he would be received that evening. so he returned and ate with the beggars; then he escaped to a wood, and with true old german nature-sentiment, he sat down where the sun fell through the trees and listened to the birds--many were singing--and forgot the cold. toward evening he secured another interview with the maid, and received directions for the night. he and his companion hid in the ditch before the castle, skulking from the observation of the patrol, until well after dark; then when the signal light appeared at a certain window he went beneath it, and found a rope made of clothes hanging down. in this he fastened himself, and hands above began to raise him, but when he was half way up they could raise him no farther, and he was let down to the ground. this happened three times; and yet, guileless ulrich, you had no glimmering that perhaps it was a joke? the companion was lighter than his lord, and it occurred to the two that they had better change places. so they did, and the substitute was lifted into the window by the waiting ladies above, and then ulrich himself arrived there. he was given a coat (an accident below had compelled him to leave his on the ground), and, blissful moment, he was ushered into the presence of the woman whom he had so long served without even a glimpse. it was a brilliant social scene which broke upon those enamoured eyes, indeed too brilliant and too social to correspond with a lover's sentiment for "dual solitude." his soul's desire, richly dressed, sat upon a couch, surrounded by a bevy of ladies. her husband, it is true, was not present, but with an absence of tact (as it must have seemed to ulrich) she fell to talking about him and her complete happiness in his love. their mutual confidence is so strong that he is quite willing to have her receive any visitors whom she pleases, and she added that her true mind served him better than any safeguard which he could put upon her. awkward as such a line of conversation made it, ulrich began to tell the story of his heart, and entreats her to respond to his devotion. she assured him that she had no thought of ever loving him; she had consented to this interview only to assure him of her kindly feeling, and satisfy him from her own lips that he must cherish no romantic hope. if he continued to ask her to love him, he should lose her favor. "i was horrified," he declares, "and started up at the threat." at this point in the interview he withdraws to talk to his cousin, who was with other ladies in an adjoining apartment, and who advised him to return and plead again. but an abrupt dismissal sends him into a moody reflection, which culminates in a desperate resolve. now or never; he sends her word of his determination, and then rushes in and tells her that if she will not say she loves him, he will kill himself then and there. the lady sees that such a suicide would be compromising, and tries to persuade him that perhaps she may some time. ah, no such coyness; she must confess her love to-night. finally, as a last resource, she thinks of employing the usual right of a courted woman--putting her lover to a test of his devotion. he has already given her so many that a trifling, a merely formal one will serve now. let him just get into the clothes-rope again and be lowered part way down, and pulled back; then she will say she loves him. a glimmer of suspicion flits over his mind, but she gives him her hand as a pledge, and he gets into the rope. now he is hanging outside the window, still holding the dear hand, and such sweet things as she whispers, as she leans out--no knight was ever so dear to her; now comes his contentment, all his troubles are past now! she even coddles his chin with her disengaged hand, and bids him kiss her. kiss her! in his joy he lets go the hand he was holding, to throw both arms about her neck, when suddenly he is dropped to the ground so swiftly "that he ran great peril of his life."[ ] in the rooms above a score of voices ringing with laughter, on the ground a too credulous child of mars and venus, cursing his day. ulrich spies a deep pool and is about to drown himself, when his companion arrives with a little present sent by the lady. she promises--(the gentleman afterward confesses that this is a falsehood of his own to preserve ulrich from despair)--that if he will return in three weeks, she will assure him of her real affection. but now it is near day, and they must hasten off; providentially there is a tournament awaiting them, which will distract his attention. but he sends his friend back to have a talk with the lady, who is in a rather humorous mood, and says that ulrich made so much noise when he fell that one of the guard thought it was the devil. but though she laughs, she evidently has had enough of such fun, for she tells the messenger that if his lord wishes her favor he must make the journey over-sea. ulrich agrees to go, but he is warned against the almost hopeless dangers of that most formidable of pilgrimages; he is reminded that no one ever took such a perilous journey except for god, and that he would surely sacrifice his soul, if he lost his life thus for a woman. but one grows tired of the story, which runs on with ups and downs, over the long thirteen years through which ulrich served this lady. toward the end of the period he was plainly growing impatient. he wrote more lyrics, which suggest here and there that devotion without love in return is foolish, and that he is contemplating a change. finally he conceived himself treated shamefully (we are not told what the discourtesy was which he could not idealize), and he made a final break with his old worship. but now the time passed wearily, and he felt that he must still have a lady to serve. "how joyfully once the days went by; alas, no longer have i any service to render. how happy ladies' service makes one." but the knight has learned the lesson of his trials, and this time he arranges for a judicious passion. he runs over all his female acquaintance, to see which of them he had best select. finally he fixes upon one who, of course, is beautiful and good, and wholly free from change; who has finished manners and gentle ways, chastity and force of character, and to her he offers his service, which she accepts. from this point in ulrich's memoirs we have an increasing number of lyrics; he likes them all, but complains that one or two were not appreciated by the public, though whoever was clever enough to understand his poetry, he tells us, did appreciate it. perhaps we are not clever enough to understand it all; but some of the songs, as he himself says, "are good for dancing and very cheerful; the martial ones were gladly sung when in the jousts fire sprung from helmets," and more than one of his poems is a contribution to the graceful though minor work of the later minnesingers. for example: summer-hued, is the wood, heath and field; debonair now is seen white, brown, green, blue, red, yellow, everywhere. everything you see spring joyously, in full delight; he whose pains dear love deigns with her favor to requite-- ah, happy wight. whosoe'er knows love's care, free from care well may be; year by year brightness clear of the may shall he see. blithe and gay all the play of glad love shall he fulfil; joyous living is in the giving of high love to whom she will, rich in joys still. he's a churl whom a girl lovingly shall embrace, who'll not cry "blest am i"-- let none such show his face. this will cure you (i assure you) of all sorrows, all alarms; what alloy in his joy on whom white and pretty arms bestow their charms? and again: sweet, in whom all things behooving, virtue, brightness, beauty, meet, little troubles thee this loving, thou art safe above it, sweet. my love-trials couldst thou feel from thy dainty lips should steal sighs like mine, as deep and real. sir, what is love? prithee, answer; is it maid or is it man? and explain, too, if you can, sir, how it looks; though i began long ago, i ask in vain; everything you know explain, that i may avoid its pain. sweet, love is so strong and mighty that all countries own her sway; who can speak her power rightly? yet i'll tell thee what i may. she is good and she is bad; makes us happy, makes us sad; such moods love always had. sir, can love from care beguile us and our sorrowing distress? with fair living reconcile us, gaiety and worthiness? if her power hath controlled everything as i've just told, sure her grace is manifold. sweet, of love there's more to tell thee; service she with rapture pays; with her joys and honors dwell; we learn from her dear virtue's ways. mirth of heart and bliss of eye whom she loves shall satisfy; nor will she higher good deny. sir, i fain would win her wages, her approval i would seek; yet distress my mind presages; ah, for that i am too weak. pain i never can sustain. how may i her favors gain? sir, the way you must explain. sweet, i love thee; be not cruel; thou to love again must try. make a unit of our dual, that we both become an "i." be thou mine and i'll be thine. "sir, not so; the hope resign. be your own, and i'll be mine." the latter part of this prolix autobiography is occupied by a detailed account of a long tourneying trip, which he contrived as a parallel to his venus-journey, this time under the disguise of king arthur. but the narration of that ends at last, and ulrich becomes reflective upon the seasons and his lady. "whoever sorrows at winter, and is made glad by summer, lives like the bird which rejoices in sunny may. how distressing is bad weather! yet whatever the weather, her goodness gives me joy which storms cannot disturb." presently he tells us his feelings about the life around him, for the social critics of mediævalism felt the inequalities of fortune and happiness quite as strongly as do the social critics of to-day. some time earlier ulrich, in criticising a number of knights whom he met, showed a noteworthily refined feeling for generous qualities, and resistance against hardness and selfish aims. in spite of this love-singer's belief in cheerfulness ("no one does well to be sad except about sins," he wrote), the roughness of the age troubled him, as it had troubled earlier and greater authors of his nation. "instead of being good, the rich work one another harm; the only profession is that of plundering, the service of ladies is forsaken. the young men are spendthrifts, and with pillaging consume their youth." indeed, the golden hour of chivalry had struck when ulrich wrote, in his later life, just past the middle of the thirteenth century. but this sentimental absurdity, whose fanciful devotion and melodramatic moonings we find so preposterous, kept a strain of the higher manhood. he was good-hearted; he believed in the refined side of life, so far as he knew it; in a rough time and place he loved gentleness; though born with a large streak of the fool, he had also a pleasant element of the simple-minded gentleman; and as he grew old amid fading ideals, over which he had hung with effeminately romantic faith, the brutal and joyless hardness of men perplexed and saddened him. yet his simplicity was his trouble's best physician; nature, the beauty and goodness of true womanhood, his sense of inner virtue as opposed to worldly estimates, and his poetry--in these he found comfort. "whatever people have done, i have been happy and sung of my love." after ulrich has told the story of his worldly and sentimental career, he stops to think over the cause to which that career has been consecrated. has he made a mistake? never! "when beauty and goodness unite in woman, she is admirable; one whose goodness is clothed with a noble spirit wears the best of garments. even though a woman has little beauty, if she has the raiment of goodness, men yet call her fair. be sure that no clothes better become a lady than goodness--it is better than beauty, though that is excellent. by goodness a poor woman will become truly a lady, and this the rich cannot be without it; nay, shapely and noble though she may be, without this she is still no womanly woman." ... "whoever loves the sight of pretty women," he goes on, "and will not notice their goodness but only their bright charm, is like one who gathers pretty flowers for their bright beauty's sake, and twines them into a garland; then, finding that they are not fragrant, he is sorry that he gathered them. but whoever understands plants, lets those grow which have no sweet odor, and breaks off fragrant flowers." for over thirty years he has served ladies, and he knows no truth so certain as this, that nothing equals the mutual happiness of a true woman and a loving man. yet sentiment can play only a minor part in life, after all. there are four main objects of exertion, and upon these, as he ends his book, the poet stops to reflect: the grace of god, honor, ease, and wealth. some strive for one, some for another, while others aim ineffectively at all, win none, and hate themselves. and what has this old german gallant to say of himself? in all these revelations of his life, we catch no suggestions of selfishness or meanness, but while fancying himself enacting high chivalric drama, he has been wearing cap, and bells, and motley, lance in his left hand, a bauble in his right. then, too, he has been so self-satisfied with his rôle. well, the play is finished now, and ulrich is sitting in the green-room, thinking. his coat is flung aside, with one last jingle the bells fall to the floor, he has dropped his bauble, and as he bows his head and in his musing runs his fingers through his hair, the coxcomb falls too. it is here in the green-room that he speaks his epilogue: "of this last class am i; i have lived my life trying not to give up the three for any one. i desired and even hoped that i might obtain all the four. this hope has still deceived me, and i am made a fool by it. one day i will serve him who has given me soul, life, thought, whatever i have; the next as a man i will strive for honor; then for wealth; on the fourth day i am for ease. thus inconstant, i have passed my entire life." nothing accomplished--nothing even steadily aimed at. nothing? with characteristic buoyancy the gray-haired poet puts aside this sombre mood of dissatisfaction with his fifty odd years. for in one point, at least, he has been true. in this book, written only because his lady commanded, he has spoken very many sweet words for worthy women, and throughout his life he has been faithful to his love. "and i do believe that the very true sweet god, through his very high goodness, will think on my fidelity to her, and my constant service." [decoration] footnotes: [ ] "a woman is never won by what is in one's thoughts: . . . . . . . . of that she can know nothing." [ ] with this extravagant but probably veracious incident, one naturally compares the sacrifice of guillem de balaun's finger nail. [ ] these poet lovers seem to have been frequently laughed at. for instance, pierre vidal was promised in their amusement anything by the ladies whom he loved. na alazais was so indignant when he took encouragement to steal his one kiss, that he was compelled to flee, and go with richard to the east. [decoration] neidhart von reuenthal, and his bavarian peasants. our liveliest pictures of old german peasantry come, as we should expect, from a singer of the knightly class. the masses had fewer and of course less accomplished poets, and these would be most likely to please their audiences by touching with the glamour of fashionable life such work as they cared to make contemporary and imitative. realistic social transcripts usually come from culture. it may be that neidhart von reuenthal had been brought up at the ducal court or in a castle, but there is as good reason for conjecturing that his origin was among the scenes of country life that he describes. most of the courtly poets belonged to the lower class of knights, and between this and the better order of peasants there was no wide dividing line; indeed, a farmer with a little land of his own and four free ancestors ("von allen vieren anen ein gebûre," as neidhart says bitterly of his enemy the swaggering ber), by the old saxon law stood higher than a knight not of free blood. the agricultural class in the thirteenth century was becoming more impatient of the costly conflicts of their military superiors and was also suffering severely from the pillaging domestic raids of lawless knights, who, as they grew bolder, established centres of reckless free-booting to which they attracted wayward youth of the middle classes. cities were also getting larger, and the tradesmen joined with the established gentry in thinking slightingly of the farming population. accordingly there was jealousy on one side and arrogance on the other, yet there was still a meeting-place between the two classes. depleted nobles would marry daughters of wealthy peasants, and a gentleman whose fief lay among well-to-do farmers might easily meet them in social relations. a grant from the bavarian duke evidently isolated neidhart from his own companions, and he appears to have mingled freely with the peasantry, though we cannot determine how early the contact began. he was born in the latter part of the twelfth century, we may say about , perhaps, and with the exception of absence on leopold vii's crusade of - , he apparently kept his home in his native bavaria until about , when he lost the duke's favor and turned as a homeless wanderer to austria, where he received welcome and another fief. the last date inferred from his songs is , in connection with the emperor's coming, and he was dead before the composition of meier helmbrecht, which is earlier than . so far as imitations prove popularity, he was one of the most popular of mediæval poets. it is easy to understand the pleasure that his verses must have given, striking as they did into a new field, and executed with literary skill, full of verve and humor, and appealing to strong class prejudice. we must think of him as a gentleman fond of society, of refined courtly habits, with an aristocratic contempt for pinchbeck upstarts, yet not unwilling now and then to play the good-natured acquaintance with middle-class people. though he ranks as a knight, his tastes were not military. he was lively, quick-witted, and satirical; clever at musical invention; genuinely interested in poetry. moreover, he gave early evidence of an independent literary taste, that dared to yawn at the methods practised by the great minnesingers of his youth. by his singing he had obtained sufficient favor with the duke to receive a fief though away among the peasantry; yet rather than relinquish a home of his own, that constant dream of his profession, he made the merriest and the best of the time he needed to spend on his estate. the feeling for spring is largely an animal sensation, as the lambs in the pasture, or dogs on the green, or little children remind us. the comparison of loving something "as goats love the spring," goes back to greek literature. it has also been habitually associated with physical sentiment, as the splendid proëmium of lucretius suggests. with this buoyancy of spirits and emotional susceptibility, serious minds touched with poetry have associated various deep and beautiful moods. but the moral element that enters into such spring poems as wordsworth's, is not present in mediæval literature. there we find poets feeling spring as animals, as children, as lovers. those were out-of-door generations; hunting, riding, fighting, and enjoying themselves beneath the open sky, were their chief employments. they found winter travel hard, for they had no beaten roads; it caused a dreary interruption to their principal engagements, and to a large extent confined them in narrow quarters, not too comfortably warmed. in spite of all the amusements that could be provided, the time must have dragged. if romans could cry out as ovid did at the significance of spring, what must the season have meant to the castled sons of central europe. it is not strange then that their nature-worship instituted in early times a festival to the genial conqueror of frost and snow, and that this ceremony, as the old superstitions died away, was continued in graceful traditions of village customs. the first flowers or the earliest boughs in leaf served as the signal for the ceremonial welcome of april or may. with widely varying details, the youth of the parish would stream out to the fields or woods, and come back singing spring catches, and dancing that long, skipping forward step which they practised out-of-doors, carrying with them trophies of the season. sometimes they fastened the first violet to a pole, and setting it up danced around it; sometimes they danced about the first linden that appeared in leaf. it is the linden that the poets are continually mentioning, whether in the centre of the courtyard or in the field, and the tree suggests the social life of the old times as happily as the pine under which charlemagne sat, in the great chanson, suggests the imperial master. customs related in herrick's _going a-maying_, such as the decoration of the houses of favorites with early greenery and the processions of girls and young men to the woods and fields, were familiar in germany long before. exercises to welcome spring became not only a social but even--so far as the rude country songs went--a literary habit. the earlier ritual dance around some altar or symbol of the summer deity grew into an entertainment from which all sense of its original significance had passed away. these celebrations became the main social feature of the warm months. at one time partners appear to have been taken for the year (a passage in _wilhelm meister_ reminds us of this usage), but not in the period before us. a summons to a holiday dance (and the large number of church festivals made holidays frequent) was usually given by a musician playing or singing through the street. the young men and women, and not infrequently their elders, came to the customary field, dressed for the gaiety; as they went along, tossing and catching bright-colored balls. this favorite ball-playing, mentioned by more than one poet of the age as a sign of spring, and especially entered into by girls, often formed a prelude to the dance. for one thing it gave the girls a way of choosing their partners, for the man who caught the ball tossed by a girl, according to some usages, could claim the right to dance with her. an anonymous poet of the thirteenth century gives a lively picture of one of these scenes. "all the time the young people are passing ball on the street. this is the earliest sport of summer, and as they play they scream. what if the rustic lad gives me a shove? how rude he is as he darts here and there, flying and chasing and playing tricks with the ball. then two by two they have a hoppaldy dance about the fiddle, as if they wanted to fly." as one of the fellows holds the ball, "what pretty speeches the girls make him, how they shriek, how wild they get. while he's hesitating to whom he'll throw, they stretch out their hands; now you're my friend (geveterlin),--throw it down here to me ... jiutelin and elsemuot hurry after it. whoever gets it is the best one. krumpolt ran, and cried, 'throw it to me, and i'll throw it back.' in the scrimmage some of the girls get pushed down, and an accident happens to eppe, the prettiest one in the field. but she picks herself up, and tosses the ball into the air. all scream, 'catch it! catch it!' no girl can play better than she does; she judges the ball so well, and is such a sure catch." another way of choosing partners was by presenting garlands, and one of the prettiest of the spring customs was the walk to the fields and woods after flowers for wreaths, either to give away or to wear. so one of the latin songs describes young people going out,-- "juvenes ut flores accipiant et se per odores reficiant virgines assumant alacriter, et eant in prata floribus ornata, communiter." it certainly is a genial phase of those old times, this out-of-door companionship of lads and lassies, gathering flowers and "dancing in the chequered shade." the custom has in a manner survived to our own day; in england, for example, mr. thomas hardy has introduced such scenes very pleasantly in some of his novels, but the zest and universality of it have not descended. even in elizabeth's england the hobby-horse was forgot; and back in the thirteenth century the may-time amusements were being frowned away. for preachers and moralists saw much evil in these summer gaieties. it is the old story: nature is such a puritanical stage-manager that she likes to bring on a tragedy for the after-piece to her pleasant comedy, and she is best satisfied when we take warning from the practice and stay away from the play. the insane frenzies into which meadow dancing was carried on some occasions, especially at the riotous midsummer festival, do not belong to our subject. neidhart assumes a flippant tone about matters of conduct, but his treatment of the summer merrymakings is usually innocent and agreeable. he comes as an artist, to the rude material provided in the traditional village songs for these occasions, and transfers to the polished verse of germany's already highly trained lyrical school, that fresh and gay subject-matter that is so remote from the formal phrases of most of his courtly predecessors. his songs are lyric in their introduction, but almost invariably epic or dramatic in the later stanzas, scarcely ever overstepping closely drawn lines. whereas, walther von der vogelweide's work in the popular poetry retains the lyrical mood throughout, and is far less realistic, never, i believe, treating a peasant element as such. those lyrical preludes attest neidhart's deep sentiment for nature; we feel that, in spite of the conventionality in them. he has the rare merit of an occasional specific note, and he touches even the hackneyed expressions about birds and flowers with a contagious buoyancy. look at a few of these introductions: "hedges green as gold; the heath dressed in bright roses. come on, you fine girls: may is in the land. the linden is well hung with rich attire; now hearken, how the nightingale draws near." "the time is here: for many a year i have not seen a fairer. the cold winter is over, and many hearts rejoice that felt its chill. the woods are in leaf. come then with me to the linden, dear." "summer, a thousand welcomes! whatever heart was wounded by the long winter is healed, its pain all gone. thou comest welcome to the world in all lands. through thee, rich and poor lose their sorrows, when winter has to go." and another, which loses its effect if we neglect the long, swinging metre: the forest for new foliage its grey dress has forsaken; and therefore now full many hearts to pleasure must awaken. the birds to whom the winter brought dismay, have never sung so well as now the praises of the may. the winter from the lovely heath at last has turned aside, and there the blossoms stand, arrayed in colors gaily pied. above them may's sweet dews are lightly shed; ah, how i wish i had a wreath, dear friend, a lady said. this stanza moves more quickly: forth from your houses, children fair! out to the street! no wind is there, sharp wind, cold snow. the birds were dreary, they're singing cheerily; forth to the woodland go. after such opening stanzas comes the action of the song, almost always an expression of a girl's longing to go to the dance, and her mother's unwillingness. the burden of the remonstrances is that of the song in _much ado_, "men were deceivers ever"; and though some of the conversations are amiable, often the two come to high words, and even to blows. the girl cannot think of going without her best costume, and this, in the prudent old domestic management, was always carefully folded up, and kept under lock and key. "who gave you the right to lock up my gown?" a daughter demands. "you did not spin a thread of it. where's the key? now open the room for me." finally, she obtained it by stealth. "she took from the chest the gown that was laid in many small folds. to the knight of reuenthal she threw her colored ball." but neidhart grimly brings in her mother at the close. another cries: "bring me my fine gown. the gentleman from reuenthal has sung us a new song. i hear him singing there to the children. i must dance with him at the linden." her mother warns her of what happened to her playmate jiute last year, "just as her mother said." but the gentleman had sent her a lovely garland of roses, and had brought her a pair of red stockings from over the rhine, which she was wearing then; and she had promised to let him teach her the dance. another song represents two girls talking of the same knight from reuenthal: "all know him, and his songs are heard everywhere. he loves me, and to please him i will lace myself trimly, and go." some of the mothers do more than remonstrate: "the wood is well in leaf, but my mother will not let me go. she has tied my feet with a rope. but all the same, i must go with the children to the linden in the field." her mother overheard and threatened to punish her. "you little grasshopper, whither wilt thou hop away from the nest? sit and sew in the sleeve for me." the girl is impudent, and the poem ends with a lively contest. love is too strong. "he kissed me," one of them says, "and he had some root in his mouth, so that i lost all my senses." perhaps the high-born poet bewitched these peasant-girls; he often assures us of it. one of them is plighted to a farmer, and whenever he expects to find her at home to entertain him, she joins the dancers, as toward evening "they bend their way down the street," and throws her ball to the knightly singer. even the mothers themselves are sometimes caught by the desire to dance with him, or at least with some of the men at the linden, and in two or three of neidhart's sprightliest songs the tables are turned, and the daughter tries to keep her mother from the gaieties that her years have outgrown. i have translated two of these summer dance songs in their exact rhythms, and so literally as to make them appear almost bald. in the first the nature opening may be omitted. "mother, do not deny me,-- forth to the field i'll hie me, and dance the merry spring; 'tis ages since i heard the crowd any new carols sing." "nay, daughter, nay, mine own, thee i have all alone upon my bosom carried; now yield thee to thy mother's will, and seek not to be married." "if i could only show him! why, mother dear, you know him, and to him i will haste; ah, 'tis the knight of reuenthal, and he shall be embraced. "such green the branches bending! the leafy weight seems rending the trees so thickly clad: now be assured, dear mother mine, i'll take the worthy lad. "dear mother, with such burning after my love he's yearning, ungrateful can i be? he says that i'm the prettiest from france to germany." bare we saw the fields, but that is over; now the flowers are crowding thro' the clover; at length the season that we love is here: as last year, all the heath is caught and held by roses; to roses summer brings good cheer. thrushes, nightingales, we hear them singing; with their loud music mount and dale are ringing: for the dear summer is their jubilee: to you and me, it brings bright sights and pleasures without number; the heath is a fair thing to see. "dewy grow the meadows," cried a maiden, "branches lately bare are greenly laden: listen! how the birds are crowning may: come and play, for, wierat, the leaves are on the linden; winter, i ween, has gone away. "this year, too, we'll dance till twilight closes; near the wood is a great mass of roses, i'll have a garland of them, trimly made; come, you jade, hand in hand with a fine knight you'll see me dance in the linden shade." "little daughter, heed not his advances; if thou press among the knights at dances, something not befitting such as we there will be trouble coming to thee, little daughter-- and the young farmer thinks of thee." "nay, i trust to rule a knight in armor; how then should i listen to a farmer? what! you think i'd be a peasant's bride!" she replied: "he could never woo me to my liking, he'll never marry me," she cried. at first neidhart seems to have maintained friendly relations with the young men of the district, for we find him addressing in amicable terms even engelmar, who later became his worst enemy, complimenting him upon his room, in a song apparently designed for a dance at his house. but it is difficult to believe that his critical genius would have gone long without expression, and he presently began amusing himself, and courting the admirations of others, by original snatches of songs that were imitated from the _trutzstrophen_ of humorous, rustic, and often roughly personal verses, that were evidently in vogue among the country people before neidhart's day. such jeering, gibing bits of peasant fun-making would grow out of the custom of songs at these rural gatherings, like the parallel practice sometimes found with us of country valentine-parties, where personalities are touched off with the freedom of anonymous and privileged license. we can readily imagine him beginning with hits at one and another, that contained no deeper offence than an inevitable tone of his amused sense of the ridiculous. but the country gallants, already jealous of their elegant rival, whose gentlemanly prestige and courtly accomplishments would naturally make him attractive to their sweethearts, would be quick to take umbrage, and boorishly ready to manifest their displeasure. neidhart certainly enjoyed at least as much of the poetic dower as "the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn," and must have answered their sullenness and rudeness with the contempt that falls with such a sting from gentility. then stung himself by their bad manners, he naturally composed sharper and more direct stanzas, holding those who had offended him up to the laughter of other men, and of the tittering damsels. it does not seem probable that the most cutting and individualized of these attacks were written to be sung at dances where the victims of the satire were present. when we consider the violence and recklessness that historically marked this whole class in the thirteenth century, we are sure that the poet would hardly have survived some of the recitations. many of them he probably composed to gratify his possibly irritated mood; for, as we shall presently see, his displeasure was deeper than the vexation of wounded social pride. but they strayed easily to the objects of their ridicule. as he strolled along the street, carrying his fiddle, and stopping to amuse himself at one house or another with any of the pretty girls whom he found idle like himself, he may have played and sung the piece over which he had just been working, or the minor singers who must have haunted him as he grew better known, would catch up and repeat far and wide the witty verses. the piece at which he was working, i said, for in an important sense the poems were professional labor. the natural comparison of the minnesinger on his farm to ovid among the goths, loses most of its force when we reflect that neidhart's absences from his various little romes were in some sense at his own pleasure, and that he must have kept riding about from castle to castle, and have made frequent sojourns at his patron's court, in the exercise of his now established musical vocation. the better his songs, the surer his hold on the duke's favor, and as his prestige might rise throughout the country, the more cordial his greeting would be, and the more generous his dismission whenever he chose to go. these mediæval poets were more than careless rhymsters: painstaking labor was assumed as necessary for success. their poetry was as subtle and difficult as the schoolmen's philosophy; though we may not care much for either, we at least respect the skill with which they mastered self-enforced technical difficulties. arnaut daniel's contest for a wager with another troubadour (king richard was to decide which produced the cleverer poem), illustrates the statement that time was thought necessary for composition. the provençal biography tells us that the contestants were shut up in separate rooms, and only ten days were allowed each for preparing his song. in neidhart's seclusion on his fief, then, he would naturally make studies for his more important literary appearances, studies in subject-matter, as well as in verse and music. and a large number of his poems, at least considered in their entirety, must be thought of as compositions intended for courtly audiences. it is to be presumed that neidhart began by writing in the conventional style of the love-singers. but his sense of humor and his originality were too vigorous to allow him to continue in the polished and monotonous manners of the school that reached its acme in reinmar. he possessed the creative faculty, and the rude village lyrics were a sufficient suggestion of the new departure that he at once instituted and consummated. he put in the place of lyrical elegies, lyrical snatches of epic; and instead of gathering his epic materials from the already familiar, even if not hackneyed, cycles of chivalry, he took them from the real life, and that a growing life, of the german villagers of his time. their boorish manners and arrogant social pretensions, their vulgar assumptions of elegance, and their jealous, recklessly brutal tempers, he sketches vividly. his touch is not to be called magical, there are no imaginative hauntings about the poems, there is little fascination of subtle poetry in his expression or his melodies. but his rude subjects are by no means treated rudely; he shows excellent technique in those elaborately built stanzas; his tone rather deepens than shrills in excited movements: in his dash and energy of feeling, he retains artistic self-possession; while he is such an iconoclast of sentimental poetry, that some have thought that walther had him in mind in his complaint of the new school. he invariably shows sentiment for nature in his preludes, as well as sympathetic tones for character, especially in what we may call his personal confessions. it is indeed by virtue of this combination of qualities, as well as by his novelty of subject, that he caught the approval of his age. romantic idealism was dying out, and a long period of coarse sensibility was drawing on; while there was yet still some feeling for sentiment, and an intellectual appreciation of artistic performance was, as usual, lapping over the first stages of literary decadence. if we accept the view which i have suggested, that at least as wholes many of neidhart's songs were intended only for the gentry, we may find it easier to meet the question of their autobiographic and actual significance. it is possible to be unduly literal and too credulous of the historic reality of whatever is found in an old literature. especially in the works of the minnesingers, some modern germans appear unconscious that a poet may relate fictitious experiences and sensations. as i have remarked in an earlier essay, cowley's love-poems had many mediæval prototypes, and there seems no necessity for assuming a fact behind each of neidhart's statements. why is it not reasonable to suppose that having once made what we call a "strike" with some of his village characters, he occasionally invented continuations or parallels? we may go so far as to assert the possibility that the continual reappearances of engelmar, neidhart's most recurrent character, who is always associated with the beginning of his disasters, is due quite as much to the fact that his early treatment of the famous snatching of a girl's mirror proved, by virtue of the topic, or the melody, or both, a great favorite, as to the incident in itself having been of the fateful influence upon his life that is implied. in other cases, as in what we may term the episode of the ginger-root, neidhart certainly seems to be referring to some of his most popular earlier songs, for no other reason than that the reference would be agreeable to his audience and give a sort of continuity to his work. one of these instances is almost pathetic. the poet is old and song comes hard to him. after several stanzas of unusually serious tone, he says that people ask him why he does not sing as they are told he once did: they keep wondering what has become of the peasants who used to be on tulnaere-field. so he attempts to conclude with a strain of his old satirical gaiety. "i'll tell of the bold free ways of limizun, who is yet worse than our friend who took friderun's mirror, or those who bought mail awhile ago at vienna," as if by the mention of these popular achievements of his younger wit he could hide his dull present mood. so, too, as it appears to me, we may explain the recurrent complaints of his unhappy loves and of his desires frustrated by one and another of the boors. these lover's sorrows are just what we should expect from a poet in neidhart's relation to the fashionable love lyrics; he retains something of the tone of despondent yearning that was deemed requisite by all his predecessors, yet he gives it a piquant novelty by substituting irony and class animosities for vague and impersonal wailings, and the sense of humor in these courtly woes in behalf of mere peasant maidens would be a livelier attraction to the knights and ladies of his polite circles than we might suppose. surely neidhart was the victim of no deep passion for his rustic heroines. he may have been amused by them, or even have liked them, and he certainly was enraged at being interfered with or baffled by middle-class rivals; but his rôle is more a lothario's than a true lass-lorn wooer's. imagine a peasant farm-house with a large main apartment, such as neidhart had in mind in one of his earliest winter songs: "engelmar, thy room is good; chill is it in the dales: winter is hateful." the young farmers and the girls come trooping in by pairs and little groups, dressed in their best, smiling and gay: no better aid to imagining the scene could be desired than defregger's genial picture of a modern tyrolese peasant party. it is a change from the summer dances: "winter, thy might will drive us indoors from the broad linden. thy winds are cold. lark, quit thy singing: both frost and snow have said thee nay; alas, for the green clover. may, to thee i am loyal; winter is my bane." "winter gives joy to none but such as love the chimney-corner." they all think of the change from their summer gatherings, and the singer strums his fiddle and strikes into the nature prelude of his lyric, as they prepare to begin the dance. here is another opening, translated in the stanza system of the original: the green grass and the flowers both are gone; before the sun the linden gives no shade; those happy hours on shady lawn of various joys are over; where we played, none may play; no paths stray where we went together; joy fled away at the winter weather, and hearts are sad which once were gay. we are reminded again of herrick in his lines to the meadows: "ye have been fresh and green, ye have been fill'd with flowers; and ye the walks have been, where maids have spent their hours." the dance is under way now; if, as sometimes happened, they paid a surprise visit, the guests have taken hold and made the room ready: clear out the benches and stools; set in the middle the trestles, then fiddle; we'll dance till we're tired, merry fools. throw open the windows for air, that the breeze softly please the throat of each child debonair. when the leaders grow weary to sing, we'll all say, "fiddler, play us the tune for a stylish court-fling." (they apparently piled the table-frames in the middle of the room in place of the linden, about which they danced on the lawn.) the singer goes on to remind them of the preparation for the party: "i advise my friends to consult where the children shall have their fun. megenwart has a large room: if it like you all, we will have the holiday party there. his daughter wishes us to come. all of you tell the rest. engelmar shall lead a dance around the table." again: "let kunegunde know; we shall be blamed if no one tells her about it, and don't forget hedwig." once more: "come along, children, to the farm-house at hademuot's; engelbrecht, adelmar, friderich, tuoze, guote, wentel, and her sisters all three; hildeburg, pretty child; jiutel and her cousin ermelint." still again, in one of the cheerful early songs, before neidhart's bitter tone came in: "now for the children who've been asked to the party. jiutel shall tell them all, that they are to step after the fiddle with hilde. 'twill be a great dance. diemuot, gisel, are going together; wendel, too, engelmuot, for heaven's sake! go out and call künze to come. "tell her the man is here; if she cares to see him, as she has all the time been wishing to, let her put on a little jacket and her cloak; i should prefer to have her come here, than to have him find her there at home in her every day clothes. "künze tarried then no longer, but came, as engelmuot bade her. she was in a hurry; quickly she dressed. both sides of her gown were red silk. the finest of girls! no one could discover through the country, one i should be so glad to give my dear mother for a daughter. "haha! how she pleased me, when i saw what she was; such hair, and red lips. then i asked her to sit by me, but she said: 'i don't dare; i've been told not to talk with you, or even sit by you. go and ask heilke over there by vriderune!'" "i hear dancing in the room," he sings at another time; "a crowd of village women are there; two fiddles; when they pause, gay outbreak of talking and laughing. through the window goes the hubbub. adelber never dances but between two girls." sometimes the knightly guest entered into the gay interlude of conversation, entertaining a merry screaming group. but when his moody vein, or vexation at some common man's successful rivalry, dulled his social spirits, he would stand apart, or go to one side with one of the peasant maids, and satirically note the men scattered over the room. the young farmer's assumption of the dress and manners of gentility, carrying arms, discarding rustic fashions, affecting polite speech ("_mit sîner rede er vlaemet_," neidhart says of one of them,--he talks like a fine gentleman from abroad),--all this was ridiculous to the courtly poet, and his sense of the humor of it was associated with the bitterness of social contempt. "look at engelmar, how high he holds his head. what elegant style he has, at the dance, with his showy sword; something different from his father batze. his son is a poor gawk, with his rough head. he puffs himself out like a stuffed pigeon, that sits crop-full on a corn-chest." and again: "did you ever see so gay a peasant as he is? good lord! he is first of all in the dance. his sword-band is two hands broad. proud enough he, of his new jacket; it has four and twenty small pieces of cloth in it, and the sleeves come down over his hand."[ ] "there are two peasants wearing coats in the court style, of austrian cloth. uoze never cut them." then he goes on to say: "perhaps you would like to hear how the rustics are dressed. their clothes are above their place. small coats they wear, and small cloaks; red hoods, shoes with buckles, and black hose. they have on silk pouch-bags, and in them they carry pieces of ginger, to make themselves agreeable to the girls. they wear their hair long, a privilege of good birth. they put on gloves that come up to their elbows. one appears in a fustian jacket green as grass. another flaunts it in red. another carries a sword long as a hemp flail, wherever he goes; the knob of its hilt has a mirror, that he makes the girls look at themselves in. poor clumsy louts, how can the girls endure them? one of them tears his partner's veil, another sticks his sword hilt through her gown, as they are dancing, and more than once, enthusiastically dancing and excited by the music, their awkward feet tread on the girls' skirts and even drag them off. but they are more than clumsy, they have an offensive horse-play kind of pleasantry that is nothing less than insult. they put their hands in wrong places, and one of them tries to get a maiden's ring, and actually wrenches it from her finger as she is treading the bending _reie_. "why should i not be angry at his insolence? yet i would not mind the ring so much, if he had not hurt her hand." and just so, engelmar snatched her mirror from neidhart's darling vriderune. this last, as has been said, is the most famous incident in the neidhart story. from it he dates all his misfortunes, and he reverts to it, over and over, with bitterness that can hardly be regarded as merely ironical humor. yet numerous as the references are, there is a mystery about the affair that has not been cleared up. it has been suggested that vriderune's way of taking the rudeness made it clear to neidhart that it was her peasant lover, and not himself, whom she really liked, but it would seem more natural to associate the occurrence with something violent. possibly the poet's indignation at the boorish familiarity led him to a personal attack, just as in another connection he threatens to strike an obnoxious fellow, and the resulting quarrel may have been taken up by friends of both, with such serious consequences that various annoyances followed on their part, which he could only return by insulting hits in his songs. the chances are all in favor of the poet's having been a slighter man physically than these farm-workers, at one of whom he sneers for the sacks that ride on his neck, and there are suggestions in the pseudo-neidhart poetry of his having had helpers to a revenge. in one of these imitations it is said that through neidhart's injury thirty-two had their left legs cut off, an evident exaggeration of an earlier imitation, where the writer reminds his hearers of what happened to engelmar for taking vriderune's mirror, that he lost his left leg and had to go on crutches. such violent fights are authentically reported at merrymakings of the time, and as the aristocratic leader of such a brawl, neidhart no doubt would find his subsequent residence among the peasants uncongenial. yet why should he manifest such reserve, at the same time that he mentions the subject so constantly, referring to it long after he has left bavaria? is it possible that his jealousy and hot blood drove him to some underhanded attack in some such way as that in which a brilliant restoration poet tried to punish a supposed injury? this ill reputation as an aristocrat equally insolent and treacherous, might follow him to austria; he would hardly be pleased to acknowledge in his poem what he had done, while the constant references to his injury in the insult of vriderune, and the misfortunes to himself which it caused may be regarded as half defensive attempts to excite sympathy instead of disapproval. so much for possible explanations of this curious literary enigma, out of which we may make too much; for, as i have already suggested, neidhart may only be doing what novelists sometimes do when they repeat a popular hit in characterization. at any rate, vriderune seems to have been lost to her upper-class lover, "and ever from that time i have had some new heart-sorrow." neidhart constantly reverts to the peasants' brutality and eagerness to fight. "look out for a brutish fellow named ber. he is tall and broad-shouldered; he scarcely can get in at the door. fie, who brought him here? he is the nephew of hildebolt of bern, who was pounded by williher." lanze, again, "had got himself up for a champion, and thought nothing could resist him. he put underneath a coat of mail. snarling like a bear he goes; so ugly is he, one were a child who withstood him." and of another: "he wears a sword that cuts like shears, and a good safety hat. whoever you are, you may well keep out of his way. villagers, look out for him; his sword is poisoned. it's a well-tempered waidover, that sword of his." with such village-warriors, no wonder that the parties did not always end cheerfully. with a resemblance to modern slang neidhart tells how they threaten to put sunshine through each other. the lively episode of a quarrel over a rural gallant's presenting a young lady with a piece of ginger, neidhart says he cannot describe in full, for he came away. but "each began screaming to his friends; one called loudly: 'help, gossip wezerant.' he must have been in great difficulty to scream so for help. i heard hildebolt's sister shriek: 'oh, my brother, my brother!'" another dance ends with a milder disagreement. "ruoprecht found an egg--'i ween the devil gave it to him'--and threatened to throw it. eppe got mad, and dared him. ruoprecht threw it at the top of his head, and it trickled down over him." sometimes, evidently, peacemakers interfered, as they did in frideliep's and engelmar's disagreement about gotelint, so that the rivals did not fight, though "just like two silly geese they went toward each other, all the rest of the day." like all of those poets, neidhart, though he says "i" very often, lets us become but indifferent acquaintances. we read some of the mediæval lyrists without feeling sure that we detect a single genuine personal note; they had little of our modern sense of individuality. with neidhart we fare better than with most; yet, after all, we are hardly sure that some of his personal confessions are not formally or humorously assumed. yet of one trait we are left in no doubt, his strong german sense for the fatherland. with many other bavarians, he went to syria and damietta on the crusade of - , led by leopold vii. of austria, and he has left us two songs which, though certainly different enough from the deep religious feeling of such crusade lyrics as hartmann's or walther's, are unmistakably sincere. the first opens with the minnesinger's usual spring and love-lorn stanzas, but neidhart soon drops conventionality with the exclamation, "for my song the foreign folk here do not care: ah, blessings on thee, germany!" it reminds us of walther: nothing is like the german home. he thinks of sending a messenger, not we notice, to some town or castle, but to that village where he left the loving heart from which his constancy never wavers, and to the dear friends over-sea. "tell them from us all that they should quickly see us there, joyous enough, except for these wide waves. bear my glad service to my mistress, dear to me before all ladies, and say to friends and kinsmen that i am well. if they inquire how things are going with us pilgrims, tell them, dear boy, what ill these foreign folk have wrought us. haste thee, be swift; after thee assuredly shall i follow, quick as ever i may. god grant we may live to see the happy day of going home." "we are all scarcely alive," he goes on; "the army is more than half dead. ah, were i there! by my beloved gladly would i rest, in mine own place." "if i may only grow old with her!" he cries, and he breaks out impatiently against those who keep delaying through august, instead of moving westward. "nowhere could a man be better off than at home, in his own parish." at last the expedition, dissatisfied and worn, as the returning crusaders always were, are on the confines of the longed-for country. we can imagine the straggling company making their way along, their minstrel riding among them, fingering the old violin that he has carried over his shoulders all the two years, and thinking out a new song. he is still a young man, or at least only approaching middle age, and thoughts of home, friendship, love, and the spring gaiety of the village life, crowd upon him with buoyant thrills; he strikes the strings more firmly, and his voice rings out a home-coming lyric, full of life and feeling. "the long bright days are come again, and with them the birds; it is a long time since they sang so well. the winter-weary are gayer than they have been for thirty years. maidens, ye children, fine people all, let your hearts be free to the summer joy, spring quickly in the carols." dear herald, homeward go; 'tis over, all my woe; we're near the rhine! neidhart's poems are readily classified in two divisions, his songs for summer and for winter. both were probably sung as an accompaniment to the dances, either of the peasants or of the upper class, though there may be some doubt whether this is true of all the winter songs. almost invariably he opens with a nature-prelude, often an elaborate one, and the temper of the songs is always congenial to the season, gay for summer, and gloomy or critical for winter. there is no evidence that the difficulty with engelmar was the occasion of the poet's leaving bavaria, but his unpopularity with the peasants seems to have had something to do with the loss of his fief. he was cast down at the thought of parting with reuenthal, and said that he would sing no longer, since the name under which his merry lines had been known was taken from him; and with a play on the word, "i am put out undeservedly, my friends; now leave me free of the name!" but after he was settled by frederich on an austrian fief, he adapted himself cheerfully to his new home. "here i am at medelicke, in spite of them all. i am not sorry that i sang so much of eppe and of gumpe at reuenthal." the duke gave him money and a house, in response to musical solicitations, and neidhart appealed for exemption from his heavy taxes, that threatened to consume what his children needed. with our modern ideas this system of literary patronage upon which mediæval poets depended, and which usually required direct and even pressing solicitation, seems painful to self-respect; we forget how lately it flourished. in those days when princely giving was an established custom, and differed from a system of salaries mainly in being a less regularly appointed income, a poet's request for a gift was scarcely more than a modern author's reminder of an unpaid claim; there is nothing of the unmanly dependence of coleridge in these earlier suppliants for aid. none of them asked more gracefully--even chaucer is not more delicately suggestive--than neidhart in such lines as these: "whoever had a bird who satisfied him with song through the year, he would occasionally look to his bird-cage, and give him good food. then the bird could go on singing sweet melodies. if he always sang well to meet the may, he should be well cared for, summer and winter. even the birds appreciate kind treatment." but the times were bad, and even a box of silver, and a house to put it in, and remission of taxes, could not keep the poet gay as he passed into later life. he composed penitential lyrics, after orthodox precedents, of the love-singers, for they almost always grew old seriously. on these we need not linger, though there seems a cry fuller than the echo-note in his farewell to lady earth, and appeal for pardon for some of his foolish songs: "lord god of heaven, give me thy guidance; might of all might, now strengthen my heart, that i may win soul's health, and partake ever-enduring joy, through thy sweet will." but the wail of all of the thirteenth-century's serious minds, that things were going "ever the lenger the wers" in christendom, comes out nowhere more deeply than in neidhart's allegorical love-song to joy of the world, chiding her for her change of character during his long, unrequited service: "false, shameless folk nowadays people her court, and her old household, truth, chastity, good manners, none find these any longer. my lady's honor is lame all over. she is fallen so that none can rescue her. she lies in such a pool that only god can make her clean. men of wise mind be on your guard before her, in church or on street: women of worth keep far away." eighty new melodies he has sung in her service; this is the last, and not the most joyous. to this closing period we may refer a few summer songs that are an exception to the usually light-hearted verses of that form. their seriousness is all the more noticeable from their fair-weather setting; for once, the spring is not a panacea. "a delightful may has come, but alas, neither priest nor layman rejoices in its arrival. were it the emperor who had come, we might rejoice. trouble and sorrow dwell in austria." there is something here besides a sense that the joyousness of simple free-living and the loyalty of love-service are passing away; he attributes much of the social decline to national confusion and the political unrestraint. yet controversial as he is in social relations, he has little of walther von der vogelweide's thoughtfulness and energy in patriotic polemics. he drifts down the stream with a sigh. in the poem which meyer's elaborate study of the order of his work places last, though only conjecturally, he again considers his friends' entreaty for more songs. the world goes too sadly, he says; as he had said before that they must ask troestelin to sing; he himself had no longer a heart for poetry. yet there is one pleasant story that he can tell them: "to break down troubles comes one worthy to be praised; 'tis may, with all his might." there is something pathetic in such songs, that try to assume the cheerful strain in which the poet, now grown gloomy, wrote while he was young. they remind us of the stray leaves that we sometimes see caught up to their old home among the branches by a sudden march gust; the brown leaves that will never again uncrumple their green infancies, hover for a moment, then sink hesitatingly back to the ground. in this one song, the nature stanzas are transferred from the place of prelude to the conclusion. "may has conquered; wood and heath have adorned themselves with their lovely attire; blue flowers are here and the roses," and he ends with the old thought, that joyousness and virtuous honor go together. as an idle fancy it is "pleasant if one consider it," to regard these as the final words of this knightly singer of mediæval country scenes, the last of the great figures of that old german group, a parting reminder of the philosophy of a happy life which mediæval lyrists often maintained so earnestly,--that the secret of good living is blitheness of heart, and out-of-door life in spring and summer. for many of these old poets the two terms were convertible; their creed was surely a simple one. [decoration] footnote: [ ] we must remember that the unwillingness of the upper grade of society to have peasants assume its styles of dress, went so far that ducal edicts were issued forbidding them to use coats of mail and helmets, or to carry any weapons. bitter complaints were made of their wearing any stuffs so fine as silk, and clothes stylishly cut. [decoration] meier helmbrecht, a german farmer of the thirteenth century. the usual conception of the middle ages seems to consist of a few facts and theories about the feudal system and the crusades, the names with possibly some traits of a few eminent public figures and a general impression of confusion and obscurity. supplementing this central idea, one usually sees a panel picture on either side. one, sunshine flashing from the spears and armor of knights tilting in tournaments, and watched by dimly beautiful women; in the distance a solitary knight pricking over a plain, or, guided by the wail of an unseen and lovely captive, making his way through forest haunts of giants and gnomes. the other, a lowering twilight overhanging gloomy monastery walls, the shelter of melancholy, hypocrisy, manuscript illuminations, and a barren, difficult philosophy. sunshine and twilight on either hand, and in the background an impenetrable mist concealing the great masses of humanity, as well as all concrete actual lives even of the great. a little information and a little romance are unsatisfactory artists for a sketch of mediævalism. we soon discover that there is a great deal behind such a picture of soldiers living in wars, and in the tourneying pretence of war; or schoolmen contending in brilliant logical panoply within and without spectral philosophic fastnesses; or hermits, nuns, and monks fighting against god's present that they might win his future; or marauders beating down helplessness and innocence. yet we may study the middle ages laboriously, and find ourselves still confronted by the mist that hangs over the rank and file. our curiosity about these forgotten multitudes teases us. "how is it that you lived, and what is it that you did?" we ask these distant prototypes of wordsworth's peasant. we come to discover that there is much behind our slight old notion of chivalry and monasticism; though seven hundred years have changed its conditions, life then and now is yet less different than we had thought. but we find it difficult to acquire much information about those social substrata on which the learned and the polite classes rested. clio is the most aristocratic of the ladies nine, and that instinct of vitality whereby we count fame for ourselves something desirable, makes us think with a certain compassion of great armies of those generations filing sullenly on, not only as individuals, but as whole masses, to the grave of oblivion. the little that we know makes us sure only that they were wretched, their lives the most gloomy of all the lives of gloomy ages. we may read thousands of pages of the literature of those days with scarcely any addition to our knowledge of the work-a-day world, for most of the poetry is romantic, and in its imitative phases mainly a reflection of courtly customs and character. the middle ages in germany and france were anything but uncivilized, and the poetry of secondary cultivation is, as was said in the last essay, likely to prefer idealistic interpretation of its finest development to democratic realism. yet the student finds from time to time interesting material for an account of the average life, and in the poet whom this essay is designed to introduce to a modern audience, we obtain an extended study in this side field of literary interpretation. he wrote not of high life but of the middle classes, not in romance but in a literal yet at the same time artistic manner that we may call a heightened realism. he appears to have been himself one of the people, a poet who possibly made his living by reciting poems of incident, and by singing at their merrymakings, though of this there is no evidence. it has been thought by some german scholars that he may have been a monk, but the indications make rather against than for this view. we know in fact nothing whatever about him except for one single line, in which he tells us that his name is wernher the gardener. as was said, his poem is remarkable as being the heightened treatment of a plain story of the peasant classes a little before ; it is remarkable, too, for the liveliness and simple force of his treatment. he is an artist--though he works in chalks instead of water-colors;--unornamented, unassuming, he produces an impression of personal power, moral seriousness, a clear eye for what he saw, and the power to state it directly, one of the marks of a later and more developed age. he has no little dramatic liveliness, a sense of humor, and the pleasantest love for the plain beauties of character and home-life. he tells the story of a farmer, helmbrecht, and his wayward son. the boy has been the admiration of his peasant family as the oldest child, notable for his splendid yellow hair, and full of life and spirit. at the time the poem opens he has grown to early manhood, dissatisfied with the hidden and laborious life of tiller of the soil, vain of his appearance, fond of fine dress, and ambitious to live easily and be admired. he is petted and indulged by his mother and his sister gotelint, and when he desires a hood--a part of masculine costume much affected by gallant youths--they provide him with one so fine that it becomes famous far and near. embroidery, as every one knows who is acquainted with the mediæval arts, was the most artistic accomplishment of the period. ladies learned to embroider and weave the most complicated and elaborate devices; handicraftsmen of all sorts put on their work representations so copious that one sometimes wonders whether the literary descriptions of them are not exaggerations. can the frequency and detail of these passages, we wonder, be a faintly remembered tradition of the devices put by homer on the shield of achilles, or by vergil on the gates of the rising carthage? at any rate, tapestries, cloths, and garments, to say nothing of saddles and the like, were covered by picture after picture, in almost every important poem of the age. this young peasant helmbrecht's hood was embroidered, not, of course, by the rude country fingers of his mother and sister, but by a clever nun, who had run away from her nunnery to enjoy the pleasures of a lively youth. many were the wages of farm-produce by which she was persuaded to fit out the young man. the hood was covered with birds, parrots, and doves; on one side were representations of the siege of troy and the escape of Æneas; on the other, the stout deeds of charlemagne, roland, and oliver, in their wars against the heathen moors. behind, adventures of old german legendary heroes, in the cycle of dietrich of bern. in front, dances of knights, ladies, and of maidens and young esquires--the favorite and mediæval dance, where the gentleman stood between two ladies, holding the hand of each. after this acquisition the boy became ambitious for still more finery, and was indulged in an elaborate costume that need not be described. such white linen, such a splendid blue coat, all covered with buttons, gilded ones in double rows down the back, around the collar, and in front of silver. about the shoulders little bells were hung, that rang merrily when he sprang in the _reie_. ah, very love-lorn were the glances cast on him by women and girls at the dance. at last he is fully equipped by the love and sacrifice of his family, and they are happy in his elegance, and contented with themselves because the self-willed and capricious boy is pleased; when suddenly the simple household is thrown into grief and anxiety by his announcement that he is going to leave home. he must have a horse--there was none on the farm--to complete his outfit as a gentleman, and then he will ride away to some court and seek his fortune. in vain they remonstrate. "'my dear father, help me on. my mother and sister have helped me so that i shall love them all my life.' "his father was troubled to hear that he was resolved to go, but he said to him: 'i'll give you a fast horse for your outfit, good at hedges and ditches, for you to have there at court. i'll buy him for you willingly, if i can find one for sale. but, my dear son, now give up going to court. the ways there are hard for those who have not been used to them from the time they were children. my dear son, now drive team for me, or if you'd rather, hold the plough, and i'll drive for you, and let us till the farm, so you'll come to your grave full of honors like me; at least i hope to, for i surely am honest and loyal, and every year i pay my tithes. i have lived my life without hate and without envy.' "but the son replied: 'my dear father, keep quiet and stop talking; there's only one way about it, i'm going to find out how things smack there at court. your sacks sha'n't load my back any longer. i won't load any more manure on your wagon, and god hate me if i ever yoke oxen for you again, and sow your oats. that's not the thing for my long yellow hair and my curly locks, and my close-fitting coat, and my fine hood, and the silk doves the women worked on it. i won't help you farm any longer.' "'dear son, stay with me. i am certain that farmer ruoprecht will give you his daughter, with lots of sheep and swine, and ten cattle, old and young. at court you'll be hungry, you'll have to lie hard, and give up all comforts. now take my advice, and it will be to your interests and credit. it very seldom happens that a man gets along well who rebels against his own station. your station is the plough. my son, i swear to you that the genuine court-people will make fun of you, my dear child. do as i say, and give it up.' "'father, if i only have a horse i shall get on as well in the court ways as those who were born there. any one who saw that hood on my head would swear a thousand oaths that i never worked for you, or drove a plough through a furrow. whenever i put on the clothes my mother and my sister gave me yesterday, i sha'n't look much as if i ever took a flail to thresh wheat on the barn floor, or as if i ever drove stakes. when i get my legs and my feet in the hose and cordovan boots, nobody'll know that i ever made fence for you or any one else. let me have a horse, and farmer ruoprecht may go without me for a son-in-law. i'll not give up my future for a wife.'" the father goes on pleading with the boy to take advice and keep out of the disorderly life he is likely to get into about a court. by the silent assumption that his new master and his people will pillage from the peasantry, we get a suggestion of the lawlessness of the country--which had grown worse during the long absenteeism of frederic ii. but if the peasants catch you, he tells his son with energy, you will fare much worse than one of the gentlemen would. they will take the quickest revenge, and think that they are doing god service when they find one of their own kind stealing. but the son only goes on to repeat that he will leave the farm. he talks just as an ambitious country fellow will talk to-day about the slow life and small profits. he becomes bolder and more insolent. if it were not for that wretched horse he would be riding with the rest across fields and dragging peasants through the hedges; the cattle would be lowing as he drove them off. he says he can endure poverty no longer;--raising a colt or an ox for three years, and then selling them for just nothing. so his father traded a large piece of homespun, four good cows, two oxen, three steers, and four bushels of wheat,--all worth about ten pounds,--for a horse that could not have been sold for three ("alas for the wasted seven!"), and the young man put on his finery, tossed his head, and, looking around, jauntily declared that he could "bite through a stone, or eat iron, he felt so fierce." if he could catch the emperor or the duke, there would be some money coming in. "'father, you could manage a saxon easier than me.'" when he calls upon his father to release him from the family control, the latter assents, though with all his old reluctance. indeed he cannot let him go without one more appeal: "'i give you your liberty, my son. but take care that no one yonder hurts your hood and its silk doves, or viciously tears your long yellow hair. and i am afraid that at the end you will be following a staff, or some little boy will be leading you.'" then once more, after a pause, comes the abrupt: "'my son, my own dear boy, give up going. you shall live on what i live, and on what your mother gives you. drink water, my dear son, before you steal to buy wine. austrian pie, any one, fool or wise man, will tell you, is food fit for gentlemen. eat that, dear child, instead of giving an ox you have stolen to some inn-keeper for a chicken. your mother can cook good broth; eat that, instead of giving a stolen horse for a goose. my son, mix rye with oats sooner than eat fish in a dishonored life. if you will not obey me, go. but though you win wealth and great honors, never will i share them with you. and misfortune--have that alone too.' "'you drink water, father, but i'll drink wine. eat your mush, but i'll eat what they call fricasseed chicken there and white wheat bread; oats will do for you. they say at rome that a child takes after his godfather, and mine was a knight. thank god for giving me such high and noble ideas.'" but the old farmer replied that he liked much better a man who did right and remained constant to it. "even though his birth might be rather humble, he would please the world better than a king's son without virtue and honor. an honest man of lowly rank, and a nobleman who was not courteous and honorable,--let the two come to a land where neither is known, and the child of lowly birth will outrank the high-born. my son, if you will be noble, on my word i counsel you, do noble deeds. good life is a crown above all nobility." there is the old thought, so common in literature from ancient authors down to the poet of lady clara vere de vere, and especially a favorite with writers of the middle age. possibly some of them caught it from boëthius, who expressed it more than once in the testament of wise and generous character that he left to the world from his confinement at pavia, and that proved so singularly congenial to the mediæval mind; but we need certainly not require the aid of origins to account for its frequency. aristocratic as many phases of the times were, there were a number of important evening influences, conspicuously two: the church, in whose monastery cloisters the rich and poor met together as brothers of one impartial discipline, and from whose ranks members of low birth might rise to be the peers of dukes; and the orders of chivalry, which received approved squires from the middle class. thus, in addition to aristocracy of birth, there was a conditional gentility to which those who had the claim of merit might aspire. but though the thought that desert, and not descent, is the test for nobility, is so obvious in the days when position carried with it so strong a connotation of power, and when the upper strata of society bore down so hard and haughtily upon the lower, we always feel satisfaction in coming upon a trim statement of the fine old commonplace whose best mediæval expression we can quote from a poet of our own language: "look, who that is moost vertuous alway, pryvee and apert, and moost entendeth ay to do the gentil dedes that he kan, taak hym for the grettest gentil man." "'alas, that your mother bore you!'" the farmer exclaimed, when the boy's only answer to his appeal was to declare his hair and hood better fitted for a dance than for the plough or the harrow. "'thou wilt leave the best and do the worst'"; and he goes on to contrast the man who lives against god and the good of others, followed by every one's curses, with the man who helps the world along, trying night and day to do good by his life, and thereby honors god. this one, wherever he may turn, has the love of god and all the world. "'dear son,' he says, 'that man you might be, if you would yield to me. till with the plough, and plenty of people will be the better for your life, poor and rich; nay, even wolf and eagle, and everything that lives on earth. many a woman must be made more beautiful through the farmer, many a king must be crowned through the produce of the farm. indeed, there is no one so noble that his pride would not be a very small thing, except for the farmer.'" how natural all this sounds,--agriculture the basis of society, tillage of the soil alike useful and honorable. with what quiet manliness this old german talks of the dignity of labor, with no touch of the modern arrogance and discontent with the existing social condition. he will keep to his rank in life, and be loyal to his station, yet, though he looks up with a simple-hearted interest and wonder to the great world above him, he reflects as he follows his plough that without him that great world's pride "would be a very small thing." but there is a quality here that is still finer: the undercurrent perception of "the gospel of service." it is not only that honesty is the best policy, though the peasant is shrewd, and appreciates the practical side too; his conversation with the boy breathes the best nineteenth-century spirit of the duty of making one's life valuable to others. that sentence about working night and day to be useful, and thereby honoring god, is no commonplace for our century, to say nothing of the thirteenth. there is something pretty, too, in the touch of sympathy with the animal world; in some way, he feels that even the birds and beasts must be better off for a good farmer. these times seem often savage in their cruelties and recklessness of giving pain, but they have a gentle side as well, as may be seen in the tales cited by montalembert of friendly relations between monks and wild beasts, and in examples collected by uhland in his essay on the old german animal literature. it is pleasant in connection with such barbarities as we shall presently be reminded of in this very poem to recall the myth versified by longfellow, of the great minnesinger's legacy to the monastery, conditioned on the brethren's every day placing grain and water for the birds upon his grave; and more than one authentic story is told like that of the abbot of hirsan, who, when snow was deep in winter, would take oats from his barn to feed the birds. after the young helmbrecht has begged god to release him soon from his father's preaching,--"if you only had been a real preacher you might have got up a whole army with your sermons for a crusade,"--and has explained that instead of keeping on ploughing, he is resolved to have white hands, and no longer need to feel mortified whenever he holds ladies' hands at a dance, his father resorts to his last resource--an appeal to superstition, that he has been keeping in reserve. he tells him what he has been dreaming--three dreams that he interprets as ominous of the loss of sight, feet, and arms, and worst of all, a final dream of one of those sights so common for many centuries before and after, but made no less dreadful by familiarity. "'you were hanging on a tree. your feet were a fathom from the ground. above your head on a bough sat a raven, by its side a crow. your hair was all tangled. on the right hand the raven combed your head for you, on the left the crow.'" but the hopeful rode gaily off through the bars, and came to a castle where a warlike lord was glad to receive any addition to his force. there he stayed for a year, leading the extreme bandit life of whose outrages and oppressions we read so much during this troubled period. he quickly obtained reputation as daring and merciless: "into his sack he stuffed everything; it was all one to him. nothing was too small, nothing too great. helmbrecht took it all, rough and smooth, crooked and straight. he took horses, cattle, jacket, sword, cloak, coat, goats, sheep. from women he stripped everything, and well enough his ship went that first year, 'its sails full.' but after a while, as people are wont to think of going home, he took leave of the court, and commended them to the good god." they heard at the farm that he was coming on for a visit, and in accordance with the ancient custom of giving a present to the bearer of good news, the messenger received a shirt and pair of hose. but when the young man himself arrived, "how he was received! did they step forward to meet him? nay, they ran, all together; one crowded past another; father and mother sprang as if they had never had a care." it is touching to notice the suggestiveness of a single line in the poet's description of the scene. the plain people understood that their son was no longer one of them, and they knew how his earlier false pride must have grown in this year's absence in the outer world. so in their anxiety that everything should gratify this brilliant, wayward eldest son of their admiration and hope, and that nothing should interfere with his being pleased and gracious to their yearning, timid love, and knowing how in the homely heartiness of their joy at seeing their young master again the two servants would treat him at once in the old familiar way of peasant-farm equality, they instructed their man and their woman in what they thought to be polite salutation. so when the guest appeared, "did the woman and the man cry 'welcome back, helmbrecht'? nay, they did not; they had been told not to. they said: 'master, in god's name be you welcome.'" there is a touch of humor in their rushing forward and being the first to greet him, in their rude good-feeling; but we also get a sense of tenderness from seeing the father and mother keeping in the background, behind their daughter gotelint. little education as there was in the middle ages, people fully appreciated the elegance as well as the utility of a knowledge of foreign languages, and no accomplishment was held more desirable. especially the germans, representing an outlying civilization, would send their sons, while still boys, to some french court to serve as pages and acquire especially the language as well as other branches of knightly culture. the praises of various heroes of french as well as german romances, give to linguistic attainments a high place; gottfried, for example, in his account of the training of tristan, who was the typical gentleman of the romances, says that from the age of seven until he was fourteen he was studying languages under the care of a tutor, by travelling through different lands. since this was the fashion, imitations were sure to become popular, and a thin veneering of foreign speech became the mark of a pinchbeck culture, just as it has been so frequently since. accordingly, after the servants have cried out their "master, in god's name be you welcome," and gotelint has thrown her arms about her brother, the young gallant calls her his dear little sister in a phrase of salutation touched with low dutch, which he follows by the elegant "gratia vester." then the younger children ran up, and last of all the farmer and his wife, who greeted him over and over. he addressed his father in french: "deu sal"; his mother in bohemian: "dobraytra." they looked at each other; four strange languages all together--there must be some mistake. "the housewife said: 'my dear, this is not our son. this is a bohemian or a slav.' her husband replied: 'it is a frenchman. my son whom i commended to god, certainly this is not he, and yet he looks like him.' and gotelint suggested: 'he answered me in latin; may be he is a priest.' 'faith,' put in the hired man, who had caught the phrase in dialect, 'he has lived in saxony or brabant, for he said, "liebe susterkindekin"; he must be a saxon.'" the old peasant was devoted and loving, but he had resolution and self-respect under it all. he told the accomplished youth that before he would take him for his son he must talk german. if he would do that and declare himself helmbrecht, well and good. he should have a chicken boiled, and another roasted, and his horse should be well cared for. but a bohemian, or a slav, or a saxon, or a brabanter, or a frenchman, or a priest, should be given nothing. the youth began to reflect. it was getting late, there was no place near by where he could go; so he concluded to waive his elegant manners, and speak in the old style. but the shrewd peasant feigns incredulity, and decides to test his son a little further. in vain the young man protests himself helmbrecht. his gentility must stoop to vulgar peasant identification, and tell what he knows about the oxen on the farm. he rattles over all four of them, grazer, black-spot, rascal, and white-star, with a little praise for two, and the reconciliation is accomplished. thereupon the repressed fondness and devotion obtain free expression. the father hurried out to attend to the horse, the mother sent her daughter for a pillow and cushion--"run, now, and don't walk for it"--and makes a couch for him on the bench close to the stove, so that he may have a nap while she is preparing his dinner. when the boy woke the meal was ready, and wernher assures us that any gentleman might have enjoyed it. after washing his hands, the usual first step in a meal, a dish of fine-cut sauer-kraut was put before him, by it bacon, both fat and lean, and a rich mellow cheese. then there was as fat a goose as ever roasted on a spit--and with what good-will they provided that extraordinary peasant luxury--a roasted and a boiled chicken. a knight out hunting, and happening on such a meal, would like it well. for besides this they had managed to get delicacies in which peasants never think of indulging. "'if i had any wine you should be drunk to-night,'" the farmer said; and he added--with such a noble union of dignity, simplicity, and sentiment for the plain homely blessings which he had appreciated and loved all his life: "'my dear son, now take a drink of water from the best spring that ever came out of earth. i know no spring fit to be compared with it, except the one at wankhûsen.'" "'tell me, son,'" he continued, as they went on with their dinner, for he could not wait to ask him, "'tell me how about the court fashions, and then i will tell you how they used to be when i was young.'" but the son was too busy eating to stop to talk then, and he allowed his father to relate his early reminiscences. "'when i was a boy,' he began 'and your grandfather helmbrecht had sent me to court with cheese and eggs, just as a farmer does to-day, i took note of the knights, and marked their ways. they were courteous and cheerful and had no rascality about them in those days, such as many men and women too have now. the knights had a custom, to make themselves pleasing to the ladies, that was called jousting. a man of the court explained it to me when i asked him what they called it. two companies would come together from opposite directions, riding as if they were mad, and they would drive against each other, as if their spears must pierce through. there's nothing in these days like what i saw then. after that they had a dance, and while dancing they sang lively songs, that made the time go quickly. presently a playman came forward and struck in with his fiddle; at that the ladies jumped up, and the knights went to meet them, and they took hold of hands. that was a pleasant sight--the overflowing delight of ladies and gentlemen, dancing so gaily, poor and rich. when that was over a man came out and read about some one called ernest. each could do whatever he liked. some took their bows and shot at a target; others went hunting: there was no end to the kinds of pleasure. the worst off there would be the best off with us now. those were the times before false and vicious people could turn the right about with their tricks. nowadays the wise man is the one who can cheat and lie; he has position and money and honor at court, much more than the man who lives justly and strives after god's grace.'" we find here as in so many other places in thirteenth century poetry, that the serious-minded were already looking back. just as we have seen walther and ulrich bewailing the lost sunshine of chivalry, wernher laments that the old-time honesty has gone, and with it the knightly light-hearted honorable joys. already, before , there was a halo about the chivalric court; ladies were honored, knights tourneyed for their pleasure; dancing with them attracted gentlemen quite beyond drinking bouts; the poet's narratives of old german heroes were yet in fashion. all this seems amusing to the young man; what sappy and goody-goody fashions those were. he thinks it manly to swagger about the new ways, and tell how the fashionable cry is "trinkà, herre, trinkà trinc!" it used to be good breeding to dangle about pretty ladies, but the correct thing now is just to drink. "'this is the kind of love-letters we have: "you dear little bar-maid, fill up our cups. what a fool a man is who wastes his life for women, instead of good wine." it's a genteel thing to be sharp with your tongue, and get the best of people, and tell clever lies.'" the old man hears, and with a sigh wishes back the day when gentlemen shouted "hey[=a], ritter, wis et fro!" in the tourneys, instead of these new cries of riotry and pillage. the son would tell him more, but he has ridden far and wishes to go to sleep. there were no linen sheets in that farm-house, but gotelint spread a newly washed shirt on his bed, and he slept until high day. the next morning he displayed the gifts he had brought: for his father, a whetstone, scythe, and axe; for his mother, a fox-skin; for gotelint, a head-dress with a band of silk and gold, better fitted for a nobleman's child than for her; shoes with straps for the farm-hand; and for his wife, a cloth to cover her hair, and a red ribband. he remained at home for a week, and then he became restless to return. his father again took up his entreaties, begging him in the tenderest tones to stay from the bitter and sour life he has been leading. as long as he lives he will share what he has with him, even if the young man will do nothing but sit still and wash his hands. only he must not go back. what, not go back with so much to do? has not a rich man ridden over the field of his god-father? has not another rich man eaten bread with crullers? and still a third, while eating at a bishop's table, loosened his girdle? each one must be taught better manners through wholesale plunder of cattle, sheep, and swine, to say nothing of a boor who blew the foam off his beer. he and some friends will give them a good training, and he runs over the list of his bandit companions with the cant names borne by each, such as lambswallow, hellbag, bolt-the-sheep, coweater, wolfthroat, and at last his own name, swallow-the-land. we may pass by the exploits of which he boasts--the children of the peasants near him eat water-gruel, their father's eyes he puts out, their beards he draws with pincers, he binds them in ant-hills, or smokes them in the chimney, and so forth, through a revolting list of barbarities. the youth uncloaks himself as a full-fledged desperado, and his father's short, stern warning in god's name of vengeance only throws him into a passion, and he declares that, though hitherto on their raids he has kept off his companions from the farm, instead of doing so longer, he will give up his father and mother to their will. he reveals what had been a main motive in his visit, an arrangement he had made with his comrade lambswallow to let him marry gotelint. but of that brilliant match her father's conduct has deprived the girl; also she will never find another man who can give her such luxuries of dress and fare. moreover, his sister was worthy of such a husband, and he stops to repeat the tribute he had paid to her while discussing the alliance with his friend. the lines bring before us a weird mediæval scene, to which these reckless free-livers looked forward as their assured end, and which they dreaded most from the lurid light thrown by superstition upon the picture. the ghastly swinging of their corpses on the gibbet ("the rain has drenched and washed us," villon says two hundred years later, "and the sun dried and blackened us. magpies and crows have hollowed out our eyes, and plucked away our beards and eyebrows."[ ]) troubled them less than the thought that their falling bones must lie unburied, and their lives be followed by no religious rites to mitigate the eternal justice. french poetry has interpreted this phase of crime and misery in villon's _epitaphe_; in english it has been interpreted by tennyson in _rizpah_, at once the most intense and the most piteous of all his poems, as free from self-consciousness as an early ballad, the most pathetic expression in all literature of a mother's love, and kept out of the category of the very greatest poems only by the intolerable anguish of its emotion. in this old german story we find an interpretation of it too; the briefest and much the simplest, yet not without an unobtrusive power. young helmbrecht declares that he told his comrade that he might trust gotelint never to make him repent his choice. "i know her," he represents himself as saying, "to be so loyal--on this you may count--that she never will leave you hanging long; she will cut you down with her own hands, and carry you to your grave at the cross-roads, with incense and myrrh--of this you can be sure. nightly for a whole year she will go about you. or if, less fortunate, you are blinded or crippled by the loss of hands or feet, the good, pure girl will guide you with her own hand over all the paths of every land; every morning she will bring your crutches to your bed, or cut for you, even till you die, your bread and meat." from the first, gotelint has been under the fascination of her brother, and as she hears his long account of the life the wife of lambswallow must live, she calls young helmbrecht aside, and arranges to run away from home and marry his friend. so at the appointed time she does, and a great wedding feast, provided at the cost of many widows and orphans, follows the curious mediæval marriage ceremony. in the midst of it a strange foreshadowing of evil comes over her; she wishes herself back at her father's simple fare; his cabbage was better than the luxury of lambswallow's fish. she tells her bridegroom that she is afraid strangers are at hand to harm them, and even as the players are receiving their gifts, the sheriff and his force break in upon the revellers. all meet quick justice; nine are hung; helmbrecht, the tenth, is sent off blind, and with only one foot and one hand. "what the forsaken bride suffered" let him tell who saw. the story works to its conclusion in a temper better fitted to the thirteenth century than to ours. the poet feels no complaisance for an obstinate wrong-doer. he says: "god is a worker of wonders, and this is the proper lot of a youth who called his father an old peasant and his mother a worthless woman." nor does he stop with his own exclamation; he tells in detail how the blind and maimed fellow is brought by a boy to the farm, only to receive his father's taunts and mocking. brutal and distressing as the passage seems, it is true to the age and to the character of the sturdy old farmer. while there was hope he had borne every insult; he had pleaded persistently, tenderly, and to every limit of generosity and devotion. but when the youth had proved himself susceptible to no claims of virtue or humanity, and, as a last stroke of evil, had seduced his sister from an honorable life, further pity seems sentimentalism. before the boy's first departure his father had warned him that he would take no part in any ill-won prosperity, and if misfortunes came, they, too, must be borne alone. the foreign phrases are on the father's lips this time, as the sightless cripple creeps up to the farm-house door. he runs over the proud speeches that have thus ended in shame and misery; nor will he listen to the entreaties for shelter, even as a beggar, for a single night. "'every one, the country round, is cruel to me; alas! so you are now. in god's name give me the charity you would give a poor sick man!'" but the farmer "laughed scoffingly, even though it broke his heart, for this was his own flesh, his child, who stood there before him blind." he struck the boy who was leading the wretch, and drove them off. "yet as they went away his mother put a loaf of bread in his hand, as if he were a child." for a year he crawled about, skulking in the woods and living on what he might. then one day, having wandered to the scene of some of his worst crimes, a set of peasants catch sight of him, and recount to one another what their farms, their babes, their daughters, had suffered from this outlaw and his band. as they talk they tremble with hate and rage, and, catching up a rope, they fulfil the last of the dreams that tormented the anxious night of the father just before his son rode out, with his rich clothes and fine horse and wonderful hood covering that long, beautiful hair, to seek his fortune in a court. why is it worth while to introduce to english readers this peasant tale of the middle ages? not on account of its antiquarian value, though it is full of interesting suggestions of old manners. nor primarily on account of its literary significance, notwithstanding the tact and nervous directness of wernher's style, and the heightened realism of treatment that gives him distinction beside the romanticists of the time. its main importance for us lies in that sense of the human unity which we derive from such a story of a time so remote from our own, and in most of its aspects so different. many of the influences that render man's life desirable--organized society, with respect for property and personal safety, ease of living, humanitarian sensibility even to the guiltiest suffering--we miss, and missing them we rejoice in the progress of our age toward the light. but the traits whereby life in all ages becomes estimable--simplicity of character, contentment with the station of one's birth, if only one can live there with dignity and usefulness; frugality, integrity, natural love which grows most tender and yearning when the kinship of moral worthiness seems in danger of dissolution--are our own best possession, and this identity of manhood then and now makes us feel less strange among those distant and dimly remembered generations. thus serious writers offer to our study many notable and interesting thoughts, and in their courtly poets we find scores of delightful pictures of gracious and noble dames and knights moving through the pleasures and pains of an ideal world. it is also pleasant to listen to a poet from among the people, and to touch the rough hand of an old german farmer, whose most brilliant recollection was of the time when, as a boy, he carried eggs and cheese to one of the courts of old-fashioned chivalry; whose virtue cast in a decadent era had looked at life sternly, yet whose austerity was softened by a homely simplicity through whose grace he grew old, with his heart true to his plain home life and his family, even to the assurance that no drink could be more refreshing than water from the spring on his own farm. [decoration] footnote: [ ] "la pluye nous a debuez et lavez, et le soleil dessechez et noirciz; pies, corbeaulx, nous ont les yeux cavez, et arrachez la barbe et les sourcilz." [decoration] childhood in mediÆval literature. when homer described the pretty fright of astyanax in his nurse's arms, amid the parting of hector and andromache; when vergil made damon recall the day when, as a little boy just able to reach up to the branches, he saw his mother and the child who was to be his fate gathering apples--the hyacinths of theocritus were daintier--they struck two chords of feeling, one charming, the other deeper and richer, which have started vibrations whenever they have met a sympathetic reader ever since. because we are susceptible to the poetry of childhood we are pleased to find that these ancient poets also cared for it. it adds a personal touch to our feeling for them. it gives us a thrill of the immortality of heart and its simplest, purest sentiment. there may be an element of the fictitious in our feeling about childhood. heaven may not be about our infancy, those "sweet early days" may not have been "as long as twenty days are now"; and they may not have been the types of innocence, simplicity, the loveliness of the race taken at first hand from nature, which we fancy them. but there is something beyond a fallacy in this sentiment; it is in our purer and more refined moods that we are sensitive to it. like a whiff of spring smoke, or woodsy odors, a reminder of our early life will sometimes throw us into a revery which is more than recollection. no one can write well about children without sensibility to youthful emotion and some love for family life. whoever looks back with genial wistfulness upon his own early days, and enjoys renewing them in the playthings of his fancy, can hardly be without a vein of quiet refinement. when an age listens with pleasure to such sketches, it is not barren of the homely affections, nor uniformly given over to restless and unlawful passions. as one wanders through the poetry of the middle ages, one observes the frequency with which it mentions children. these passages, judged absolutely, may not be remarkable for insight or tenderness, but in those days all emotional subjects were treated crudely. yet they are often interesting for themselves, and they show a fact which many seem to question that the sentiments of simple family life were felt by poets and people. so much has been written by critics upon the worse side of the society of chivalry, that it is well to recognize this other aspect of its affections. the public has frequently been assured that those days knew nothing of true family sentiment. how much truth there is in the statement that fashionable love disregarded marriage, has been shown in a preceding essay. but on _a priori_ grounds we should disbelieve that general society was permeated by artificial gallantry. even were the testimony of lyrical lovers uniform, we must recollect how conventional all their love-poetry was; most poets composed on formal lines impersonally, in spite of their pronouns. one of the troubadours, indeed, denied that this was possible when the husband of his theme challenged him, in the lonely place where he was hunting, by his liege truth to tell him whether he had a lady love. "sire," he replied, "how could i sing unless i loved?" but in most poems there was more business, or ambitious art, than nature. a large number of these poets impress us as having just as little emotional veracity in writing as had cowley in _the mistress_. moreover, even if a school of poetry, not conventionalized, should treat romantic and sensational sentiment to the exclusion of domestic, it would prove nothing. what if cynical critics some centuries hence should give mr. coventry patmore a place in their encyclopedias, simply on the ground that he was an exception to the nineteenth-century belief that love ended at the bridal altar? possibly by that time love, poetry, and fiction may deal mainly with domestic emotions after marriage, and then our own romances will very likely appear strange. from one point of view those centuries were too akin to undeveloped life to be prepared to represent it. europe seven hundred years ago seems like a vast nursery abandoned by its governess. the people are like children of various ages and sizes, degrees of education, and innate sense of right and wrong. children are impulsive, passionate, selfish, brutally inconsiderate; they are sometimes religious too. we find apparently sporadic susceptibility to isolation and prayer. they cry at trifles, and while their cheeks are still wet, they are smiling. bright and simple things please them; they are fickle and impatient; they love lively music; when they are tired playing, nothing pleases them like a story--they listen intently, credulously. when spring comes they can no more help running and dancing over the grass, than sunbeams on a brook. the gentler sit in the meadow making posies, while the rougher are setting traps, and racing, and fighting: but sometimes the rough boys will come and play in the meadow, and be pleasant to the girls. all these traits of children apply to the mediæval character, their barbarisms, their ethical inconsistencies, their delight in stories (no age has ever cared more for story telling), their love of play, their passion for spring, and the rest. undoubtedly the popular impression gives the period too little joyousness. mercurial childhood has capacity for sudden pleasures even when life goes ill, and life frequently went very well even then. but the mystery and grace of motherhood and dawning life are likely to appeal to a calmer and more retrospective age. the seriousness that takes pleasure in contemplating childhood is more serene and pensive than the usual moods of an era undeveloped emotionally. so it would not be a matter for surprise if the literary remains of those days had left us mainly incidental references to children. of such plain facts we have many, such as, for instance, that the little ones were entertained with pet dogs, birds, and squirrels (apparently never with cats), mice harnessed to a toy wagon, clay or wooden images of animals, and tiny vessels after kitchen models, toy men, women, and children, tops, and marbles; that they played blind man's buff, and many games attended with songs. as early as the interesting latin poem called _waltharius et hiltgunde_, which at least in a popular version walther von der vogelweide liked, we find the hero appealing to hagen, by the memory of the boyish games with which they had whiled away their childhood, and over which they never had quarrelled. we obtain considerable information about customs of education also; such as the attention paid to languages (a girl in a french romance is said to have understood fourteen tongues), and isolde knew french and latin as well as irish. boys were sent off on their travels early, going especially to paris. weinhold's quotation from hugo von trimberg illustrates the dangers that beset the pursuit of culture even then: "many boys go to paris; they learn little and spend much. but yet no doubt they see paris." when sir philip sidney derided the contemporary drama's habit of carrying a play through a large part of the hero's lifetime, instead of restricting the action to a developed episode, he made a poor criticism, out of tune, as are other parts of his criticism, with the genius of elizabethan poetry. but the passage is interesting as a reminder of the relation to that great literature of the romances which runs back through the middle ages to the later greek writings. such narrations as the _daphnis and chloe_, and the _aethiopica_, introduce their central characters while they are still children, and whether through transmitted influence or independently, the same course is pursued by the most important romance poems of mediæval france and germany. to this practice we owe pleasant domestic scenes of many a hero's early life, and sometimes, indeed, a narration of early joys and sorrows of his parents' love. the _tristan_ of gottfried von strassburg, for example, begins well before the birth of its subject, with noteworthy romantic episodes. this brilliant poem's account of the early years of chivalry's typical fine gentleman illustrates the admiration paid to intellectual training at a time when polite society in general was not well educated. tristan spent his first seven years under the care of his foster-mother, learning various lessons of good behavior; after that rual li foitenant provided a master, and sent him off to acquire foreign languages in their own lands, and "book-learning" as well. the luxurious temper of his chronicler stops for a long sigh at the hardship of such training, through the years when joyousness is at its best. so it is, he exclaims in his studied style, with many youth; when life is in its first bloom and freedom, away they are constrained to go from its free blossom. for seven years this young prince was constantly kept busy with the exercises of arms and horsemanship, in addition to his formal studies; he also learned hunting, and all courtly arts, especially music. then he was called home to be prepared for his political career. the education of children was assisted by not a few treatises on manners and morals, such as _babees books_, as the old english called them. they are usually manuals of etiquette, mediæval prototypes of such modern works as _don't_. chaucer's prioress had evidently studied the sections on table proprieties, and her gentility, which was so tender-hearted, might well have been developed under the admonishments of the ethical passages which often accompanied them. for a tender age many of these precepts were depressing. one of the gravest and most mature of these works is called _der winsbeke_, with a sequel, _die winsbekin_, for girls, the advice of a twelfth-century solomon, which moralizes certainly as well as most of its analogues. this stanza, for instance, shows a homely dignity: that bright candle mark, my son, while it burns, it wastes away; so from thee thy life doth run, (i say true) from day to day. in thy memory let this dwell, and life here so rule, that then with thy soul it may be well. what though wealth exalt thy name? only this shall follow thee-- a linen cloth to hide thy shame. these gnomic writings, running into a developed didacticism, are illustrated by the song of walther von der vogelweide on the restraint of eye, ear, and tongue. whether this poet was the teacher of the young king henry, as some have thought, or gained his experience in humbler ways, he evidently knew the trials of the pedagogue. "oh, you self-willed boy," he cries, "too small to be put to work in the field and too big to whip, have your own way and go to sleep." as for flogging, this prince of the minnesingers took the side of the matthew feildes against the boyers: "no one can switch a child into education; to those whom you can bring up well, a word is as good as a blow." apropos of the teacher's view, we also find the pupil's feeling for his teacher recorded in that little poem of the english school-boy, who was late in the morning, and explained to the master that his mother told him to stop and milk the ducks. the boy recounts the details of what follows, and afterwards, instead of taking up his interrupted studies, he words out a day-dream in which the master is turned into a hare, his books into hounds, and the boy goes hunting. there is a grain of humor, too, at least for the modern reader, in a much more sentimental child-play of the minnesinger hadlaub. though he mainly echoes the love singers who wrote a hundred years before him, one of the first songs in the collection of his poems raises a hope of something more than the ordinary, though this only leads us on to disappointment through the rest of his fifty-odd pieces. there is something very natural about this picture of the lover catching sight of his disdainful fair one playing with a little child. "she reached out her arms and caught it close to her, she took its face between her white hands, and pressed it to her lips and mouth and lovely cheek; ah, how deliciously she kissed it!" what did the child do? "just what i should have done; threw its arms around her, and was so happy." when she let the little one go, the lover went after it and kissed it just where her lips had been, "and how that went to my heart!" poor fellow! "i serve her since we both were children," and this is the nearest apparently that he ever came to the seals of love. but instead of delaying over estrays, pleasant scraps like those left us by heinrich von morungen, for instance, one of the few minnesingers for whom one really cares, we may pass on to three or four more detailed examples from the thirteenth century, of household love and sympathy with the poetry of childhood. but first i will translate a simple sesame for opening again the early gates. the poet is known as the wild alexander, but his mood was gentle and gracious when this revery of his boyhood came upon him: there we children used to play, thro' the meadows and away, looking 'mid the grassy maze for the violets; those days long ago saw them grow; now one sees the cattle graze. i remember as we fared thro' the blossoms, we compared which the prettiest might be: we were little things, you see. on the ground wreaths we bound;-- so it goes, our youth and we. over stick and stone we went till the sunny day was spent; hunting strawberries each skirrs from the beeches to the firs, till--hello, children! go home, they cry--the foresters. so he goes on to tell how their childhood took as a pleasure the hurts and stings that they received as they hunted for strawberries, and to recall the warnings against snakes that the herdsman sometimes shouted through the branches. apart from its graceful manner, and the breezy freshness of its universal childhood, the poem's specific touches are unusual. "from the beeches to the firs," for instance, does not sound mediæval aside from one's surprise that a german should have omitted the linden. we need not be as old as was lamb in , to look back with a touch of desire on the child, that other me, there in the background. perhaps there is the glamour of sentiment about that familiar association of childhood with purity and moral grace. yet the feeling appeals to us as true beyond mere beauty, and many may read with responsiveness these lines, hitherto unprinted, by one on whose lips, just parted for their song, silence laid her finger: "could i answer love like thine, all earth to me were heaven anew; but were thy heart, dear child, as mine, what place for love between us two? bright things for tired eyes vainly shine: a grief the pure heaven's simple blue. alas, for lips past joy of wine, that find no blessing in god's dew! from dawning summits crystalline thou lookest down; thou makest sign toward this bleak vale i wander through. i cannot answer; that pure shrine of childhood, though my love be true, is hidden from my dim confine: i must not hope for clearer view. the sky, the earth, the wrinkled brine would wear to me a fresher hue, and all once more be half-divine, could i answer love like thine." the spiritual subtlety of such a mood certainly is beyond the mediæval poets, yet we find pleasant proofs of sensibility to the tender, unselfish nature of a loving child. nowhere in such detail, perhaps, as in the most familiar of middle high german poems, the _poor henry_, of hartmann von aue. the story is known in longfellow's _golden legend_. this is not the place to discuss that poem, which contains some charming passages. the poet's treatment may be far from satisfactory, yet when he calls his original the most beautiful of mediæval legends, he certainly shows a more satisfactory side of extreme estimate than does goethe, in his curious fling at the poem (which we may notice he read in a modernized form). he says it gave him a "physico-æsthetic pain," and adds that the notion of a fine girl sacrificing herself for a leper, affected him so that he felt himself poisoned by the book. this judgment was pronounced in goethe's later life, and is consistent with his habitual want of sympathy with mediæval romantic literature. it shows, moreover, a lack of historical adjustment, for the dreadful disease was so common in the twelfth century that its repulsiveness was blurred for hartmann; yet he mentions it with the greatest reserve, though a description of its appearance could hardly be more painful than the famous conclusion of the _de rerum natura_. we are reminded of goethe's visit to assisi, interesting to him only as the situation of some remains of classical architecture.[ ] hartmann von aue ranks below his two great companions in german narrative poetry, for he is more of a translator than either gottfried or wolfram. his distinction is in his style; he has a very agreeable way of telling a story, and there is a quiet charm about his diction. "how clear and pure his crystal words are and always must be," is gottfried's tribute. we come to feel a personal liking for him, through his unaffected interest in his characters, his unassuming ways and the tact by which he lightens or deepens his accentuation. we feel that he was a gentleman, and we do not wonder at the kind regard in which all his fellow poets held him. we like his refined moral seriousness and that calm temperament of which he speaks in _gregorius_. the original for the _arme heinrich_ is lost, but though his introduction claims for himself no merit beyond a careful selection out of the many books that he takes pains to tell us he was learned enough to read for himself, we are probably justified in feeling that he took his heart into partnership when he made the version, receiving from it touches that he did not find in the earlier treatment. to appreciate the poem we have to put ourselves into harmony with the wonder-loving, credulous, and mystically religious world of seven hundred years ago. hartmann's simple earnestness and unobtrusive tenderness and piety constitute an ideal manner for the legend, and that ease of his soul which he hoped would come through the prayers of those who read the poem after his death, is perhaps equally well secured if he knows how some of his verses touch the sophisticated sense of to-day. he said that he was actuated in writing by the desire to soften hard hours in a way that would be to the honor of god, and by which he might make himself dear to others. he has succeeded. it is to the honor of god, and it wins the affection of others, when a poet leads his readers to a little well of pure unselfish love, hedged about by a child's religious faith. the hero of the legend is a gentleman of position and feudal possessions, whose free and generous career is cut short by an incurable leprosy. it is in vain that he consults masters at montpelier and salerno, the famous seats of medicine; and the honor and affection in which a genial life had established him among his friends cannot save him from becoming a social outcast. he disposes of his wealth between the poor and the church, and retires to a fief whose tenant is willing to receive his suzerain as a guest. here, on a little estate, away from all contact with the world, the gay lord resigns himself to the companionship of the farmer and his wife, whose gratitude for his kindness in the past distinguishes them among the multitude to whom his amiable disposition had made him a benefactor and friend. there were children in the family, the eldest a girl eight years old, when henry came. it was because their hearts were loyal that her parents were kind, but she kept close by him because she loved to be there. she was always to be found at his feet, and his affectionate nature liked her companionship. he bought her a hand mirror, a riband for her hair, a belt and finger ring, and whatever children care for. these gifts attached her to him, yet the main secret of her love was the sweet spirit that god had given her. after three years, as the family were sitting together one day with their high-born guest, the farmer asked him why it was that he had given himself up so hopelessly to his disease, and henry laid aside his reserve, and told for the first time about his visit to the great physician at salerno. the only remedy was an impossible one. he might indeed be healed, but not unless a virgin made a voluntary offering of her life. alas, god was his only physician. the little girl, who was so inseparable a companion that he jestingly called her his bride, listened as she was holding her sick lord's feet in her lap. she could not get it out of her head (the old german idiom is better, "out of her heart") the rest of the day, and when at night she lay in her usual place at her father's and mother's feet, she felt so sorry for her dear lord that she cried, and the warm tears fell on her parents' feet, and woke them. when they asked her what was the matter, she said that she thought they ought to be sorry, too; for what would happen to them all if their lord should die? some one else would own the farm, and no one could ever be as kind to them as he had been. they told her that was all true, but it could do no good to lament. "dear child, do not grieve. we feel as badly as you do, but alas, we cannot help him." so they hushed her, but all the night and the next day she continued to be unhappy, and whatever else she was doing, she kept thinking of this. when she went to bed, she cried again, till finally she resolved to herself that if she lived till morning she would surely give her life for her lord. straightway from that thought, she became light-hearted and happy, and felt free of all her cares, until it occurred to her that perhaps henry and her parents would not permit her to make the sacrifice; whereupon the poor little girl burst out crying again, and wakened her parents, as she had done the night before. it was only with difficulty that they drew from her this simple speech: "my lord might get well in the way that he told us, and if you will only let me, i am what he needs for being cured. i am a maid, and rather than see him pass away, i will die for him." a long dialogue follows, in which the parents remonstrate with the daughter, who replies in a strain of spiritual elation. she appeals not only to her parents' worldly dependence on their master's goodness, but also to their desire for her own highest welfare. how much better for her to pass to eternal life in unstained childhood, only anticipating the death that must come some time, no less unwelcome late than soon. her parents ceased to remonstrate, for they felt that the holy ghost was speaking through her, as they listened to the visionary cry. instead of taking, two or three years hence, some neighbor for her husband, she will choose "the franklin, who is wooing me to a home where the plough runs easily, where there is all abundance, where horses and cattle never are lost, where no wailing children suffer, where it is neither too warm nor too cold, where the old will grow young, where is nor frost nor hunger, no kind of pain, but all joy without toil; thither will i haste me, and forsake a farm whose tillage, fire, hail, and flood destroy, so that one half-day ruins the labor of a year. then let me go to our lord jesus christ, whose grace is sure, and who loves me, poor as i am, like a queen." unlike our modern analysts of character, hartmann does not stop to comment on the art of his delineation, and it is possible to miss the tact with which he keeps his heroine's renunciation consistent with a child's nature. hartmann is not treating this character inartistically, as a mere instrument for religious culture. earnest speech of a thoughtful parish priest; or phrases caught from the conversation of her lord touched by his sorrows, with the age's feeling _de contemptu mundi_, might have supplied her with some sentiments that seem beyond a child's invention, and children's emotions are sometimes precocious, especially in what seems a morbid religious development. those are the years of faith, credulous belief that burns with the white light of knowledge; a child's faith is a man's superstition. the peasant maid's imagination sees heaven and salvation a fact so infinitely desirable, that all dread of death was eliminated from the path of her love. the joyousness of her sacrifice, too, instead of being a romantic exaggeration, is far truer to life than a willingness touched with pain and hesitation could have been. in a noble dread, austerely controlled, lies calvary's dignity and pathos. but her gratitude and impetuous love for what seems to her simple mind a superior and infinitely deserving object, reached that finest pitch of selfishness, where self-sacrifice becomes the demand of impulsive egotism. to an enthusiastic temperament love's passionate altruism may be consummate self-will. as the little maid came away from her deliverance, though she was happy in her lord's restoration, she was less happy than as she went. for she did not have to die. in the tyranny of undeniable love, she broke down the opposition of her parents, and although henry indeed hesitated, she pleaded so anxiously and drew such an eloquent sketch of the advantage and gladness death would be to her, and the value of his life compared with hers, that at last, genial and affectionate as he was, the temptation to live by the sacrifice of a mere child's life (and the feudal sense of possession ought not to be overlooked) was too strong to be resisted. compare the scene with the one in _philaster_, where bellario wishes to offer herself for the man whom she loves with a hopeless earthly sentiment: "'tis not a life, 'tis but a piece of childhood thrown away." for her, continuance of life is only "a game that must be lost." but for the nameless german girl there is no pathos in living, beyond the thought of her master's death, and her sentiment was as childlike as when it began, while she was only eight years old. her love is a flame that burns impatiently away from the taper that feeds it; for her generous passion is after all a beautiful devoted wilfulness. when her parents wept to lose her, and her lord wept at his own weak hesitation, she wept above them all and her tears won the day. she rode with henry to salerno, and was unhappy only because the journey was so long. the great physician took her hand, and led her alone into a barred and bolted room. then he tried to frighten her and induce her to retract her consent, but she only laughed until she became afraid that he would not do his part, whereupon she broke out into an indignant scorn for his unmanly weakness. when he bade her undress, she did so without a blush; he bound her to his table, and took up his knife. he wished to render death easy (so he told himself), and taking a whetstone to make the knife sharper, he slowly whetted it--only as a pretext for delaying. the gentleman outside found himself restless. he listened, then he tried to look in and at last through a crevice in the wall he saw that "little bride" who had been his main companion and comfort during those three wretched years. by a fine touch of nature, the poet makes the sight of her perfect loveliness as she lay waiting for her celestial bridal, the force that broke the selfish charm which had enchained his manliness. he beat on the door, he called, and when no response came, he burst his way in. "the child is too lovely to die. for myself, god's will be done." it was now that her trial came, as she wailed and beat wildly at her body, to force on him the life he was unwilling to take. she talked bitterly and peevishly, as if she had been cheated of heaven through his cruelty. but it was in vain, he dressed her again in the rich garments which he had procured for the sacrificial journey, and they set out on their return to their distant home, the sobbing girl and the leper. but as they rode along, the divine might that seemed so near to mediæval faith was their companion, and touching the incurable disease, fulfilled love's miracle. henry took their daughter back to the peasants, and gave her rich gifts, while he presented them with the land which they had farmed, and all its serfs and chattels. then he went back to his estates, and to the welcome that the world was waiting to give him. by and by, when his people insisted that he should marry, he called an old-time conference about whom he should choose. there were numerous suggestions, but the advisers did not agree. he listened, and then telling them that unless they would approve his own choice, he should never marry, he stepped to the side of "the dear little wife" who had loved him as a leper. the romance of _fleur et blanchefleur_, which goes back, though not in its present form, to the twelfth century, enjoyed such popularity that it was translated into almost every european tongue. indeed, in some languages it is found in more than one version. the story tells of a saracen prince, whose royal father interrupts the smooth course of his true love for a christian girl. she was the daughter of a captive lady in the palace of the queen, and the royal boy and the bond girl had been born on the same day. from his birth, the mother of blanchefleur became fleur's nurse; the pagan law required that he must be suckled by a heathen, but in all other ways the infants were treated like twins. they slept in one cradle, and when they could eat and drink they were given the same food. thus they grew up together, until they were five years old, when the king, seeing his child as fine and promising a boy as could be found in any land, decided that it was time for him to begin his education. he selected a master, but fleur, when he was bidden to study, burst into tears and cried, "sire, what will blanchefleur do? who will teach her? i never can learn without her." the king answered that since he loved her so, blanchefleur should go with him to school. "so they went and came together, and the joy of their love was still uninterrupted. it was a wonder to see how each of the two studied for each; neither learned anything without straightway telling the other. at nature's earliest, all their concern was love; they were quick in learning and well they remembered. pagan books that spake of love they read together with delight; these hastened them along in the understanding and joy of love. on their way home from school, they would put their arms about each other, and kiss. in the king's garden, bright with all plants and flowers of various hues, they went to play every morning, and to eat their dinner; and after they had eaten, they listened to the birds singing in the trees above them, and then they went their way back to school, and a happy walk they found it. when they were again at school they took their ivory tablets, and you might have seen them writing letters and verses of love, in the wax. deftly with their gold and silver styles they made letters and greeting of love, of the songs of birds and of flowers. this was all they cared for. in five years and fifteen days, they both had learned to write neatly on parchment, and to talk in latin so well that no one could understand." when we follow the poem along, we find in the different versions many familiar romance expedients, conventional incidents of the pathetic, exciting, and marvellous, but the charm is in the unwavering love of these twins, who from the hour of birth breathed together, even in their sleep, yet no kin to each other, and blending brotherhood and sisterhood with the other love of man and woman in perfection, since for neither they knew the beginning. in this way the mediæval romance is even more ideal than beaumont's _triumph of love_, where gerard and violante passed from the sentiment of childhood "as innocently as the first lovers ere they fell." "gerard's and my affection began," the heroine tells ferdinand, "in infancy: my uncle brought him oft in long clothes hither; you were such another. the little boy would kiss me, being a child, and say he loved me: give me all his toys, bracelets, rings, sweetmeats, all his rosy smiles; i then would stand and stare upon his eyes, play with his locks, and swear i loved him too. for sure, methought he was a little love, he wooed so prettily in innocence that then he warmed my fancy; for i felt a glimmering beam of love kindle my blood both which time since hath made a flame and flood." in the early stages of fleur's love-trials his parents attempted to persuade him that blanchefleur was dead, and to give confirmation to their assertions they caused a superb tomb to be constructed, in a style that is of considerable interest in the study of literary origins from its obviously oriental tone. without delaying for its rich and curious eastern details, we may yet notice the sentiment in the figures of the boy and girl that were placed upon it. "never were seen images of fairer children, or more like to the lovers. the image of blanchefleur holds a flower before fleur, before her lover holds the fair one a rose of fine bright gold; and before her, fleur holds a blanched golden fleur-de-lis. close by each other they sit, a sweet look on their faces." a mechanical device is so contrived that when the wind blew and touched the children they embraced and kissed, and by necromancy they spoke to each other as in their childhood, and thus said fleur to blanchefleur: "kiss me, sweet," and kissing him, she replied: "i love you more than all the world." the story of fleur and blanchefleur was so popular that they became identified with the characters of another romance, and were sung of as the parents of berte-as-graus-pies, the heroine of an attractive legend, and the mythical mother of charlemagne. in the poem that relates her misfortunes after she has been sent from hungary to france as the wife of pepin, we find a suggestion of the depth of sentiment that was always associated with her legendary parents. she has been in france almost nine years without their having heard from her, and blanchefleur determines to undertake a journey to see her child again before she dies. the king, without opposing her desire, expresses a half remonstrance that we may add to the other proofs in mediæval poetry, that true love in our modern sense was familiar throughout those eras: "oh, my lady, how shall we be able to live so long without each other?" let us believe that in the utopia where these lovers who loved from their birth resided, they found, after their own sharp trials and the trials of their daughter were safely over, a serene old age, out of which they passed unconsciously some night, sleeping themselves away in each other's arms. this love between boy and girl was attractive to the old narrative poets. the greatest of them all touched the soul of young romance when he said of sigune and schionatulander, "alas, they are still too young for such pain, yet 'tis the love of youth which lasts." wolfram gives us pretty touches of childhood as far back as the nursery; like that of a mother and her ladies playing over the new-born baby, or of children learning to stand by taking hold of chairs, and creeping over the floor to reach them, or of sigune's care to take her box of dolls with her when she went away. "whoever saw this little girl thought her a glimpse of may among the dewy flowers." as she grew older, too, he describes her, assuming the airs of a young lady. "when her breasts were rounding and her light wavy hair began to turn dark, she grew more proud and dignified, though always keeping her womanlike sweetness." the story of her love with schionatulander has delightful stanzas; their long love-pleading dialogue is much truer than most of the minnesingers' work in its restraint and in the girl's coy sweetness. she is an earlier dorigen as she watches for the beloved who does not come, wasting many an evening at the window gazing over the fields, or climbing to the housetop to look. but what distinguishes the author of the _titurel_ above his fellow-poets is his sentiment for something more than romance. children are dear to him, and the wife is dearer. his idea of love consists no more in dante's platonic mysticism than in passion and inconstancy. without transcendentalism its dominant tone is spiritual. compare an earlier lover's cry in the loveliest of french romances: "what is there in heaven for me? i will never go there without nicolette, my sweet darling, whom i love so much. it is to hell that fine gentlemen go and pretty, well-bred ladies who love." compare that parisian type of feeling with this of wolfram: "love between man and woman has its house on earth, and its pure guidance leads us to god and heaven. this love is everywhere save in hell!" to such a poet we naturally turn for the deepest mediæval note in the treatment of childhood, and we do not listen in vain. "what a difference there is between women," wolfram exclaims. it seems to him the way of modern womanhood to be disloyal, worldly, selfish, like men: but in the days of which he writes in his chief poem there was a lady herzeloide, to whom after her husband's death in the wars, the sun was a cloud, the world's joy lost, night and day alike, who for heavenly riches chose earthly poverty, and leaving her estates went with her retainers far into the unreclaimed forest to bring up her infant safe from the strife and wiles of men. this only heritage of her lost lord was the boy parzival. she trusted that by hiding him away from all knowledge of the world, she might always keep him her own. she exacted an oath from her servants that they would never let him hear of knights and knighthood, and while they cleared farming land in the heart of the woods, she cared for the child. it was a desolate place, but she was not looking for meadows and flowers; she gave no thought to wreaths, whether red or yellow.[ ] the child grew into boyhood, and was indulged in making bows and arrows. as he played in the woods, he shot some of the birds. but after he saw them dead, he remembered how they had sung, and he cried. every morning he went to a stream to bathe. there was nothing to trouble him, except the singing of the birds over his head: but that was so sweet that his breast grew strained with feeling; and he ran to his mother in tears. she asked what ailed him, but "like children even now it may be," he could not tell her. but she kept the riddle in her heart, and one day she found him gazing up at the trees listening to the birds, and she saw how his breast heaved as they sang. it seemed to her that she hated them, she did not know why. she wanted to stop their singing, and bade her farm hands snare and kill them. but the birds were too quick; most of them remained and kept on singing. the boy asked his mother what harm the birds did, and if the war upon them might not cease. she kissed his lips: "why am i opposing highest god? shall the birds lose their happiness because of me?" "nay, mother, what is god?" "my son, he is brighter than the day; he took upon himself the likeness of man. when trouble comes upon thee, pray to him: his faithfulness upholds the world. the devil is darkness; turn thy thoughts from him, and from unbelief." this passage is wolfram's invention; the brilliant gallic poet whose romance he followed could not have contrived it. this sympathy with nature belongs to our later era; it seems less strange to meet it in keats, when the boy apollo wanders out alone in the morning twilight: "the nightingale had ceased, and a few stars were lingering in the heavens, while the thrush began calm-throated. throughout all the isle there was no covert, no retired cave unhaunted by the murmurous noise of waves. though scarcely heard in many a green recess, he listened and he wept, and his bright tears went trickling down the golden bow he held." one recalls nothing in the two centuries which wolfram touches that equals this picture of the mother watching her child's baptism with the sad and precious gift of soul, as he stands gazing upward in his forest trance, or listening to his dawning perplexities, or teaching him his first religious lesson, or jealous of the birds, because his dreamy love for them dimly warned her of a mysterious growing soul that would not remain within her simple call. those lines in the _princess_ of the faith in womankind and the trust in all things high, that come easy to the son of a good mother, certainly are appropriate to parzival, whose faith held true and simple through his whole career as the foremost knight of chivalric legend, living for a spiritual ideal, unseduced by beauty and the ways of courts from loyalty to his first wedlock: "true to the kindred points of heaven and home." the description of parzival's meeting with the knights, his mistaking them in their bright armor for angels, and his eagerness to make his way to arthur's court are narrated by chrestien with his own excellent vivacity, and here wolfram only follows. the welsh version of the story in the _mabinogi_ of peredur, though disappointing, contains a naïve sketch of the boy's rustic attempt to imitate the knight's trappings. but for the full tenderness of his mother's parting as he goes out from home to the fierce world we must turn again to the german.[ ] she kisses him, and as he rides away "runs a few steps after him" till he has galloped out of sight and then she closes forever the eyes whose light of motherhood shone like a star above the sea, over those tumultuous years. all through these centuries there are poems to the virgin, especially in latin, which manifest similar sensibility to infancy and motherhood. one of the most pleasing belongs to england, and is written in the commixture of latin and the modern tongue, which occasionally produces quaintly pretty effects. the glorified christ summons his mother, by the memory of their kisses when she calmed him in sweet song, to come and be crowned. "pulcra ut luna"--lovely as moonlight--"veni coronaberis." but perhaps the most delicate of all such sketches comes from an unexpected source. a young lawyer in the town of todi, whose early life had combined pleasure with sufficient study to gain the doctorate, was turned aside from a prosperous public career by the tragical loss of his bride. matthew arnold has given a symbolism to the story of her death in the sonnet beginning: "that son of italy who tried to blow 'ere dante came, the trump of sacred song." the sorrow struck deep, even to the point of partial mania; the gay young man forsook the world and devoted years to seclusion and religious culture. later in , he entered the order of the minorites, and ranks as one of their delirious enthusiasts, a mystic poet, a reckless satirist of evils in high places. his fanatic asceticism made him glory in bodily torments and the world's scorn. the nickname, jacapone, he carried proudly, and even the harshness of boniface viii. could not quell his zest for martyrdom. we should scarcely look to him for sympathy with the sweet gaieties of the nursery, yet this little sketch of the virgin's life with christ, the child, came from the same hand that wrote the sorrows of the _stabat mater_. ah sweet, how sweet, the love within thy heart, when on thy breast the nursing infant lay: what gentle actions, sweetly loving play, thine, with thy holy child apart. when for a little while he sometimes slept, thou eager to awake thy paradise, soft, soft, so that he could not hear thee, crept, and laidest thy lips close to his eyes, then, with the smile maternal calling, "nay, 'twere naughty to sleep longer, wake, i say!" the almost incoherent repetition of the word "love," in one of his poems, is suggestive of the man; despair for human love led to his half-crazed absorption in the divine. very sweetly sounds this sacred meditation's echo of his recollection of the nights of his own childhood, of which he has told, when his mother, as she waked, would make a light and come and lean over his bed, till sometimes his eyes would open to see her watching him there. his father did not spare the rod for the careless boy, nor in later years did the father of his soul; but the divine motherhood of memory and of present faith bent with yearning eyes, we may be sure, over his anxious sleep in prison or in the ascetic cell. but it was only the greatest of all these poets who could leave us the lovely image of the new-born soul that comes forth in its simplicity from the hand that loves it before its birth, playing like a young girl who weeps and smiles. yet dante's principal sensation about childhood is its helplessness, and the mother's eyes, which throw its aureole about infancy, do not seem to have held their tenderest meaning for him. he would never have gone beyond the original ten lines of "she was a phantom of delight." but he gives beauty to the child's frightened eyes when they meet its mother's, and certainly the vision, whether real or imagined, toward the close of the _vita nuova_ will please forever. this straying love is recalled to its old faithfulness by "the strong imagination" of a little figure that is habited in red, just as it had appeared to him when, perhaps in folco's florentine garden, the boy not quite nine fell in love with the girl of eight. perhaps boccaccio's story of the falcon is too familiar to quote, though it illustrates domestic love too well to be unmentioned. one hardly can choose the best of its touches--the bright account of the boy running over the fields with his mother's old-time lover, as he hawked, always eying with a boy's eagerness for ownership the famous falcon, the only remnant of frederick's gay and wealthy life, which he had lost for the unsuccessful love; or the picture of the mother again and again begging the child, as he lay ill, to tell her something which he desired, so that she might obtain it for him; until his feverish imagination persuaded him that to have the wonderful falcon would make him well again; or our thought of the impoverished gentleman, whose devotion had lasted under the years of exile on his little farm, his hope departed, who when suddenly visited by his widowed love, and finding nothing in the larder, nor money, nor even anything valuable enough for a pledge to secure some entertainment for her, desperately wrung the neck of his precious bird; or the delicate hesitation and awkwardness of the lady when she came to explain her errand, and the struggle, before love for her child bent both pride and pity; or the lover's broken heart when he found that his excess of devotion had cost him his only opportunity of pleasing her. the whole may be read in a little play of tennyson's later years, or among the _tales of a wayside inn_; but it is much better to read it in the narrative of the certaldesian. tuscany has sent us down no tenderer story. [decoration] footnotes: [ ] i will not quote goethe's famous disparagement of the _divina commedia_, for the context indicates that it was uttered petulantly. still, he certainly did not care for dante, or appreciate him, though he recognized his eminence. [ ] it may be worth noting that wolfram substitutes for the french original's usual conventionality of a pretty watered meadow, this harder and more appropriate setting. [ ] tennyson might suitably enough have had the marriage of parzival and condiuiramur in mind when writing the prince's aspiration. "then reign the world's great bridals chaste and calm." such passages in wolfram's poem as book iv. from line and book v. - may be commended to the critics who see nothing in mediæval love that is pure or faithful in the modern sense of marriage. [decoration] a mediÆval woman.[ ] when heloise was born, just after the twelfth century opened, abelard, through whom she was to experience the deepest ecstacies and the most poignant distress, and by whose union with her life she was to become the most famous mediæval woman, was a young man of twenty-two. he came of a rather high-bred family in brittany; his father, though an active soldier, was interested in letters and took pains to have his children instructed in the ornaments as well as the defence of life. this eldest son, so attracted by his early lessons that he determined to sacrifice his rights of primogeniture, and to renounce the distinction of a knightly career for the life of study, while yet a youth started out as a student-tramp, one of a multitude who wandered from town to town to hear lectures on the seven topics that made up the educational curriculum of the age. through this entire epoch, for generation after generation, this practice of student vagrancy continued: now the intellectual centre was england, now france, now germany; sometimes two or three teachers would draw crowds to the exclusion of all other schools, sometimes the numbers would divide up among scores of masters. poor, rich, coarse, refined, hard-working, indolent, quick-witted, stupid, scholars, impostors,--these student crowds were an extraordinary medley. to realize the irregularity and the strangeness of their lives we have to read such a story as freytag quotes[ ] from thomas platter, a wandering scholar of the fifteenth century. such german students were perhaps of a lower grade than the young men who travelled through france three hundred years before, and the standard of scholarship may have been inferior, but their general experiences must have been similar, and most of abelard's companions no doubt were mentally crude, arrogant, superstitious; many dissipated and even brutal. yet some were touched by the love of truth, and had vigorous minds, well trained by application. the majority of these better men were of course hedged in by the palisades of catholic tradition, and sought knowledge from the past, rather than from independent present thought: but there were some whose ideas were bolder, and who kept proposing questions which their teachers did not answer. the deferential attention with which roscellinus and william of champeaux were listened to, was broken in upon when the handsome youth abelard appeared at the schools of these leaders of european thought. the strength of each was in dialectics, the topic which then held intellectual interest to the practical disregard of almost every other subject except the theology into which it played, and they took opposite sides on the absorbing problem of general terms. in the school of each, abelard rose as a disputant; he challenged his teacher to argue with him as an equal until he triumphed in turn over the extreme nominalist and the extreme realist. then he set up schools of his own, which he moved from place to place, as the intolerant hostility of his vanquished chiefs and their upholders required. his reputation steadily rose, and he drew the largest and most enthusiastic following, for the keenest young thought of the generation recognized in him its natural leader. all independence and liberality of mind must be estimated relatively to the age concerned. from our outlook abelard seems a narrow and constrained thinker, but to the churchman of the opening of the twelfth century he was a rationalist, a daring explorer into the sacred mysteries that must be accepted by the sealed eye of faith. how absurd, he exclaims, to teach what you cannot give reasons for believing. so he tried to make belief a matter for intellectual comprehension; he argued where others asserted, and made bold to modify current opinions which his ingenuity, often childishly simple, could not explain. he had a noble grasp upon some conceptions far beyond the reach of his antagonists. he independently developed the ethical doctrine that the value of conduct is in motive, not in act; he taught that the main worth of the incarnation was to present the model of a perfect life; that the man christ jesus was not a member of the trinity; that the love of god is as freely bestowed on sinner as on saint; that god could not prevent evil, or he would have done so. for the sufferings that he endured in teaching his pupils to use not credulity but unflinching independent thought in their reflections even on theology, he deserves our grateful admiration. when abelard was thirty-eight years old he was at the height of his reputation. technical and abstruse as his intellectual interests were, he appears to have been anything but a dry-as-dust. though as a logician he had trained himself severely in precision of speech, the hesitating and half-frozen way of talking that most exact thinkers fall into, he seems to have escaped. we have a letter written about this time by a canon named fulcus, who, dwelling on abelard's intellectual cleverness, his power and subtlety of expression, makes special mention of the sweetness of his eloquence; _limpidissimus philosophiæ fons_, he calls him, too--philosophy's very clearest fountain. he was not only an easy and agreeable speaker, he had also the advantages of an attractive presence; he was a fine-looking man, in the prime of life. now for about twenty years he had been a hero of the schools. the philosophic and theological leaders of the age he had overthrown and trampled on; the audiences that he had been at the first successful in drawing had steadily increased. established in paris without controversy, a canon of the church, in the chair of notre-dame, the philosophical throne of france, he lectured to the best pupils of europe. fulcus, in his letter to abelard, described the geographical extent of his influence thus: "rome sent her sons to be taught by you, the former teacher of all arts confessing herself not so wise as you. no distance, no height of mountains, no depth of valleys, no road hard to travel or perilous with robbers, hindered scholars from hastening to you. the english students were not frightened by the tempestuous waves of the sea between; every peril was despised as soon as your name was known. the remote britons, the angevins, the picts, the gascons, the spaniards, the people of normandy and flanders, the teutons, and the suevi, all about paris and through france, near and remote, thirsted to be taught by you, as if they could learn nowhere else." such eminence had not come to him without effort. he had been a close worker, secluding himself from society. "the assiduity of my application to study," he says, "prevented my associating with refined ladies, and i had hardly any acquaintance with women outside of the church." the purity of his morals was only less famous than his intellect; he says that the notion of associating, as many churchmen of the time did, with coarse women was odious to him. but suddenly over this man already middle-aged, and, as one might suppose, established in self-control mentally and physically, there came a reaction. reputation had become an old story, his enthusiasm for philosophy seemed to dwindle when he believed himself the first philosopher of the world; no doubt, too, the intellectual pressure of his work had so worn upon him as to make a change of interests impulsive. so abelard turned to divert himself with immoral indulgences, and at thirty-eight began the life of passion. several years before this, a story had begun to circulate that another canon of notre-dame, fulbert by name, had a remarkable niece. she was then only a little girl in a nunnery at argenteuil, but year by year the accounts of her precocity grew more astonishing, and by the time she was sixteen we are told that she was talked about through the whole kingdom. this was heloise, and her uncle--people did not know whether he was prouder or fonder of her. he brought her back to his own house near the cathedral, and abelard met her to find the reports of her learning had not been exaggerated, and--something more interesting--to find that she was not merely a scholar, that she was a genius. the modern accounts of this famous story that i have seen (most of them mere imitations of one or two authors who really have taken the trouble to study the originals) declare that heloise was uncommonly beautiful, but there seems to be no authority for this. abelard says only, "_per faciem non infirma_"--"not lowest in beauty, but in literary culture highest." making allowance for his rhetorical contrast, we may say, without intensives, that she was attractive as well as brilliant. we should have to read a good many indecent chronicles, and get thoroughly familiar with don juan prototypes, to find as cold-blooded a story of seduction as this that follows. we have it from abelard's own pen, told in perfectly calm language, a clear-cut narrative without the slightest tremor of confession about it. he was delighted with her loveliness, her youth and innocence, her fame, and most of all with her brilliancy. he says that he believed no woman whom he might honor with his regard could resist the combination of his personal qualities and his reputation. but he wished cultivated, congenial companionship in his amours, and deliberately resolved to betray this girl of sixteen under the disguise of her teacher. at his own application, fulbert received him as a lodger, the board to be paid by private instruction of his niece. "he gave the lamb to me, a wolf"--such is abelard's well-chosen metaphor. she was to be taught at any hours, day or night, that her tutor found convenient. she was to obey him in everything, and if he thought fit it was enjoined upon him to discipline her with the rod. "to such an extent," abelard remarks, "was he blinded by his trust in his niece, and by my reputation for strict morality." nothing could be more repulsive than the coldly deliberate wickedness of abelard's plan, and it would be time thrown away to attempt any extenuation of it. but the crime once committed, it is a relief to find something in addition to brute passion present in the unscrupulous seducer. the girl who had fascinated him, won from him as complete love as his nature was capable of giving. week by week he resigned himself more and more to his happiness, he neglected the school, his lectures were only the repetition of formerly acquired views, and he wooed philosophy for no new truths. even the perfunctory teaching that he did grew irksome to him, and his knowledge of the great sadness, groans, and lamentations that he tells arose among his followers, was powerless to break the spell. for it was only a spell: he was pre-eminently an intellectual man with superficial affections; his heart was given to philosophy, and the only permanent passion of his life was ambition. but little as the praise is, to that little extent it is to his credit that where he had planned for himself a holiday from mental and moral severity, in which he was to enjoy relaxation selfishly and viciously at heloise's undivided cost, he found his better nature captured by this loveliest representative of womanhood in its fullest and most exceptional combination of elements that mediæval history has made known to us. after all, abelard was not wholly destitute of the moral sensibilities: i believe no narrator of this story has called attention to his love for his old home in brittany, or to his family's devotion to him and reliance on his guidance, or to the tenderness with which he mentions his mother. in spite of all the viciousness in his early and the hardness in his later treatment of heloise, we may credit him with real affection for her, from the early days of his crime. for a man of abelard's force and finish of mind, such a refined companionship must have been the first of pleasures. there are traditions, not to be accepted too credulously, that heloise was a larger scholar than her lover, and could read hebrew and greek--those rarest accomplishments of mediæval learning. that at least she knew latin literature well, we have abundant evidence, and the most positive proof that her scholarship was refined and appreciative, that she felt poetry as well as understood it. her mind responded also to the theological interests of the thinkers of the age, she was at home in the church fathers, and learned from abelard the main principles of his philosophical doctrine. in trying to conceive a character when information is so fragmentary as ours here, we are no doubt in some danger of making fanciful biography. three letters of her own, several of abelard's to her, and his autobiography, a few slight contemporary hints--these materials leave some important points of her character undeveloped. but given certain suggestions, our imaginative instincts cannot go far wrong, provided the inferences of sympathetic interpretation are held in check by judgment. these guides teach us to see in the girl heloise an extraordinary combination of thoughtfulness and bright temper, active thinking and religious deference, accurate scholarship (after the fashion of mediæval schools) and æsthetic sensibility, passion and maidenly delicacy. to this last quality abelard has borne complete testimony, and her own letters supply any evidence needed. absorbed though her whole nature was in her love, her lover himself has let us know that her modesty had to be conquered more than once by blows. her mind was mastered by the greatness of his reputation, her eye was taken with his beauty, her imagination was fascinated by his universal charm: it is no wonder that she was flattered and bewitched into loving him. but the completeness and devotion and ecstatic self-oblivion of the love she gave him is a wonder. her generous faith, though to an undeserving object, communicates to the ineffective results of her life an ideal value; by a supreme self-forgetting, she rendered herself worthy to be always remembered. abelard's was a stormy life in a stormy age, when the scholars fought quite as bitterly as the soldiers, and the last forty-four years of heloise's life were the tragedy of being buried alive, unable to die. but for a few months in this year , both found perfect happiness. we have a pretty picture outlined for us of the way their time went. abelard says: "we used to have our books open, but we talked more of love than about the reading, there were more kisses than ideas. love made pictures of each of us in the other's eyes more often than we turned our eyes upon the books." every now and then this great philosopher appeared in a new rôle. as to most of the highest men, nature had given him a great deal more than brains. he had a wonderfully fine voice, was fond of music, and as poets in those days went, he was a poet. he had stopped constructing dialectics, but his mind could not be inactive; so he took up the art of song-writing and song-making, and wrote love-lyrics and many of them, almost all directly in the praise of heloise. nor was he content to praise her to her own ears alone; the man was past all prudence in the violence of his new absorption. he let others hear them, and no doubt his hateful egotism was flattered by the thought that the most fascinating girl in all france would thus become known as his mistress. the lyrics at once caught the popular fancy; we hear of them as spreading over the country, sung everywhere by the light-minded. many years later, heloise wrote that if any woman's heart could have resisted abelard's other magic, to read his songs and to hear him sing them would surely have conquered her. the neglect of his work, and the notoriety of these love-ditties after a while made public abelard's real relation to his pupil. yet for some time after the world at large understood it, the devoted uncle and guardian of the girl heard nothing, and after the rumors did begin to reach him, he obstinately refused to believe them. nothing in the whole history shows the essential goodness of heloise more significantly than the canon fulbert's complete incredulity; for as the event proved, his nature was not so gentle as to repudiate harsh thoughts without the strongest prepossessions. when the truth was forced upon him, his distress was so intense that even the cold-hearted abelard was compelled to pity him. but if abelard pitied the uncle, how much greater his distress for the niece, and greater still, unfortunately, his apprehension for himself. egotist he proved himself, but he proved himself also heloise's real lover. "first we lived together in one house," he says, "but at last in one soul." in the crash of public disgrace, "neither of us complained of personal suffering, but each for the suffering that came to the other," and the bodily separation that ensued, he says with a touch of real feeling, was "the greatest linking of our souls." soon after the separation, abelard discovered that heloise required more care and comforts than the heart-broken and embittered fulbert would be likely to provide, and he devised and carried through a plan to take her back to his own country, to his sister's house. there, amid the scenes of her lover's boyhood, in that brittany whose legend and poetry have blessed us with so many of our loveliest romances, this heroine of a deeper romance than any of fiction found a home for several months. we may guess that the home was pleasant to her, for the lady with whom she lived afterwards entered the abbey of which heloise was prioress. abelard meanwhile was continuing his lectures in paris, fearing--he seems to have been at all times a great deal of a coward--the personal violence from heloise's family which the fierce habits of the age gave him reason to anticipate. at last the distress of fulbert touched his better feeling into the wish to give him comfort, this long separation from heloise he found hard to support, and his fear of revenge constantly increased. these motives induced a promise to rectify his offence by marriage. he made only one condition--that the marriage should be secret. on the whole, this is perhaps the most favorable exhibition of himself that abelard ever made. with all deductions for selfish considerations, it is reasonable to allow some weight to moral feeling, and a good deal more to devotion for the girl. this renders it all the sadder to find him some sixteen years later referring to this best act of his life with a feeble apology. "let no one," he entreats, "wonder at my offer of marriage, who has felt the power of love, and known how the greatest men have been overthrown by woman." even here when his feeling for heloise seems strongest, we see that his selfish ambition was stronger still. secular as his tastes were, bound to the church by his intellectual side only, he still hoped to rise to ecclesiastical dignities and power. from very early times the disposition for a celibate clergy had been strong, and five years before abelard's birth hildebrand had declared that no married priest should have any part in the celebration of the mass. quite apart from all questions of marriage, abelard seems to have had scarcely any chance of distinguished clerical dignity; the student crowds might follow him, but the leaders of the church were dead set against his rationalism; they feared and hated the arrogant and progressive thinker. if abelard had acted like a man, and had openly chosen married love with the girl whose mind and heart were, either of them, better than the best of life's other gifts, the misfortunes of his distressed later career might have been avoided, and heloise, after a happy and lovely life, would be no more remembered to-day than the flowers she had gathered, or the birds she heard sing. but because the man, not quite unprincipled, was yet not true, he brought death upon his own good name, and upon heloise a melancholy life with which she paid too dear for all the remembrance and love that the ages have given her. to his selfishness we owe the sweetest and saddest story which the middle ages have bequeathed us; but we think of the words of demodocus, as he recites in the odyssey the story of heroes dead: "this the gods contrived, and for these they ordained destruction, so that the people of times to come might have a song." his mind once made up, abelard started for brittany, to see the son of whose birth he had just heard, and to take back the mother as his bride. but when this resolution was known to heloise, he met an unexpected opposition. she said she did not wish him to marry her, and persisted in her refusal. unwomanly does it appear, this unwillingness of heloise to become her lover's wife? she knew abelard's vehement ambition, the impossibility of its being satisfied if he was known to be a married man, the practical certainty that her family would prefer the redemption of her reputation to her husband's success. so she told abelard that to marry her would be dangerous to him,--but still more, that it would be disgraceful. she talked to him in the rôle of a learned and ascetic mediæval preacher; she seems to draw a monk's rough robe about her girlish figure, to disguise her tones, and to muffle her bright face in a cowl. we have long, formally rendered objections, a crowd of citations from the bible, cicero, theophrastus, jerome, josephus, augustine,--to prove marriage less honorable than celibacy, devotion to knowledge a duty not to be interfered with by the responsibilities and annoyances of a family, conformity to the rules of the church the highest obligation. her desire for his own greatness completely overshadows her passion for his love. he is already the first of philosophers, but if he has outrivalled others, he must go on to surpass himself. for this, he must have quiet and solitude, freedom for thought. she quotes a roman maxim that all things are to be neglected for philosophy. what monks endure through love of god, the thinker ought to endure from devotion to truth. if laymen and gentiles have lived thus continently, bound by no religious profession, what does it become a clerk and a canon to do? "if you regard not god, at least care for philosophy." "for what harmony is there," she asks, "between a scholar and a nurse, a writing-desk and a cradle, books and spinning-wheels? who when absorbed in religious or philosophic meditation can endure hearing children cry, or having to listen to the lullabies of the woman who soothes them? rich people can get along, for they have abundant room and plenty of servants; but scholars are not rich." she has difficulty in keeping herself disguised: in the excess of her feeling she throws out her arms, and discloses the gracious outline of the unselfish woman. then, after reasoning, come personal pleadings. is he sacrificing himself for her? she is content as she is. now she holds him by the free gift of that love and favor to which he would have a claim in marriage. does he believe she feels herself disgraced by this relation? to be called his mistress is dear and ennobling to her. years later when she was past her middle life, she wrote to abelard that "the name of mistress, or even of harlot, was sweeter to me then the holier name of wife, so that by my greater humiliation i might gain greater favor and less injure thy fame. i call god to witness that if augustus would have set me by himself at the head of the whole world, it would have seemed to me more dear and noble to be called thy mistress than his empress." thus by argument, authority, protestation that her sacrifice is choice, she tries to conquer his decision. nay, she throws aside the cowl entirely, and by her natural bright humor tries to banter him into acquiescence. "and then think," she says in substance, "what a plague a wife is to a man. only imagine" (and she laughs, and abelard laughs too, at the inconceivable grotesqueness of the idea), "imagine what a shrew i might turn out! i might treat you as xanthippe treated _her_ philosopher." she reminds him of the passage where jerome tells the story about socrates' wife having fretted and scolded and raged one day through the house with desperate temper, until she wound up by throwing a basin of dirty water over him: "he took it patiently, and wiped his head: 'rain follows thunder,'--that was all he said." to abelard's credit, this impassioned unselfishness strengthened, instead of weakening, his resolution. heloise was forced to yield, but her instincts saw the dark shadows gathering about them: with sobs and tears she exclaimed, "in the ruin of both of us not less pain is to follow than was the love that came before." leaving the child with his aunt the lovers returned to paris; there they were married in great secrecy, and at once separated. after this they met but seldom, and then with careful precautions against their interviews becoming known. heloise's family, however, as she had feared, determined to redeem her good name by announcing that abelard had made her honorable reparation. when people came to her and asked if it was really true that she was the canon's wife, she denied the story angrily. when her uncle and other relatives contradicted her contradiction, the girl took religion's holiest name in vain, in her asseverations that abelard was not her husband. fulbert lost all patience, and attempted by cruelty and indignity to drive her to confess the truth. she told abelard of what she suffered, and one night he contrived to steal her away from her uncle and to carry her back to her old nunnery at argenteuil, where she assumed most of the dress of the order, and received only occasional visits from him. the conjecture that abelard designed to keep her there, and as soon as his attachment could be weaned to make her take the vows and thus save himself from all further trouble, suggests itself to us to-day: with greater force, it occurred to the people immediately concerned. the rage of the uncle and his friends at abelard's treachery, first and last, to themselves, and at his heartlessness toward the girl whose worth they understood so well, grew uncontrollable; they bribed a servant to admit them to his house by night, and avenged themselves. abelard's spirit was broken, as he saw all hopes of ecclesiastical promotion at an end, and his fame turned to notoriety. heretofore his public appearances had made the sensation of a king's: "what region did not burn to see you!" asked heloise. "who, when you walked abroad, did not hurry to look at you, rising on tiptoe and with straining eyes?" but now every look he fancied scornful. in this wild age there was always one refuge for the victims of the world or of themselves. to the monasteries flocked all classes, from fashionable knights broken down or unsuccessful or weary of conflict, to the half-witted clowns sheltered and utilized as lay-brethren. husbands forsook their wives, and wives fled from their husbands, to take shelter in the religious life. in this early part of the twelfth century, monastic houses were multiplying like hives of bees, constantly sending out from themselves colonies that quickly became parents of others. for some time the tendency had been to an easier discipline than the traditional, but at last asceticism had blazed out anew, and the rich and luxurious cluny paled in popularity before clairveaux or the grande chartreuse. in this single century the cistercians expanded from one abbey to eight hundred, a single one of which is said to have controlled seven hundred benefices. the one meal a day, the hard manual labor, the restricted sleep, the wearisome routine of prayer, reading, and penance, won by their very severity and by the mystical impression of sanctity and immortal safety which brooded about these retired prisons of self-condemned sin. "oh, hide me in your gloom profound, ye solemn seats of holy pain," was the cry with which multitudes approached the gates that should emancipate them from a freedom which did not satisfy. ben jonson's fear lest his inclination to god might be "through weariness of life, not love of thee," was realized in the case of numbers of convertites quite equalling and probably far exceeding those who entered the ascetic orders from the enthusiasm of visionaries. to this retirement, as a screen from the world's curiosity and fancied mocks, abelard now resolved to withdraw, as his father and mother in their later lives had done before him. his jealousy could not leave heloise behind, so he told her of his purpose, and hoped that she would volunteer to imitate him. but heloise made no such offer. in every way hers was a mind beyond her age, and the unnatural harshness of cloistral discipline, its artificial dreariness, its "hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell," seemed to her fine insight untrue. though she had suffered, she was yet in tune with life; her heart assured her that innocent pleasure is the soul's hymn of praise to god; bitterly as she shared her husband's misery, she saw no reason for separating her life and his; most of all, she revolted from the notion of professing religion with lip-service only. but abelard urged, insisted, even commanded, and, seeing it to be his wish, the girl-wife yielded. she told herself that only she was responsible for her husband's afflictions; except for her, his prosperity would have continued undimmed; so the day was fixed on which, in her old nunnery, she should take the vows of perpetual seclusion. it must have been a strange scene in that chapel at argenteuil. abelard was there, still in his habit of a mere secular priest, there to make sure that heloise's impulses should not burst out again, and cast her back into the world's sunshine. the bishop, attended by his priests, stands at the altar: upon it lies a newly consecrated veil. the nuns, kneeling in their accustomed places, are praying. all wait for the votaress, but she is detained by a crowd of friends. there were many of them there, as abelard has told us, and they could not endure that this girl, personally so charming, perhaps the most accomplished intellectually of all the women of france, should consummate the sacrifice that she had already in such large measure made. they knew her love for the bright things of life, her beautiful zest for the joyous and sympathetic, her eagerness in study, the grace of her strong, sweet seriousness. such a nature might be for a time bewildered at the loss of the love of one of the most famous men living, yet if for a little while they could keep her face unhidden by the veil, she might forget. so they delay her outside the chapel, pleading with a heart that has made the same pleas for itself before. presently the door is pushed open and she enters the oratory, her friends still about her. even in the sacred place they continue their entreaties, and abelard's glance is anxiously upon her; but her eyes are downcast. "how they pitied her!" he has told us; "they kept trying to hold back her youth from the yoke of monastic rule, as from punishment intolerable." the bishop seems half pitiful, half impatient; the nuns look up from their praying. has the world renewed its hold upon her? will she snatch herself from god? does he no longer attract her? at this last moment is she hesitating? she was hesitating; the world did have a hold upon her. god? god had never attracted her. in all the ceremonials of the catholic church, there can have been none which has so combined sacrilege with loftiness of feeling as did the scene which followed. from the silent, even wistful hearing that she has been giving to her friends, heloise suddenly starts away, and, as if waking from a reverie, she moves with dreamy gesture toward her husband. her lips part, and what will be her last words as a lady of the world? some scriptural exhortation to her friends to follow her as she follows christ? a cry of exultant renunciation of the wilds of life's ocean, and of contentment at the holy calm in the bosom of the church? the girl is weeping, and as she tries to control herself to speak, her misery overcomes her, and she bursts into loud sobs. but it must have been surprising to the listening ecclesiastics to hear the words which at last got expression. it is probably the only time in the church's history that a novice has taken her last vows with the prelude of a quotation from a love speech in a pagan poem, directing it not to the bleeding effigy of her present and eternal master hanging above the altar, but to a human lover at her side. heloise "broke out as she could between her tears and sobs," in a passage from one of the later books of lucan's _pharsalia_: surely as she spoke the lines, her voice grew steady, and her eyes looked bravely through the tears: "husband and lord, too worthy for my bed, can fortune thus cast down so dear a head? fated to make thee wretched, why did i become thy wife? accept the penalty; i will endure it gladly." i fancy that abelard was quite as much impressed by the brilliant young mind that could make so apt and scholarly a quotation from the roman classics, as by the heart which dared on the very margin of the altar to fling back to the world and up to god this protestation of its unfaltering human love, which took the vows of religion from no other motive than to impose torture upon itself--an offering not to god, but to abelard. as she spoke the verses, she hurried to the altar. _accipe poenas, quas sponte luam_,--her voice died away, the bishop received her, and covered her forever with the veil. heloise was only eighteen. * * * * * the convent gates shut in all sight of her for the next ten or eleven years. but in , the nunnery over which she had become prioress was broken up by the unfavorable decision of a suit for the land and buildings which it occupied. this decade had brought abundant misery to abelard. his heresies in theology had been exposed, and he had been compelled to burn a treasured book in which they were expounded, a council had imprisoned him in an abbey where it was boasted that his haughtiness was tamed by a course of vigorous whipping administered under the abbot's supervision. there is something pitiful in the thought of such physical and mental pride being under the control of fanatical monks, ignorant and coarse, from whom he was glad to escape to a desert east of troyes, as a hermit. he had taught at intervals during these years, and once for a season with a notable renewal of his early success. near troyes, where he had built his hermit-shelter out of reeds and stubble, in a desolate region infested by wild animals and a covert for robbers, some vagrant student found the intellectual champion, and reported at paris his discovery. the news spread, and soon the desert was populous. the students built a house for the master, apparently a commodious one, and about it they made more temporary structures for their own shelter. not only the younger class of scholars besieged him for instruction; older men, ecclesiastics who, as we are told, were wont to grasp instead of giving, paid generously toward constructing a home for the great philosopher. but he was world-weary, and soon retired again to a bleak monastery on the atlantic, in the lower part of brittany, where he became abbot of a set of half-barbarous monks, who resented his austere rule and, so he tells us, tried repeatedly to poison him because he interfered with their profligacy. while there he had learned of heloise's loss of her nunnery, and had established her and her religious sisters in the buildings in champagne that had been standing unoccupied since he broke up that last school. "the paraclete," he had called the home, as a special invocation to the holy spirit and as a tribute for the temporary comfort that he received there. possibly he himself conducted his wife thither, but it is equally likely that he did not see her after he forced her into the church. for ten years he appears to have struggled on in brittany, with no intellectual associations, none of the notoriety with which he had been so long pampered, in terror for his life, yet still working at his philosophy of religion. at last he was impelled to talk of what he had endured and was still enduring; to speak in the bitterness of his soul, and get, perhaps, the consolation of pity. he composed a long and immensely interesting autobiography, telling the whole story of his youth, his later triumphs, his logical acumen, his love, his disgrace, the injustice of his condemnation by the conservative church, the tumult of his experiences in the lonely monastery of st. gildas. the creditable pages are calmly written, the shameful unflinchingly. he tells how tremendous had been his love for heloise, but he says nothing of loving her still. the narrative reveals an egotist, but it reveals as certainly one of the most striking characters of the middle ages. * * * * * we find ourselves inevitably speculating upon the life of heloise during the sixteen or more years whose only recorded event is her removal from argenteuil to the paraclete. it might be that a reaction in her love would follow, when the grim captivity that she had dreaded so became yet more hateful in its realization; she might lose her old gentleness; it might become hopeless for her to try to adjust her spirit to its new conditions and to devote herself to even a submissive piety. from contemporary testimony we are sure that some of these possibilities did not come true. she won respect and even devotion as an abbess, her house prospered financially to her husband's undisguised surprise and admiration, her life was pure from the least fleck of reproach, or criticism in any quarter. may we go farther, and say that her spirit did adjust itself to its new conditions, and lose its pain in a submissive piety? for such a result we should find many parallels in mediæval religion; numerous accounts not to be cavilled at as legendary prove that in these monasteries souls which had suffered found peace. nay, many a nun among these most refined groups of mediæval women, driven in one way or another to forsake the hope of love and earthly happiness, secured delight of heart in a sort of spiritual romance. as their emotion grew more subtilized, as asceticism burned away material impulse, some of the gentlest and most poetically endowed of these religious recluses acquired a mystical compensation for their loneliest sacrifice of life,--a divinely idealized personal love, too magical for friendship, too impassioned and mutual for worship, where, the sexes mysteriously spiritualized, translated womanhood should rest at last on the breast of christ. the final vow of religious consecration was the nun's betrothal to the divine man; to make herself beautiful for his bride she wasted her body by fasting and scarred it with the scourge; the rough lath cross on the wall of her cell was his love token; love messages came from him in her dreams; prostrated on the chapel flagging she indited to him prayers that scarcely needed verse to become lyrics. and when to such a mystic's contemplation the cloister sanctity seemed too worldly, when her exhausted body found the walk from cell to chapel too long a journey and she was compelled to stay in the coffin that for years of nights had sweetly reminded her of the sure untwining of soul and sense, when she could hear only faintly her sisters' thin chanting of the hours, and felt her spirit quivering with new sensations, vague, awed, and eager, she understood that the waiting time was over, and her espousal at hand. her failing eyes see white processionals that come to lead her to the banqueting house where the banner of his love shall be over her; the music, which the dying so often hear, for her is a marriage melody ringing from angelic harps and dulcimers; with new-born strength and grace, mantled in new raiment, she floats upward to her desire. and when space has been traversed the immortal vision bursts upon her, a great poet has put in words her last thought this side heaven: "he lifts me to the golden doors, the flashes come and go; all heaven bursts her starry floors, and strows her light below, and deepens on and up! the gates roll back, and far within for me the heavenly bridegroom waits, to make me pure of sin. the sabbaths of eternity, one sabbath deep and wide,-- a light upon the shining sea, the bridegroom with his bride." but for heloise there was no such resource. it is to natures more ethereal and constitutionally religious that such fancies and dreams appeal. the main feature of the matured heloise is sanity and balanced womanhood; she was too strong and intense to be a sentimentalist. could the nature which had once been caught into the clouds by the whirlwind of love, beguile itself from the memory of that storm of rapture by a visionary tempest raised with a fan? and yet there would be some satisfaction if we could conceive her adjusting herself to the spiritual life with closer accord, and passing even through the gates of superstitious hallucination from the harsh religion of her day into the inner sanctuary whose "solemn shadow is better than the sun," finding an outlet for her quick emotions in this personal love for her new master. * * * * * heloise had been a nun some sixteen years when some one showed her abelard's so-called _historia calamitatum_. apparently her husband had forbidden her to write to him; but though she had kept a long silence, she was a lover until death. this account of abelard's sufferings and perils broke her constraint; she could not help writing to comfort him and to beg for news of his safety. what other love-letters equal the intensity, the tenderness, the womanliness of these final appeals for the broken love? through their nervous pliancy one may learn as nowhere else the reality of browning's "infinite passion, and the pain of finite hearts that yearn." in them appears also her strength of nature; they are the love-calls of a woman who knows that the man she continues to set far above all the rest of humanity is wronging her. she chides him for this long and complete neglect, but there is a marvellous sweetness in her caressing reproaches. she tells him to remember under what peculiar bonds she holds him,--what sacred obligation of marriage, of love, and of devotion he owes to her; she gave her honor to please him, not herself; she sacrificed her tender age to the harshness of a monastic life not from piety, but only in submission to his desire. "there was a time," she writes, "when people doubted whether in our amour i yielded to love or to passion. but the end shows how i began; to please you, i have denied myself all pleasures." she points out to him how differently the end interprets his feeling for her. "it is common talk," she says, "that you felt only gross emotions toward me, and when there was a stop to their indulgence, your so-called love vanished. my dearest one, would that this appeared to me only, and not to every one; would that i might be soothed by hearing others excuse you, or that i could myself devise excuses." she appears to entertain no hope that he will visit her, though she hints longingly at the possibility; but he can at least do as much for her as he does for others under obligations so far slighter, as much as the example of the church fathers regarding the women of their flocks teaches him to do,--he can write and tell her how he is, he can comfort her love: or (and she appeals to the monk who may listen, even if the old-time lover will not) he can send spiritual admonition to uphold her slipping soul. her heart put at rest, she can be so much freer for the divine service. "when you wooed me for the pleasures of earth," she reminds him, "you sent me letter after letter; with many songs you put your heloise in the speech of all, so that every street and house echoed with me. how much more ought you now to excite toward god the one whom then you aroused to sin." she tells him again of her complete absorption in him: "you are the only one who can make me either sad or happy; you only can be my comforter. the whole world knows how much i loved you," and she turns with a half-shuddering reminiscence to the day she became a nun. "it was for you, not for god--that sacrifice. from god i can look for no reward; consider, then, how vain my trial, if by it i win nothing from you"; and the woman for sixteen years a nun calls god--and remember that hers was the god of mediæval superstition--to witness that she would have followed abelard, or gone before him, if she had seen him hastening to hell. her letters evidently moved the monk, for his replies were full of good advice, and under the surface gave some indications of tender regard. but the affection that we find is colorless and formal. no word of a husband's gentleness, nor warmth of phrase, not a hint that he cherishes happy memories of the old days of their union. they are the letters of an old man, absorbed in himself, worn by the world, who has no capacity for anything deeper than kind feeling. he calls her his sister, once dear in the world, now dearer in christ, begs her prayers for him living and dead, and entreats that whenever he may die she will have his body carried to her abbey, that the constant sight of his grave may move her and her spiritual daughters to pray for his salvation. he gulps down the _lachrima christi_ of her exquisite love as if it were the small beer of pietistic commonplace, and then looks disappointed to find that it was not. for he ignores the soul of her letters, and composes complacent treatises of twelfth-century ecclesiastical discipline designed to subject her to a mechanical and lifeless asceticism. heloise in answer reproaches him for his talk of death, like a brave heart bidding him not by anticipation suffer before his time. the knowledge of her husband's unhappiness is a renewed affliction, and she owns that there is nothing but sorrow in her life. like a daring titaness, she exclaims against god's administration of his world: "while we lived in sin, he indulged us; when we married, he forced us to separate. let his other creatures rejoice and count themselves safe from the inclement clemency of the god whom i almost dare to call cruel to me in every way. they are safe, for upon me he has used up all the weapons of his wrath, so that he has none with which to rage at others; nor, if any remained, could he find a place in me wherein to strike them." after sixteen years' silence, this woman has broken into speech, and unmasked confessions of her inner spirit will no longer be restrained. she goes on as if carried by cyclone winds; she tells her far-off lover what few nuns under terror of eternal death can ever have brought themselves to confide to their confessors in scarcely audible whisper. she calls up the scenes of their union; she confesses that visions of that life are with her constantly: she bemoans the thoughts which "haunt me sometimes, even at the holy mass." she was no calm northern woman; she had nothing of the temperament that shakespeare compared to an icicle "that's curdied by the frost from purest snow, and hangs on dian's temple"; she was made to walk with love, under summer moonlight,--no sister of percivale, to forget thwarted desire in prayer beneath the frosty stars of winter. "help me," cries this victim of a gloomy religion, "for i do not find how by penance to appease god, whom i still accuse of the greatest cruelty. it is easy to confess and to torture the body; it is hard to tear the soul from its desires. my mind keeps the same wish for sin; so sweet was our happiness that i cannot be sorry for it. most wretched life, if i have endured so much in vain, destined to have no recompense hereafter." thus heloise the woman and heloise the abbess fight out the old problem whether the training of life is by the use of its gifts, or by the rejection of them; shall we play the full organ, or only the harsh reed stops? the church taught her to condemn what nature taught her to justify. the religious authority of all the dark ages confronted this woman's instincts of life, and--to her honor--it could not quell them. yet conceive her wretchedness and the anguish of her mental struggle, living as she did in the middle of catholic mediævalism. when, after a scanty rest, she left her cell at midnight, this artificial conscience attended her to the long chapel service that followed, pointed at the austere pages over which she bent in the study when the service was over, kept calling her hypocrite as she chided and instructed the nuns whom she is said to have ruled so wisely, snatched food and wine from her hungry lips, with fast, pitiless lashing wielded the whip of penance, haunted her sleep with its stern face. yet the pleasures of time were still honorable to her; the world _was_ good; her love _had_ been beautiful; if her conscience prayed forgiveness for it, her heart sang, because she had known it. to hear this bewildered voice crying to abelard for his prayers because in spite of the world's praise of her virtue she thinks herself a hypocrite,--oh, my only one, pray for me, for i cannot be sorry that we loved--to hear this makes one glad that the time has passed for identifying the devil with the world's laughter, and god with its sobbing. she lived on as abbess of the paraclete for twenty-one years after she buried her husband. we cannot believe that as one set of feelings cooled with age, her spiritual emotions grew more impulsive. in the twenty-eight years which followed her last letter to abelard, she no doubt more and more mechanically went through the life of monastic duty, her intellectual accord with the church leading her to an increasingly calm performance of routine piety, her heart more and more silent--but never dead. we fancy its main utterance an anticipation of that cry of clough's--"submit, submit." thus kindling with no spiritual ardor--(she once confessed that her religious ambition did not rise so high as to wish a crown of victory, or to have god's strength made perfect in her weakness), she lived out her faithful and successful life as abbess of the paraclete, comforted--we may hope--by a continuance of the intellectual consolations of her youth, and honored, as we know, by church and world. if imaginary biography is ever safe we may employ it here, and fancy that when she came to die she repeated what she had said years before, that she should be quite content to be given just a corner in heaven. i think as she lay waiting to be received there, she dreamed of looking up from it, not at the ineffable glory, but at one human face stationed highest among the masters in divine philosophy. highest among the masters! less than a hundred and fifty years later, the great poem of mediævalism forgot to give abelard a place even among the penitents of purgatory, and to-day except by special students he is remembered only as heloise's unworthy lover. [decoration] footnotes: [ ] _petri abælardi historia calamitatum. petri abælardi et heloissæ epistolæ._ [ ] _bilder aus der deutschen vergangenheit_, iii., - . [decoration] appendix. at the suggestion of the publishers the following brief notices of some of the works and authors mentioned in these essays are added for convenience of reference. Æthiopica, the oldest and most famous of the greek romances. it narrates the loves of theagenes and charicleia, and was written in his youth by heliodorus of emesa, who flourished about the end of the fourth century, and died as bishop of tricca in thessaly. alexander, or as he is termed in some mss. the wild alexander. a south-german poet of the thirteenth century. of his life scarcely anything is known. chrestien de troyes, a french trouvère, who flourished in the second half of the twelfth century. he may be regarded as the popularizer in the french form of the cycle of tales that centre about the round table. the most important of his poems is the one bearing the title, _perceval le gallois_ or _li contes del graal_. comte de champagne.--see thibaut. arnaud daniel, a provençal poet, who died about . he was distinguished for the complicated character of his versification, and in particular was the inventor of the verse called the _sestine_. he lived for some time at the court of richard i. of england. dante in the twenty-sixth canto of the _purgatory_ puts him at the head of all the provençal poets. he was also highly praised by petrarch. daphnis and chloe, a greek pastoral romance, the prototype of all the pastoral romances which have been written in various languages. its composition is usually ascribed to a certain longus, a greek sophist, who flourished about the beginning of the fifth century. freidank, the composer of a middle high german didactic poem, which belongs to the first half of the thirteenth century. the name has been considered by some to be merely allegorical. his work, which was entitled _bescheidenheit_, consists of over four thousand verses and discusses religious, political and social questions. it was an exceedingly popular work during the middle ages. gaces brulles, a french trouvère of the early part of the thirteenth century. he was born in champagne, but spent a portion of his life in brittany. about seventy of his _chansons_ are extant. gottfried von strassburg, a german poet who flourished at the end of the twelfth and the beginning of the thirteenth century. his great work was the epic entitled _tristan und isolde_, continued by others after his death. this took place somewhere between and . gottfried wrote also many lyric poems. guillaume de balaun (or balazun), a provençal poet of the twelfth century. he was the lover of the lady of joviac, in the gévaudan. alienation having sprung up between them upon account of his assumed or real indifference, his mistress would not restore him to favor unless he should agree to extract the nail of the longest finger of his right hand, and should come and present it to her with a poem composed expressly for the occasion. the condition was fulfilled. johann hadlaub, a german poet, who flourished at the end of the thirteenth and the beginning of the fourteenth century. his life was spent mainly in zurich. his compositions were principally love-songs and popular songs dealing with the pleasures of autumn and harvest. a statue was erected to him in zurich in . hartmann von aue, a middle high german, belonging by birth to a noble swabian family, was born about , and died between and . he wrote _erec and enide_, basing it upon the french poem with the same title of chrestien de troyes. another poem of his belonging also to the arthurian cycle is _iwein_. the most popular of his works with modern students is _der arme heinrich_. the details of its story have been made known to english readers by longfellow's _golden legend_, which is founded upon it. another work of his is entitled _gregorius vom stein_. heinrich von morungen, a german minnesinger, a knight of thuringia, who flourished at the end of the twelfth and the beginning of the thirteenth century. his last years were spent at the court of meissen. he wrote many love-songs, many of which owe their existence to those of the troubadours. heinrich von veldeke, a german poet of the twelfth century, who was of a noble family settled near maastricht, on the lower rhine. besides the love-songs and other pieces he wrote, he was the composer of the epic of the _eneide_, the first poem of the middle high german epic poetry, which reached its highest development in the writings of hartmann von aue, wolfram von eschenbach, and gottfried von strassburg. hugo von trimberg, a german poet, who flourished at the end of the thirteenth and the beginning of the fourteenth century. from to he was rector of the collegiate school in the theuerstadt, a suburb of bamberg. he is known as the composer of the _renner_, a didactic poem, in which the manners and customs of the time are largely depicted, and the prevailing vices severely censured. jacopo da todi, or jacopone, an italian poet, born about the middle of the thirteenth century at todi, in the duchy of spoleto. he belonged to the noble family of the benedetti, began life as an advocate, but, on account of the sudden accidental death of his wife, devoted himself to a religious life and entered the order of franciscans. he wrote many religious poems in italian, and also in latin. to him in particular is ascribed the composition of the famous _stabat mater dolorosa_. neidhart von reuenthal, a german lyric poet of the thirteenth century. he was of a noble bavarian family, but spent part of his life in austria. his poems were written between and , and are of special interest for the descriptions they give of the customs of the times. thibaut, count of champagne and king of navarre. he was born at troyes in , and died in . he is one of the most noted of the early french poets. ulrich von liechtenstein, a middle high german poet, born about , and died in . he was the author of the poem entitled _frauendienst_, described in this volume, and also of a didactic poem called _frauenbuch_. waltharius et hiltgunde, or simply waltharius, a latin poem of the tenth century in hexameter verse, and consisting of between fourteen hundred and fifteen hundred lines. its authorship is unknown. walther von der vogelweide, the greatest german poet of the middle ages. he was born about , and died about . he was of a knightly family, though poor, and much of his life was spent at the courts of several german princes and emperors. he wrote not only love-poems, but in the contest that went on between the imperialists and the papacy, he supported the side of the former in patriotic verses which had no slight influence upon contemporary opinion. both for matter and manner he stood at the head of the poets called minnesingers. wernher the gardener, a german poet of the thirteenth century, who composed, between and , the story of _meier helmbrecht_. nothing is known with certainty of his life. wolfram von eschenbach, a german poet, of noble birth, of the latter half of the twelfth century and the beginning of the thirteenth. he died about . his greatest work is the _parzival_, which was completed about . it was founded, according to his own statement, partly upon the _conte del graal_ of chrestien de troyes, but more particularly upon the work of a poet whom he calls kyot, who is supposed by some to be guyot de provins, whose romance of _perceval_, not extant, is assumed to be the original of wolfram's poem. another of his poems was the unfinished _titurel_, which contains the tale of the love of schionatulander and sigune. [decoration] * * * * * transcriber's notes: spelling and punctuation errors have been repaired. ellipses in poetry have been spaced to preserve appearance of the original; all other ellipses are standardized. colons after "liechtenstein" and "helmbrecht" on contents page, and variant punctuation after the same terms in chapter headings, were retained. p. , (cp. inf., , ; , ) in original " " was at the end of a line, and " " at the beginning of the next, with no punctuation between. p. original "midst of his prostestations" changed to "midst of his protestations." p. original "reficient" changed to "reficiant." p. original "merry-makings" changed to more frequent "merrymakings." p. original "wezerant. he" changed to "wezerant.' he" (single quote added). p. hey[=a], [=a] indicates lower case "a" with macron. (text version only). p. the change in indentation in the poetry, beginning at "thou lookest down," is faithful to the original. p. "sister's thin chanting" changed to "sisters' thin chanting." p. original "tristran und isolde" changed to "tristan und isolde." p. original "von lichtenstein" changed to more frequent "von liechtenstein." the following variant spellings were used in the original equally, and were retained: god-father and godfather, riband and ribband, rose-bushes (second use is quoting the first= use) and rosebush, wendel and wentel, "arnaud daniel" and "arnaut daniel," aethiopica and Æthiopica, jacapone and jacopone, sestine and sestina. transcriber's note: this text employs some anglo-saxon characters, such as the eth (Ð or ð, equivalent of "th") and the thorn (Þ or þ, also equivalent of "th"). these characters should display properly in most text viewers. the anglo-saxon yogh (equivalent of "y," "g," or "gh") will display properly only if the user has the proper font. to maximize accessibility, the character " " is used in this e-text to represent the yogh, e.g., " ong" (yong). epic and romance essays on medieval literature by w. p. ker fellow of all souls college, oxford professor of english literature in university college london macmillan and co., limited st. martin's street, london copyright first edition ( vo) second edition (eversley series) reprinted (crown vo) , , printed in great britain by r. & r. clark, limited, edinburgh preface these essays are intended as a general description of some of the principal forms of narrative literature in the middle ages, and as a review of some of the more interesting works in each period. it is hardly necessary to say that the conclusion is one "in which nothing is concluded," and that whole tracts of literature have been barely touched on--the english metrical romances, the middle high german poems, the ballads, northern and southern--which would require to be considered in any systematic treatment of this part of history. many serious difficulties have been evaded (in _finnesburh_, more particularly), and many things have been taken for granted, too easily. my apology must be that there seemed to be certain results available for criticism, apart from the more strict and scientific procedure which is required to solve the more difficult problems of _beowulf_, or of the old northern or the old french poetry. it is hoped that something may be gained by a less minute and exacting consideration of the whole field, and by an attempt to bring the more distant and dissociated parts of the subject into relation with one another, in one view. some of these notes have been already used, in a course of three lectures at the royal institution, in march , on "the progress of romance in the middle ages," and in lectures given at university college and elsewhere. the plot of the dutch romance of _walewein_ was discussed in a paper submitted to the folk-lore society two years ago, and published in the journal of the society (_folk-lore_, vol. v. p. ). i am greatly indebted to my friend mr. paget toynbee for his help in reading the proofs. i cannot put out on this venture without acknowledgment of my obligation to two scholars, who have had nothing to do with my employment of all that i have borrowed from them, the oxford editors of the old northern poetry, dr. gudbrand vigfusson and mr. york powell. i have still to learn what mr. york powell thinks of these discourses. what gudbrand vigfusson would have thought i cannot guess, but i am glad to remember the wise goodwill which he was always ready to give, with so much else from the resources of his learning and his judgment, to those who applied to him for advice. w. p. ker. london, _ th november _. postscript this book is now reprinted without addition or change, except in a few small details. if it had to be written over again, many things, no doubt, would be expressed in a different way. for example, after some time happily spent in reading the danish and other ballads, i am inclined to make rather less of the interval between the ballads and the earlier heroic poems, and i have learned (especially from dr. axel olrik) that the danish ballads do not belong originally to simple rustic people, but to the danish gentry in the middle ages. also the comparison of sturla's icelandic and norwegian histories, though it still seems to me right in the main, is driven a little too far; it hardly does enough justice to the beauty of the _life of hacon_ (_hákonar saga_), especially in the part dealing with the rivalry of the king and his father-in-law duke skule. the critical problems with regard to the writings of sturla are more difficult than i imagined, and i am glad to have this opportunity of referring, with admiration, to the work of my friend dr. björn magnússon olsen on the _sturlunga saga_ (in _safn til sögu islands_, iii. pp. - , copenhagen, ). though i am unable to go further into that debatable ground, i must not pass over dr. olsen's argument showing that the life of the original sturla of hvamm (_v. inf._ pp. - ) was written by snorri himself; the story of the alarm and pursuit (p. ) came from the recollections of gudny, snorri's mother. in the _chansons de geste_ a great discovery has been made since my essay was written; the _chançun de willame_, an earlier and ruder version of the epic of _aliscans_, has been printed by the unknown possessor of the manuscript, and generously given to a number of students who have good reason to be grateful to him for his liberality. there are some notes on the poem in _romania_ (vols. xxxii. and xxxiv.) by m. paul meyer and mr. raymond weeks, and it has been used by mr. andrew lang in illustration of homer and his age. it is the sort of thing that the greeks willingly let die; a rough draught of an epic poem, in many ways more barbarous than the other extant _chansons de geste_, but full of vigour, and notable (like _le roi gormond_, another of the older epics) for its refrain and other lyrical passages, very like the manner of the ballads. the _chançun de willame_, it may be observed, is not very different from _aliscans_ with regard to rainouart, the humorous gigantic helper of william of orange. one would not have been surprised if it had been otherwise, if rainouart had been first introduced by the later composer, with a view to "comic relief" or some such additional variety for his tale. but it is not so; rainouart, it appears, has a good right to his place by the side of william. the grotesque element in french epic is found very early, _e.g._ in the _pilgrimage of charlemagne_, and is not to be reckoned among the signs of decadence. there ought to be a reference, on p. below, to m. joseph bédier's papers in the _revue historique_ (xcv. and xcvii.) on _raoul de cambrai_. m. bédier's _légendes épiques_, not yet published at this time of writing, will soon be in the hands of his expectant readers. i am deeply indebted to many friends--first of all to york powell--for innumerable good things spoken and written about these studies. my reviewers, in spite of all differences of opinion, have put me under strong obligations to them for their fairness and consideration. particularly, i have to offer my most sincere acknowledgments to dr. andreas heusler of berlin for the honour he has done my book in his _lied und epos_ ( ), and not less for the help that he has given, in this and other of his writings, towards the better understanding of the old poems and their history. w. p. k. oxford, _ th jan. _. contents chapter i introduction i the heroic age page epic and romance: the two great orders of medieval narrative _epic_, of the "heroic age," preceding _romance_ of the "age of chivalry" the heroic age represented in three kinds of literature--teutonic epic, french epic, and the icelandic sagas conditions of life in an "heroic age" homer and the northern poets homeric passages in _beowulf_ and in the _song of maldon_ progress of poetry in the heroic age growth of epic, distinct in character, but generally incomplete, among the teutonic nations ii epic and romance the complex nature of epic no kind or aspect of life that may not be included this freedom due to the dramatic quality of true (_e.g._ homeric) epic as explained by aristotle epic does not require a magnificent ideal subject such as those of the artificial epic (_aeneid_, _gerusalemme liberata_, _paradise lost_) the _iliad_ unlike these poems in its treatment of "ideal" motives (patriotism, etc.) true epic begins with a dramatic plot and characters the epic of the northern heroic age is sound in its dramatic conception and does not depend on impersonal ideals (with exceptions, in the _chansons de geste_) the german heroes in history and epic (ermanaric, attila, theodoric) relations of epic to historical fact the epic poet is free in the conduct of his story but his story and personages must belong to his own people nature of epic brought out by contrast with secondary narrative poems, where the subject is not national this secondary kind of poem may be excellent, but is always different in character from native epic disputes of academic critics about the "epic poem" tasso's defence of romance. pedantic attempts to restrict the compass of epic bossu on phaeacia epic, as the most comprehensive kind of poetry, includes romance as one of its elements but needs a strong dramatic imagination to keep romance under control iii romantic mythology mythology not required in the greatest scenes in homer myths and popular fancies may be a hindrance to the epic poet, but he is compelled to make some use of them he criticises and selects, and allows the characters of the gods to be modified in relation to the human characters early humanism and reflexion on myth--two processes: ( ) rejection of the grosser myths; ( ) refinement of myth through poetry two ways of refining myth in poetry--( ) by turning it into mere fancy, and the more ludicrous things into comedy; ( ) by finding an imaginative or an ethical meaning in it instances in icelandic literature--_lokasenna_ snorri sturluson, his ironical method in the _edda_ the old gods rescued from clerical persecution imaginative treatment of the graver myths--the death of balder; the doom of the gods difficulties in the attainment of poetical self-command medieval confusion and distraction premature "culture" depreciation of native work in comparison with ancient literature and with theology an icelandic gentleman's library the whalebone casket epic not wholly stifled by "useful knowledge" iv the three schools--teutonic epic--french epic--the icelandic histories early failure of epic among the continental germans old english epic invaded by romance (lives of saints, etc.) old northern (icelandic) poetry full of romantic mythology french epic and romance contrasted feudalism in the old french epic (_chansons de geste_) not unlike the prefeudal "heroic age" but the _chansons de geste_ are in many ways "romantic" comparison of the english _song of byrhtnoth_ (_maldon_, a.d. ) with the _chanson de roland_ severity and restraint of _byrhtnoth_ mystery and pathos of _roland_ iceland and the german heroic age the icelandic paradox--old-fashioned politics together with clear understanding icelandic prose literature--its subject, the anarchy of the heroic age; its methods, clear and positive the icelandic histories, in prose, complete the development of the early teutonic epic poetry chapter ii the teutonic epic i the tragic conception early german poetry one of the first things certain about it is that it knew the meaning of tragic situations the _death of ermanaric_ in jordanes the story of _alboin_ in paulus diaconus tragic plots in the extant poems the _death of ermanaric_ in the "poetic edda" (_hamðismál_) some of the northern poems show the tragic conception modified by romantic motives, yet without loss of the tragic purport--_helgi and sigrun_ similar harmony of motives in the _waking of angantyr_ whatever may be wanting, the heroic poetry had no want of tragic plots--the "fables" are sound value of the abstract plot (aristotle) ii scale of the poems list of extant poems and fragments in one or other of the older teutonic languages (german, english, and northern) in unrhymed alliterative verse small amount of the extant poetry supplemented in various ways . the western group (german and english) amount of story contained in the several poems, and scale of treatment _hildebrand_, a short story _finnesburh_, ( ) the lambeth fragment (hickes); and ( ) the abstract of the story in _beowulf_ _finnesburh_, a story of ( ) wrong and ( ) vengeance, like the story of the death of attila, or of the betrayal of roland uncertainty as to the compass of the _finnesburh_ poem (lambeth) in its original complete form _waldere_, two fragments: the story of walter of aquitaine preserved in the latin _waltharius_ plot of _waltharius_ place of the _waldere_ fragments in the story, and probable compass of the whole poem scale of _maldon_ and of _beowulf_ general resemblance in the themes of these poems--unity of action development of style, and not neglect of unity nor multiplication of contents, accounts for the difference of length between earlier and later poems progress of epic in england--unlike the history of icelandic poetry . the northern group the contents of the so-called "elder edda" (_i.e._ _codex regius_ , to _havn_.) to what extent _epic_ notes on the contents of the poems, to show their scale; the _lay of weland_ different plan in the _lays of thor_, _Þrymskviða_ and _hymiskviða_ the _helgi_ poems--complications of the text three separate stories--_helgi hundingsbane and sigrun_ _helgi hiorvardsson and swava_ _helgi and kara_ (lost) the story of the volsungs--the long _lay of brynhild_ contains the whole story in abstract giving the chief place to the character of _brynhild_ the _hell-ride of brynhild_ the fragmentary _lay of brynhild_ (_brot af sigurðarkviðu_) poems on the death of attila--the _lay of attila_ (_atlakviða_), and the greenland _poem of attila_ (_atlamál_) proportions of the story a third version of the story in the _lament of oddrun_ (_oddrúnargrátr_) the _death of ermanaric_ (_hamðismál_) the northern idylls of the heroines (oddrun, gudrun)--the _old lay of gudrun_, or gudrun's story to theodoric the _lay of gudrun_ (_guðrúnarkviða_)--gudrun's sorrow for sigurd the refrain gudrun's _chain of woe_ (_tregrof guðrúnar_) the _ordeal of gudrun_, an episodic lay poems in dialogue, without narrative-- ( ) dialogues in the common epic measure--_balder's doom_, dialogues of _sigurd_, _angantyr_--explanations in prose, between the dialogues ( ) dialogues in the gnomic or elegiac measure: (_a_) vituperative debates--_lokasenna_, _harbarzlióð_ (in irregular verse), _atli and rimgerd_ (_b_) dialogues implying action--_the wooing of frey_ (_skírnismál_) _svipdag and menglad_ (_grógaldr_, _fiölsvinnsmál_) the _volsung_ dialogues the western and northern poems compared, with respect to their scale the old english poems (_beowulf_, _waldere_), in scale, midway between the northern poems and homer many of the teutonic epic remains may look like the "short lays" of the agglutinative epic theory; but this is illusion two kinds of story in teutonic epic--( ) episodic, _i.e._ representing a single action (_hildebrand_, etc.); ( ) summary, _i.e._ giving the whole of a long story in abstract, with details of one part of it (_weland_, etc.) the second class is unfit for agglutination also the first, when it is looked into the teutonic lays are too individual to be conveniently fused into larger masses of narrative iii epic and ballad poetry many of the old epic lays are on the scale of popular ballads their style is different as may be proved where later ballads have taken up the epic subjects the danish ballads of _ungen sveidal_ (_svipdag and menglad_) and of _sivard_ (_sigurd and brynhild_) the early epic poetry, unlike the ballads, was ambitious and capable of progress iv the style of the poems rhetorical art of the alliterative verse english and norse different besetting temptations in england and the north english tameness; norse emphasis and false wit (the scaldic poetry) narrative poetry undeveloped in the north; unable to compete with the lyrical forms lyrical element in norse narrative _volospá_, the greatest of all the northern poems false heroics; _krákumál_ (_death-song of ragnar lodbrok_) a fresh start, in prose, with no rhetorical encumbrances v the progress of epic various renderings of the same story due ( ) to accidents of tradition and impersonal causes; ( ) to calculation and selection of motives by poets, and intentional modification of traditional matter the three versions of the death of gunnar and hogni compared--_atlakviða_, _atlamál_, _oddrúnargrátr_ agreement of the three poems in ignoring the german theory of kriemhild's revenge the incidents of the death of hogni clear in _atlakviða_, apparently confused and ill recollected in the other two poems but it turns out that these two poems had each a view of its own which made it impossible to use the original story _atlamál_, the work of a critical author, making his selection of incidents from heroic tradition the largest epic work in northern poetry, and the last of its school the "poetic edda," a collection of deliberate experiments in poetry and not of casual popular variants vi _beowulf_ _beowulf_ claims to be a single complete work want of unity: a story and a sequel more unity in _beowulf_ than in some greek epics. the first lines form a complete story, not ill composed homeric method of episodes and allusions in _beowulf_ and _waldere_ triviality of the main plot in both parts of _beowulf_--tragic significance in some of the allusions the characters in _beowulf_ abstract types the adventures and sentiments commonplace, especially in the fight with the dragon adventure of grendel not pure fantasy grendel's mother more romantic _beowulf_ is able to give epic dignity to a commonplace set of romantic adventures chapter iii the icelandic sagas i iceland and the heroic age the close of teutonic epic--in germany the old forms were lost, but not the old stories, in the later middle ages england kept the alliterative verse through the middle ages heroic themes in danish ballads, and elsewhere place of iceland in the heroic tradition--a new heroic literature in prose ii matter and form the sagas are not pure fiction difficulty of giving form to genealogical details miscellaneous incidents literary value of the historical basis--the characters well known and recognisable the coherent sagas--the tragic motive plan of _njála_ of _laxdæla_ of _egils saga_ _vápnfirðinga saga_, a story of two generations _víga-glúms saga_, a biography without tragedy _reykdæla saga_ _grettis saga_ and _gísla saga_ clearly worked out passages of romance in these histories _hrafnkels saga freysgoða_, a tragic idyll, well proportioned great differences of scale among the sagas--analogies with the heroic poems iii the heroic ideal unheroic matters of fact in the sagas heroic characters heroic rhetoric danger of exaggeration--kjartan in _laxdæla_ the heroic ideal not made too explicit or formal iv tragic imagination tragic contradictions in the sagas--_gisli_, _njal_ fantasy _laxdæla_, a reduction of the story of sigurd and brynhild to the terms of common life compare ibsen's _warriors in helgeland_ the sagas are a late stage in the progress of heroic literature the northern rationalism self-restraint and irony the elegiac mood infrequent the story of howard of icefirth--ironical pathos the conventional viking the harmonies of _njála_ and of _laxdæla_ the two speeches of gudrun v comedy the sagas not bound by solemn conventions comic humours bjorn and his wife in _njála_ _bandamanna saga_: "the confederates," a comedy satirical criticism of the "heroic age" tragic incidents in _bandamanna saga_ neither the comedy nor tragedy of the sagas is monotonous or abstract vi the art of narrative organic unity of the best sagas method of representing occurrences as they appear at the time instance from _Þorgils saga_ another method--the death of kjartan as it appeared to a churl psychology (not analytical) impartiality--justice to the hero's adversaries (_færeyinga saga_) vii epic and history form of saga used for contemporary history in the thirteenth century the historians, ari ( - ) and snorri ( - ) the _life of king sverre_, by abbot karl jónsson sturla (_c._ - ), his history of iceland in his own time (_islendinga_ or _sturlunga saga_) the matter ready to his hand biographies incorporated in _sturlunga_: thorgils and haflidi _sturlu saga_ the midnight raid (a.d. ) lives of bishop gudmund, hrafn, and aron sturla's own work (_islendinga saga_) the burning of flugumyri traces of the heroic manner the character of this history brought out by contrast with sturla's other work, the _life of king hacon of norway_ norwegian and icelandic politics in the thirteenth century norway more fortunate than iceland--the history less interesting sturla and joinville contemporaries their methods of narrative compared viii the northern prose romances romantic interpolations in the sagas--the ornamental version of _fóstbræðra saga_ the secondary romantic sagas--_frithiof_ french romance imported (_strengleikar_, _tristram's saga_, etc.) romantic sagas made out of heroic poems (_volsunga saga_, etc.) and out of authentic sagas by repetition of common forms and motives romantic conventions in the original sagas _laxdæla_ and _gunnlaug's saga_--_thorstein the white_ _thorstein staffsmitten_ sagas turned into rhyming romances (_rímur_) and into ballads in the faroes chapter iv the old french epic (_chansons de geste_) lateness of the extant versions competition of epic and romance in the twelfth century widespread influence of the _chansons de geste_--a contrast to the sagas narrative style no obscurities of diction the "heroic age" imperfectly represented but not ignored _roland_--heroic idealism--france and christendom william of orange--_aliscans_ rainouart--exaggeration of heroism another class of stories in the _chansons de geste_, more like the sagas _raoul de cambrai_ barbarism of style _garin le loherain_--style clarified problems of character--fromont the story of the death of begon unlike contemporary work of the romantic school the lament for begon _raoul_ and _garin_ contrasted with _roland_ comedy in french epic--"humours" in _garin_ in the _coronemenz looïs_, etc. romantic additions to heroic cycles--_la prise d'orange_ _huon de bordeaux_--the original story grave and tragic converted to romance chapter v romance and the old french romantic schools romance an element in epic and tragedy apart from all "romantic schools" the literary movements of the twelfth century a new beginning the romantic school unromantic in its methods professional romance characteristics of the school--courteous sentiment decorative passages--descriptions--pedantry instances from _roman de troie_ and from _ider_, etc. romantic adventures--the "matter of rome" and the "matter of britain" blending of classical and celtic influences--_e.g._ in benoit's _medea_ methods of narrative--simple, as in the _lay of guingamor_; overloaded, as in _walewein_ _guingamor_ _walewein_, a popular tale disguised as a chivalrous romance the different versions of _libeaux desconus_--one of them is sophisticated _tristram_--the anglo-norman poems comparatively simple and ingenuous french romance and provençal lyric ovid in the middle ages--the _art of love_ the heroines benoit's _medea_ again chrestien of troyes, his place at the beginning of modern literature 'enlightenment' in the romantic school the sophists of romance--the rhetoric of sentiment and passion the progress of romance from medieval to modern literature chrestien of troyes, his inconsistencies--nature and convention departure from conventional romance; chrestien's _enid_ chrestien's _cliges_--"sensibility" _flamenca_, a provençal story of the thirteenth century--the author a follower of chrestien his acquaintance with romantic literature and rejection of the "machinery" of adventures _flamenca_, an appropriation of ovid--disappearance of romantic mythology the _lady of vergi_, a short tragic story without false rhetoric use of medieval themes by the great poets of the fourteenth century boccaccio and chaucer--the _teseide_ and the _knight's tale_ variety of chaucer's methods want of art in the _man of law's tale_ the abstract point of honour (_clerk's tale_, _franklin's tale_) pathos in the _legend of good women_ romantic method perfect in the _knight's tale_ _anelida_, the abstract form of romance in _troilus and criseyde_ the form of medieval romance is filled out with strong dramatic imagination romance obtains the freedom of epic, without the old local and national limitations of epic conclusion appendix note a--rhetoric of the alliterative poetry note b--kjartan and olaf tryggvason note c--eyjolf karsson note d--two catalogues of romances index chapter i introduction i the heroic age the title of epic, or of "heroic poem," is claimed by historians for a number of works belonging to the earlier middle ages, and to the medieval origins of modern literature. "epic" is a term freely applied to the old school of germanic narrative poetry, which in different dialects is represented by the poems of hildebrand, of beowulf, of sigurd and brynhild. "epic" is the name for the body of old french poems which is headed by the _chanson de roland_. the rank of epic is assigned by many to the _nibelungenlied_, not to speak of other middle high german poems on themes of german tradition. the title of prose epic has been claimed for the sagas of iceland. by an equally common consent the name romance is given to a number of kinds of medieval narrative by which the epic is succeeded and displaced; most notably in france, but also in other countries which were led, mainly by the example and influence of france, to give up their own "epic" forms and subjects in favour of new manners. this literary classification corresponds in general history to the difference between the earlier "heroic" age and the age of chivalry. the "epics" of hildebrand and beowulf belong, if not wholly to german heathendom, at any rate to the earlier and prefeudal stage of german civilisation. the french epics, in their extant form, belong for the most part in spirit, if not always in date, to an order of things unmodified by the great changes of the twelfth century. while among the products of the twelfth century one of the most remarkable is the new school of french romance, the brilliant and frequently vainglorious exponent of the modern ideas of that age, and of all its chivalrous and courtly fashions of thought and sentiment. the difference of the two orders of literature is as plain as the difference in the art of war between the two sides of the battle of hastings, which indeed is another form of the same thing; for the victory of the norman knights over the english axemen has more than a fanciful or superficial analogy to the victory of the new literature of chivalry over the older forms of heroic narrative. the history of those two orders of literature, of the earlier epic kinds, followed by the various types of medieval romance, is parallel to the general political history of the earlier and the later middle ages, and may do something to illustrate the general progress of the nations. the passage from the earlier "heroic" civilisation to the age of chivalry was not made without some contemporary record of the "form and pressure" of the times in the changing fashions of literature, and in successive experiments of the imagination. whatever epic may mean, it implies some weight and solidity; romance means nothing, if it does not convey some notion of mystery and fantasy. a general distinction of this kind, whatever names may be used to render it, can be shown, in medieval literature, to hold good of the two large groups of narrative belonging to the earlier and the later middle ages respectively. beowulf might stand for the one side, lancelot or gawain for the other. it is a difference not confined to literature. the two groups are distinguished from one another, as the respectable piratical gentleman of the north sea coast in the ninth or tenth century differs from one of the companions of st. louis. the latter has something fantastic in his ideas which the other has not. the crusader may indeed be natural and brutal enough in most of his ways, but he has lost the sobriety and simplicity of the earlier type of rover. if nothing else, his way of fighting--the undisciplined cavalry charge--would convict him of extravagance as compared with men of business, like the settlers of iceland for example. the two great kinds of narrative literature in the middle ages might be distinguished by their favourite incidents and commonplaces of adventure. no kind of adventure is so common or better told in the earlier heroic manner than the defence of a narrow place against odds. such are the stories of hamther and sorli in the hall of ermanaric, of the niblung kings in the hall of attila, of the fight of finnesburh, of walter at the wasgenstein, of byrhtnoth at maldon, of roland in the pyrenees. such are some of the finest passages in the icelandic sagas: the death of gunnar, the burning of njal's house, the burning of flugumyri (an authentic record), the last fight of kjartan in svinadal, and of grettir at drangey. the story of cynewulf and cyneheard in the english chronicle may well have come from a poem in which an attack and defence of this sort were narrated. the favourite adventure of medieval romance is something different,--a knight riding alone through a forest; another knight; a shock of lances; a fight on foot with swords, "racing, tracing, and foining like two wild boars"; then, perhaps, recognition--the two knights belong to the same household and are engaged in the same quest. et guivrez vers lui esperone, de rien nule ne l'areisone, ne erec ne li sona mot. _erec_, l. . this collision of blind forces, this tournament at random, takes the place, in the french romances, of the older kind of combat. in the older kind the parties have always good reasons of their own for fighting; they do not go into it with the same sort of readiness as the wandering champions of romance. the change of temper and fashion represented by the appearance and the vogue of the medieval french romances is a change involving the whole world, and going far beyond the compass of literature and literary history. it meant the final surrender of the old ideas, independent of christendom, which had been enough for the germanic nations in their earlier days; it was the close of their heroic age. what the "heroic age" of the modern nations really was, may be learned from what is left of their heroic literature, especially from three groups or classes,--the old teutonic alliterative poems on native subjects; the french _chansons de geste_; and the icelandic sagas. all these three orders, whatever their faults may be, do something to represent a society which is "heroic" as the greeks in homer are heroic. there can be no mistake about the likeness. to compare the imaginations and the phrases of any of these barbarous works with the poetry of homer may be futile, but their contents may be compared without reference to their poetical qualities; and there is no question that the life depicted has many things in common with homeric life, and agrees with homer in ignorance of the peculiar ideas of medieval chivalry. the form of society in an heroic age is aristocratic and magnificent. at the same time, this aristocracy differs from that of later and more specialised forms of civilisation. it does not make an insuperable difference between gentle and simple. there is not the extreme division of labour that produces the contempt of the lord for the villain. the nobles have not yet discovered for themselves any form of occupation or mode of thought in virtue of which they are widely severed from the commons, nor have they invented any such ideal of life or conventional system of conduct as involves an ignorance or depreciation of the common pursuits of those below them. they have no such elaborate theory of conduct as is found in the chivalrous society of the middle ages. the great man is the man who is best at the things with which every one is familiar. the epic hero may despise the churlish man, may, like odysseus in the _iliad_ (ii. ), show little sympathy or patience with the bellowings of the multitude, but he may not ostentatiously refuse all community of ideas with simple people. his magnificence is not defended by scruples about everything low. it would not have mattered to odysseus if he had been seen travelling in a cart, like lancelot; though for lancelot it was a great misfortune and anxiety. the art and pursuits of a gentleman in the heroic age are different from those of the churl, but not so far different as to keep them in different spheres. there is a community of prosaic interests. the great man is a good judge of cattle; he sails his own ship. a gentleman adventurer on board his own ship, following out his own ideas, carrying his men with him by his own power of mind and temper, and not by means of any system of naval discipline to which he as well as they must be subordinate; surpassing his men in skill, knowledge, and ambition, but taking part with them and allowing them to take part in the enterprise, is a good representative of the heroic age. this relation between captain and men may be found, accidentally and exceptionally, in later and more sophisticated forms of society. in the heroic age a relation between a great man and his followers similar to that between an elizabethan captain and his crew is found to be the most important and fundamental relation in society. in later times it is only by a special favour of circumstances, as for example by the isolation of shipboard from all larger monarchies, that the heroic relation between the leader and the followers can be repeated. as society becomes more complex and conventional, this relation ceases. the homeliness of conversation between odysseus and his vassals, or between njal and thord freedman's son, is discouraged by the rules of courtly behaviour as gentlefolk become more idle and ostentatious, and their vassals more sordid and dependent. the secrets also of political intrigue and dexterity made a difference between noble and villain, in later and more complex medieval politics, such as is unknown in the earlier days and the more homely forms of society. an heroic age may be full of all kinds of nonsense and superstition, but its motives of action are mainly positive and sensible,--cattle, sheep, piracy, abduction, merchandise, recovery of stolen goods, revenge. the narrative poetry of an heroic age, whatever dignity it may obtain either by its dramatic force of imagination, or by the aid of its mythology, will keep its hold upon such common matters, simply because it cannot do without the essential practical interests, and has nothing to put in their place, if kings and chiefs are to be represented at all. the heroic age cannot dress up ideas or sentiments to play the part of characters. if its characters are not men they are nothing, not even thoughts or allegories; they cannot go on talking unless they have something to do; and so the whole business of life comes bodily into the epic poem. how much the matter of the northern heroic literature resembles the homeric, may be felt and recognised at every turn in a survey of the ground. in both there are the _ashen spears_; there are the _shepherds of the people_; the retainers bound by loyalty to the prince who gives them meat and drink; the great hall with its minstrelsy, its boasting and bickering; the battles which are a number of single combats, while "physiology supplies the author with images"[ ] for the same; the heroic rule of conduct ([greek: iomen])[ ]; the eminence of the hero, and at the same time his community of occupation and interest with those who are less distinguished. [footnote : johnson on the epic poem (_life of milton_).] [footnote : _il._ xii. .] there are other resemblances also, but some of these are miraculous, and perhaps irrelevant. by what magic is it that the cry of odysseus, wounded and hard bestead in his retreat before the trojans, comes over us like the three blasts of the horn of roland? thrice he shouted, as loud as the head of a man will bear; and three times menelaus heard the sound thereof, and quickly he turned and spake to ajax: "ajax, there is come about me the cry of odysseus slow to yield; and it is like as though the trojans had come hard upon him by himself alone, closing him round in the battle."[ ] [footnote : _il._ xi. .] it is reported as a discovery made by mephistopheles in thessaly, in the classical _walpurgisnacht_, that the company there was very much like his old acquaintances on the brocken. a similar discovery, in regard to more honourable personages and other scenes, may be made by other gothic travellers in a "south-eastward" journey to heroic greece. the classical reader of the northern heroics may be frequently disgusted by their failures; he may also be bribed, if not to applaud, at least to continue his study, by the glimmerings and "shadowy recollections," the affinities and correspondences between the homeric and the northern heroic world. beowulf and his companions sail across the sea to denmark on an errand of deliverance,--to cleanse the land of monsters. they are welcomed by hrothgar, king of the danes, and by his gentle queen, in a house less fortunate than the house of alcinous, for it is exposed to the attacks of the lumpish ogre that beowulf has to kill, but recalling in its splendour, in the manner of its entertainment, and the bearing of its gracious lord and lady, the house where odysseus told his story. beowulf, like odysseus, is assailed by an envious person with discourteous words. hunferth, the danish courtier, is irritated by beowulf's presence; "he could not endure that any one should be counted worthier than himself"; he speaks enviously, a biting speech--[greek: thymodakês gar mythos]--and is answered in the tone of odysseus to euryalus.[ ] beowulf has a story to tell of his former perils among the creatures of the sea. it is differently introduced from that of odysseus, and has not the same importance, but it increases the likeness between the two adventurers. [footnote : _od._ viii. .] in the shadowy halls of the danish king a minstrel sings of the famous deeds of men, and his song is given as an interlude in the main action. it is a poem on that same tragedy of finnesburh, which is the theme of a separate poem in the old english heroic cycle; so demodocus took his subjects from the heroic cycle of achaea. the leisure of the danish king's house is filled in the same manner as the leisure of phaeacia. in spite of the difference of the climate, it is impossible to mistake the likeness between the greek and the northern conceptions of a dignified and reasonable way of life. the magnificence of the homeric great man is like the magnificence of the northern lord, in so far as both are equally marked off from the pusillanimity and cheapness of popular morality on the one hand, and from the ostentation of oriental or chivalrous society on the other. the likeness here is not purely in the historical details, but much more in the spirit that informs the poetry. if this part of _beowulf_ is a northern _odyssey_, there is nothing in the whole range of english literature so like a scene from the _iliad_ as the narrative of maldon. it is a battle in which the separate deeds of the fighters are described, with not quite so much anatomy as in homer. the fighting about the body of byrhtnoth is described as strongly, as "the fighting at the wall" in the twelfth book of the _iliad_, and essentially in the same way, with the interchange of blows clearly noted, together with the speeches and thoughts of the combatants. even the most heroic speech in homer, even the power of sarpedon's address to glaucus in the twelfth book of the _iliad_, cannot discredit, by comparison, the heroism and the sublimity of the speech of the "old companion" at the end of _maldon_. the language is simple, but it is not less adequate in its own way than the simplicity of sarpedon's argument. it states, perhaps more clearly and absolutely than anything in greek, the northern principle of resistance to all odds, and defiance of ruin. in the north the individual spirit asserts itself more absolutely against the bodily enemies than in greece; the defiance is made wholly independent of any vestige of prudent consideration; the contradiction, "thought the harder, heart the keener, mood the more, as our might lessens," is stated in the most extreme terms. this does not destroy the resemblance between the greek and the northern ideal, or between the respective forms of representation. the creed of maldon is that of achilles:[ ] "xanthus, what need is there to prophesy of death? well do i know that it is my doom to perish here, far from my father and mother; but for all that i will not turn back, until i give the trojans their fill of war." the difference is that in the english case the strain is greater, the irony deeper, the antithesis between the spirit and the body more paradoxical. [footnote : _il._ xix. .] where the centre of life is a great man's house, and where the most brilliant society is that which is gathered at his feast, where competitive boasting, story-telling, and minstrelsy are the principal intellectual amusements, it is inevitable that these should find their way into a kind of literature which has no foundation except experience and tradition. where fighting is more important than anything else in active life, and at the same time is carried on without organisation or skilled combinations, it is inevitable that it should be described as it is in the _iliad_, the _song of maldon_ and _song of roland_, and the icelandic sagas, as a series of personal encounters, in which every stroke is remembered. from this early aristocratic form of society, there is derived in one age the narrative of life at ithaca or of the navigation of odysseus, in another the representation of the household of njal or of olaf the peacock, and of the rovings of olaf tryggvason and other captains. there is an affinity between these histories in virtue of something over and above the likeness in the conditions of things they describe. there is a community of literary sense as well as of historical conditions, in the record of achilles and kjartan olafsson, of odysseus and njal. the circumstances of an heroic age may be found in numberless times and places, in the history of the world. among its accompaniments will be generally found some sort of literary record of sentiments and imaginations; but to find an heroic literature of the highest order is not so easy. many nations instead of an _iliad_ or an _odyssey_ have had to make shift with conventional repetitions of the praise of chieftains, without any story; many have had to accept from their story-tellers all sorts of monstrous adventures in place of the humanities of debate and argument. epic literature is not common; it is brought to perfection by a slow process through many generations. the growth of epic out of the older and commoner forms of poetry, hymns, dirges, or panegyrics, is a progress towards intellectual and imaginative freedom. few nations have attained, at the close of their heroic age, to a form of poetical art in which men are represented freely in action and conversation. the labour and meditation of all the world has not discovered, for the purposes of narrative, any essential modification of the procedure of homer. those who are considered reformers and discoverers in later times--chaucer, cervantes, fielding--are discoverers merely of the old devices of dramatic narration which were understood by homer and described after him by aristotle. the growth of epic, in the beginning of the history of the modern nations, has been generally thwarted and stunted. it cannot be said of many of the languages of the north and west of europe that in them the epic form has come fully to its own, or has realised its proper nature. many of them, however, have at least made a beginning. the history of the older german literature, and of old french, is the history of a great number of experiments in epic; of attempts, that is, to represent great actions in narrative, with the personages well defined. these experiments are begun in the right way. they are not merely barbarous nor fantastic. they are different also from such traditional legends and romances as may survive among simple people long after the day of their old glories and their old kings. the poems of _beowulf_ and _waldere_, of _roland_ and _william of orange_, are intelligible and reasonable works, determined in the main by the same essential principles of narrative art, and of dramatic conversation within the narrative, as are observed in the practice of homer. further, these are poems in which, as in the homeric poems, the ideas of their time are conveyed and expressed in a noble manner: they are high-spirited poems. they have got themselves clear of the confusion and extravagance of early civilisation, and have hit upon a way of telling a story clearly and in proportion, and with dignity. they are epic in virtue of their superiority to the more fantastic motives of interest, and in virtue of their study of human character. they are heroic in the nobility of their temper and their style. if at any time they indulge in heroic commonplaces of sentiment, they do so without insincerity or affectation, as the expression of the general temper or opinion of their own time. they are not separated widely from the matters of which they treat; they are not antiquarian revivals of past forms, nor traditional vestiges of things utterly remote and separate from the actual world. what art they may possess is different from the "rude sweetness" of popular ballads, and from the unconscious grace of popular tales. they have in different degrees and manners the form of epic poetry, in their own right. there are recognisable qualities that serve to distinguish even a fragment of heroic poetry from the ballads and romances of a lower order, however near these latter forms may approach at times to the epic dignity. ii epic and romance it is the nature of epic poetry to be at ease in regard to its subject matter, to be free from the strain and excitement of weaker and more abstract forms of poetry in dealing with heroic subjects. the heroic ideal of epic is not attained by a process of abstraction and separation from the meannesses of familiar things. the magnificence and aristocratic dignity of epic is conformable to the practical and ethical standards of the heroic age; that is to say, it tolerates a number of things that may be found mean and trivial by academicians. epic poetry is one of the complex and comprehensive kinds of literature, in which most of the other kinds may be included--romance, history, comedy; _tragical_, _comical_, _historical_, _pastoral_ are terms not sufficiently various to denote the variety of the _iliad_ and the _odyssey_. the "common life" of the homeric poems may appeal to modern pedantic theorists, and be used by them in support of euripidean or wordsworthian receipts for literature. but the comprehensiveness of the greater kinds of poetry, of homer and shakespeare, is a different thing from the premeditated and self-assertive realism of the authors who take viciously to common life by way of protest against the romantic extreme. it has its origin, not in a critical theory about the proper matter of literature, but in dramatic imagination. in an epic poem where the characters are vividly imagined, it follows naturally that their various moods and problems involve a variety of scenery and properties, and so the whole business of life comes into the story. the success of epic poetry depends on the author's power of imagining and representing characters. a kind of success and a kind of magnificence may be attained in stories, professing to be epic, in which there is no dramatic virtue, in which every new scene and new adventure merely goes to accumulate, in immortal verse, the proofs of the hero's nullity and insignificance. this is not the epic poetry of the heroic ages. aristotle, in his discussion of tragedy, chose to lay stress upon the plot, the story. on the other hand, to complete the paradox, in the epic he makes the characters all-important, not the story. without the tragic plot or fable, the tragedy becomes a series of moral essays or monologues; the life of the drama is derived from the original idea of the fable which is its subject. without dramatic representation of the characters, epic is mere history or romance; the variety and life of epic are to be found in the drama that springs up at every encounter of the personages. "homer is the only poet who knows the right proportions of epic narrative; when to narrate, and when to let the characters speak for themselves. other poets for the most part tell their story straight on, with scanty passages of drama and far between. homer, with little prelude, leaves the stage to his personages, men and women, all with characters of their own."[ ] [footnote : [greek: homêros de alla te polla axios epaineisthai kai dê kai hoti monos tôn poiêtôn ouk agnoei ho dei poiein auton. auton gar dei ton poiêtên elachista legein: ou gar esti kata tauta mimêtês. hoi men oun alloi autoi men di' holou agônizontai, mimountai de oliga kai oligakis: ho de oliga phroimiasamenos euthys eisagei andra ê gynaika ê allo ti êthos kai ouden' aêthê all' echonta êthê.]--arist. _poet._ a .] aristotle wrote with very little consideration for the people who were to come after him, and gives little countenance to such theories of epic as have at various times been prevalent among the critics, in which the dignity of the subject is insisted on. he does not imagine it the chief duty of an epic poet to choose a lofty argument for historical rhetoric. he does not say a word about the national or the ecumenical importance of the themes of the epic poet. his analysis of the plot of the _odyssey_, but for the reference to poseidon, might have been the description of a modern realistic story. "a man is abroad for many years, persecuted by poseidon and alone; meantime the suitors of his wife are wasting his estate and plotting against his son; after many perils by sea he returns to his own country and discovers himself to his friends. he falls on his enemies and destroys them, and so comes to his own again." the _iliad_ has more likeness than the _odyssey_ to the common pattern of later sophisticated epics. but the war of troy is not the subject of the _iliad_ in the same way as the siege of jerusalem is the subject of tasso's poem. the story of the _aeneid_ can hardly be told in the simplest form without some reference to the destiny of rome, or the story of _paradise lost_ without the feud of heaven and hell. but in the _iliad_, the assistance of the olympians, or even the presence of the whole of greece, is not in the same degree essential to the plot of the story of achilles. in the form of aristotle's summary of the _odyssey_, reduced to "the cool element of prose," the _iliad_ may be proved to be something quite different from the common fashion of literary epics. it might go in something like this way:-- "a certain man taking part in a siege is slighted by the general, and in his resentment withdraws from the war, though his own side is in great need of his help. his dearest friend having been killed by the enemy, he comes back into the action and takes vengeance for his friend, and allows himself to be reconciled." it is the debate among the characters, and not the onset of hera and athena in the chariot of heaven, that gives its greatest power to the _iliad_. the _iliad_, with its "machines," its catalogue of the forces, its funeral games, has contributed more than the _odyssey_ to the common pattern of manufactured epics. but the essence of the poem is not to be found among the olympians. achilles refusing the embassy or yielding to priam has no need of the olympian background. the poem is in a great degree independent of "machines"; its life is in the drama of the characters. the source of all its variety is the imagination by which the characters are distinguished; the liveliness and variety of the characters bring with them all the other kinds of variety. it is impossible for the author who knows his personages intimately to keep to any one exclusive mode of sentiment or one kind of scene. he cannot be merely tragical and heroic, or merely comical and pastoral; these are points of view to which those authors are confined who are possessed by one kind of sentiment or sensibility, and who wish to find expression for their own prevailing mood. the author who is interested primarily in his characters will not allow them to be obliterated by the story or by its diffused impersonal sentiment. the action of an heroic poem must be "of a certain magnitude," but the accessories need not be all heroic and magnificent; the heroes do not derive their magnificence from the scenery, the properties, and the author's rhetoric, but contrariwise: the dramatic force and self-consistency of the _dramatis personae_ give poetic value to any accessories of scenery or sentiment which may be required by the action. they are not figures "animating" a landscape; what the landscape means for the poet's audience is determined by the character of his personages. all the variety of epic is explained by aristotle's remark on homer. where the characters are true, and dramatically represented, there can be no monotony. in the different kinds of northern epic literature--german, english, french, and norse--belonging to the northern heroic ages, there will be found in different degrees this epic quality of drama. whatever magnificence they may possess comes mainly from the dramatic strength of the heroes, and in a much less degree from the historic dignity or importance of the issues of the story, or from its mythological decorations. the place of history in the heroic poems belonging to an heroic age is sometimes misconceived. early epic poetry may be concerned with great historic events. it does not necessarily emphasise--by preference it does not emphasise--the historic importance or the historic results of the events with which it deals. heroic poetry implies an heroic age, an age of pride and courage, in which there is not any extreme organisation of politics to hinder the individual talent and its achievements, nor on the other hand too much isolation of the hero through the absence of any national or popular consciousness. there must be some unity of sentiment, some common standard of appreciation, among the people to whom the heroes belong, if they are to escape oblivion. but this common sentiment must not be such as to make the idea of the community and its life predominant over the individual genius of its members. in such a case there may be a roman history, but not anything approaching the nature of the homeric poems. in some epic poems belonging to an heroic age, and not to a time of self-conscious and reflective literature, there may be found general conceptions that seem to resemble those of the _aeneid_ rather than those of the _iliad_. in many of the old french _chansons de geste_, the war against the infidels is made the general subject of the story, and the general idea of the holy war is expressed as fully as by tasso. here, however, the circumstances are exceptional. the french epic with all its homeric analogies is not as sincere as homer. it is exposed to the touch of influences from another world, and though many of the french poems, or great part of many of them, may tell of heroes who would be content with the simple and positive rules of the heroic life, this is not allowed them. they are brought within the sphere of other ideas, of another civilisation, and lose their independence. most of the old german heroic poetry is clearly to be traced, as far as its subjects are concerned, to the most exciting periods in early german history, between the fourth and the sixth centuries. the names that seem to have been most commonly known to the poets are the names that are most important to the historian--ermanaric, attila, theodoric. in the wars of the great migration the spirit of each of the german families was quickened, and at the same time the spirit of the whole of germany, so that each part sympathised with all the rest, and the fame of the heroes went abroad beyond the limits of their own kindred. ermanaric, attila, and theodoric, sigfred the frank, and gundahari the burgundian, are heroes over all the region occupied by all forms of teutonic language. but although the most important period of early german history may be said to have produced the old german heroic poetry, by giving a number of heroes to the poets, at the same time that the imagination was stirred to appreciate great things and make the most of them, still the result is nothing like the patriotic epic in twelve books, the _aeneid_ or the _lusiad_, which chooses, of set purpose, the theme of the national glory. nor is it like those old french epics in which there often appears a contradiction between the story of individual heroes, pursuing their own fortunes, and the idea of a common cause to which their own fortunes ought to be, but are not always, subordinate. the great historical names which appear in the old german heroic poetry are seldom found there in anything like their historical character, and not once in their chief historical aspect as adversaries of the roman empire. ermanaric, attila, and theodoric are all brought into the same niblung story, a story widely known in different forms, though it was never adequately written out. the true history of the war between the burgundians and the huns in the fifth century is forgotten. in place of it, there is associated with the life and death of gundahari the burgundian king a story which may have been vastly older, and may have passed through many different forms before it became the story of the niblung treasure, of sigfred and brynhild. this, which has made free with so many great historical names, the name of attila, the name of theodoric, has little to do with history. in this heroic story coming out of the heroic age, there is not much that can be traced to historical as distinct from mythical tradition. the tragedy of the death of attila, as told in the _atlakviða_ and the _atlamál_, may indeed owe something to the facts recorded by historians, and something more to vaguer historical tradition of the vengeance of rosamund on alboin the lombard. but, in the main, the story of the niblungs is independent of history, in respect of its matter; in its meaning and effect as a poetical story it is absolutely free from history. it is a drama of personal encounters and rivalries. this also, like the story of achilles, is fit for a stage in which the characters are left free to declare themselves in their own way, unhampered by any burden of history, any purpose or moral apart from the events that are played out in the dramatic clashing of one will against another. it is not vanity in an historian to look for the historical origin of the tale of troy or of the vengeance of gudrun; but no result in either case can greatly affect the intrinsic relations of the various elements within the poems. the relations of achilles to his surroundings in the _iliad_, of attila and ermanaric to theirs, are freely conceived by the several poets, and are intelligible at once, without reference to anything outside the poems. to require of the poetry of an heroic age that it shall recognise the historical meaning and importance of the events in which it originates, and the persons whose names it uses, is entirely to mistake the nature of it. its nature is to find or make some drama played by kings and heroes, and to let the historical framework take care of itself. the connexion of epic poetry with history is real, and it is a fitting subject for historical inquiry, but it lies behind the scene. the epic poem is cut loose and set free from history, and goes on a way of its own. epic magnificence and the dignity of heroic poetry may thus be only indirectly derived from such greatness or magnificence as is known to true prosaic history. the heroes, even if they can be identified as historical, may retain in epic nothing of their historical character, except such qualities as fit them for great actions. their conduct in epic poetry may be very far unlike their actual demeanour in true history; their greatest works may be thrust into a corner of the epic, or barely alluded to, or left out altogether. their greatness in epic may be quite a different kind of greatness from that of their true history and where there are many poems belonging to the same cycle there may be the greatest discrepancy among the views taken of the same hero by different authors, and all the views may be alike remote from the prosaic or scientific view. there is no constant or self-consistent opinion about the character of charles the emperor in old french poetry: there is one view in the _chanson de roland_, another in the _pèlerinage_, another in the _coronemenz looïs_: none of the opinions is anything like an elaborate or detailed historical judgment. attila, though he loses his political importance and most of his historical acquisitions in the teutonic heroic poems in which he appears, may retain in some of them his ruthlessness and strength; at other times he may be a wise and peaceful king. all that is constant, or common, in the different poetical reports of him, is that he was great. what touches the mind of the poet out of the depths of the past is nothing but the tradition, undefined, of something lordly. this vagueness of tradition does not imply that tradition is impotent or barren; only that it leaves all the execution, the growth of detail, to the freedom of the poet. he is bound to the past, in one way; it is laid upon him to tell the stories of the great men of his own race. but in those stories, as they come to him, what is most lively is not a set and established series of incidents, true or false, but something to which the standards of truth and falsehood are scarcely applicable; something stirring him up to admiration, a compulsion or influence upon him requiring him to make the story again in his own way; not to interpret history, but to make a drama of his own, filled somehow with passion and strength of mind. it does not matter in what particular form it may be represented, so long as in some form or other the power of the national glory is allowed to pass into his work. this vagueness and generality in the relation of heroic poetry to the historical events and persons of an heroic age is of course quite a different thing from vagueness in the poetry itself. gunther and attila, roland and charlemagne, in poetry, are very vaguely connected with their antitypes in history; but that does not prevent them from being characterised minutely, if it should agree with the poet's taste or lie within his powers to have it so. the strange thing is that this vague relation should be so necessary to heroic poetry; that it should be impossible at any stage of literature or in any way by taking thought to make up for the want of it. the place of gunther the burgundian, sigfred the frank, and attila the hun, in the poetical stories of the niblung treasure may be in one sense accidental. the fables of the treasure with a curse upon it, the killing of the dragon, the sleeping princess, the wavering flame, are not limited to this particular course of tradition, and, further, the traditional motives of the niblung story have varied enormously not only in different countries, but in one and the same language at the same time. the story is never told alike by two narrators; what is common and essential in it is nothing palpable or fixed, but goes from poet to poet "like a shadow from dream to dream." and the historical names are apparently unessential; yet they remain. to look for the details of the niblung story in the sober history of the goths and huns, burgundians and franks, is like the vanity confessed by the author of the _roman de rou_, when he went on a sentimental journey to broceliande, and was disappointed to find there only the common daylight and nothing of the faerie. nevertheless it is the historical names, and the vague associations about them, that give to the niblung story, not indeed the whole of its plot, but its temper, its pride and glory, its heroic and epic character. heroic poetry is not, as a rule, greatly indebted to historical fact for its material. the epic poet does not keep record of the great victories or the great disasters. he cannot, however, live without the ideas and sentiments of heroism that spring up naturally in periods like those of the teutonic migrations. in this sense the historic gunther and attila are necessary to the niblung story. the wars and fightings of generation on generation went to create the heroism, the loftiness of spirit, expressed in the teutonic epic verse. the plots of the stories may be commonplace, the common property of all popular tales. the temper is such as is not found everywhere, but only in historical periods of great energy. the names of ermanaric and attila correspond to hardly anything of literal history in the heroic poems; but they are the sign of conquests and great exploits that have gone to form character, though their details are forgotten. it may be difficult to appreciate and understand in detail this vague relation of epic poetry to the national life and to the renown of the national heroes, but the general fact is not less positive or less capable of verification than the date of the battle of châlons, or the series of the gothic vowels. all that is needed to prove this is to compare the poetry of a national cycle with the poetry that comes in its place when the national cycle is deserted for other heroes. the secondary or adopted themes may be treated with so much of the manner of the original poetry as to keep little of their foreign character. the rhetoric, the poetical habit, of the original epic may be retained. as in the saxon poem on the gospel history, the _hêliand_, the twelve disciples may be represented as thanes owing loyalty to their prince, in common poetic terms befitting the men of beowulf or byrhtnoth. as in the french poems on alexander the great, alexander may become a feudal king, and take over completely all that belongs to such a rank. there may be no consciousness of any need for a new vocabulary or a new mode of expression to fit the foreign themes. in france, it is true, there is a general distinction of form between the _chansons de geste_ and the romances; though to this there are exceptions, themes not french, and themes not purely heroic, being represented in the epic form. in the early teutonic poetry there is no distinction of versification, vocabulary, or rhetoric between the original and the secondary narrative poems; the alliterative verse belongs to both kinds equally. nor is it always the case that subjects derived from books or from abroad are handled with less firmness than the original and traditional plots. though sometimes a prevailing affection for imported stories, for celtic or oriental legend, may be accompanied by a relaxation in the style, the superiority of national to foreign subjects is not always proved by greater strength or eloquence. can it be said that the anglo-saxon _judith_, for instance, is less heroic, less strong and sound, than the somewhat damaged and motley accoutrements of beowulf? the difference is this, that the more original and native kind of epic has immediate association with all that the people know about themselves, with all their customs, all that part of their experience which no one can account for or refer to any particular source. a poem like _beowulf_ can play directly on a thousand chords of association; the range of its appeal to the minds of an audience is almost unlimited; on no side is the poet debarred from freedom of movement, if only he remember first of all what is due to the hero. he has all the life of his people to strengthen him. a poem like the _hêliand_ is under an obligation to a literary original, and cannot escape from this restriction. it makes what use it can of the native associations, but with whatever perseverance the author may try to bend his story into harmony with the laws of his own country, there is an untranslated residue of foreign ideas. whatever the defects or excesses of _beowulf_ may be, the characters are not distressed by any such unsolved contradiction as in the saxon _hêliand_, or in the old english _exodus_, or _andreas_, or the other poems taken from the bible or the lives of saints. they have not, like the personages of the second order of poems, been translated from one realm of ideas to another, and made to take up burdens and offices not their own. they have grown naturally in the mind of a poet, out of the poet's knowledge of human nature, and the traditional ethical judgments of which he is possessed. the comparative freedom of _beowulf_ in its relation to historical tradition and traditional ethics, and the comparative limitation of the _hêliand_, are not in themselves conditions of either advantage or inferiority. they simply mark the difference between two types of narrative poem. to be free and comprehensive in relation to history, to summarise and represent in epic characters the traditional experience of an heroic age, is not the proper virtue of every kind of poetry, though it is proper to the homeric kind. the freedom that belongs to the _iliad_ and the _odyssey_ is also shared by many a dismal and interminable poem of the middle ages. that foreign or literary subjects impose certain limitations, and interfere with the direct use of matter of experience in poetry, is nothing against them. the anglo-saxon _judith_, which is thus restricted as compared with _beowulf_, may be more like milton for these restrictions, if it be less like homer. exemption from them is not a privilege, except that it gives room for the attainment of a certain kind of excellence, the homeric kind; as, on the other hand, it excludes the possibility of the literary art of virgil or milton. the relation of epic poetry to its heroic age is not to be found in the observance of any strict historical duty. it lies rather in the epic capacity for bringing together all manner of lively passages from the general experience of the age, in a story about famous heroic characters. the plot of the story gives unity and harmony to the composition, while the variety of its matter is permitted and justified by the dramatic variety of the characters and their interests. by its comprehensiveness and the variety of its substance, which are the signs and products of its dramatic imagination, epic poetry of the heroic age is distinguished from the more abstract kinds of narrative, such as the artificial epic, and from all kinds of imagination or fancy that are limited in their scope. in times when "the epic poem" was a more attractive, if not more perilous theme of debate than it now is, there was a strong controversy about the proper place and the proper kind of miraculous details to be admitted. the question was debated by tasso in his critical writings, against the strict and pedantic imitators of classical models, and with a strong partiality for ariosto against trissino. tasso made less of a distinction between romance and epic than was agreeable to some of his successors in criticism; and the controversy went on for generations, always more or less concerned with the great italian heroic poems, _orlando_ and _jerusalem_. some record of it will be found in dr. hurd's _letters on chivalry and romance_ ( ). if the controversy has any interest now, it must be because it provided the most extreme statements of abstract literary principles, which on account of their thoroughness are interesting. from the documents it can be ascertained how near some of the critics came to that worship of the faultless hero with which dryden in his heroic plays occasionally conformed, while he guarded himself against misinterpretation in his prefaces. the epic poetry of the more austere critics was devised according to the strictest principles of dignity and sublimity, with a precise exclusion of everything "gothic" and romantic. davenant's preface to _gondibert_--"the author's preface to his much honour'd friend, mr hobs"--may show how the canon of epic was understood by poets who took things seriously; "for i will yield to their opinion, who permit not _ariosto_, no, not _du bartas_, in this eminent rank of the _heroicks_; rather than to make way by their admission for _dante_, _marino_, and others." it is somewhat difficult to find a common measure for these names, but it is clear that what is most distasteful to the writer, in theory at any rate, is variety. epic is the most solemn, stately, and frigid of all kinds of composition. this was the result attained by the perverse following of precepts supposed to be classical. the critics of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries were generally right in distinguishing between epic and romance, and generally wrong in separating the one kind from the other as opposite and mutually exclusive forms, instead of seeing with tasso, in his critical discourses, that romance may be included in epic. against the manifold perils of the gothic fantasy they set up the image of the abstract hero, and recited the formulas of the decorous and symmetrical abstract heroic poem. they were occasionally troubled by the "gothic" elements in homer, of which their adversaries were not slow to take advantage. one of the most orthodox of all the formalists, who for some reason came to be very much quoted in england, bossu, in his discourse on the epic poem, had serious difficulties with the adventures of ulysses, and his stories told in phaeacia. the episodes of circe, of the sirens, and of polyphemus, are _machines_; they are also not quite easy to understand. "they are necessary to the action, and yet they are not humanly probable." but see how homer gets over the difficulty and brings back these _machines_ to the region of human probability. "homère les fait adroitement rentrer dans la vraisemblance humaine par la simplicité de ceux devant qui il fait faire ses récits fabuleux. il dit assez plaisamment que les phéaques habitoient dans une isle éloignée des lieux où demeurent les hommes qui ont de l'esprit. [greek: heisen d' en scheriê hekas andrôn alphêstaôn]. ulysses les avoit connus avant que de se faire connoître à eux: et aiant observé qu'ils avoient toutes les qualités de ces fainéans qui n'admirent rien avec plus de plaisir que les aventures romanesques: il les satisfait par ces récits accommodez à leur humeur. mais le poëte n'y a pas oublié les lecteurs raisonnables. il leur a donné en ces fables tout le plaisir que l'on peut tirer des véritez morales, si agréablement déguisées sous ces miraculeuses allégories. c'est ainsi qu'il a réduit ces machines dans la vérité et dans la vraisemblance poëtique."[ ] [footnote : _traité du poëme Épique_, par le r.p. le bossu, chanoine régulier de sainte geneviève; mdclxxv (t. ii. p. ).] although the world has fallen away from the severity of this critic, there is still a meaning at the bottom of his theory of machines. he has at any rate called attention to one of the most interesting parts of epic, and has found the right word for the episodes of the phaeacian story of odysseus. romance is the word for them, and romance is at the same time one of the constituent parts and one of the enemies of epic poetry. that it was dangerous was seen by the academical critics. they provided against it, generally, by treating it with contempt and proscribing it, as was done by those french critics who were offended by ariosto and perplexed by much of the gothic machinery of tasso. they did not readily admit that epic poetry is as complex as the plays of shakespeare, and as incongruous as these in its composition, if the different constituents be taken out separately in the laboratory and then compared. romance by itself is a kind of literature that does not allow the full exercise of dramatic imagination; a limited and abstract form, as compared with the fulness and variety of epic; though episodes of romance, and romantic moods and digressions, may have their place, along with all other human things, in the epic scheme. the difference between the greater and the lesser kinds of narrative literature is vital and essential, whatever names may be assigned to them. in the one kind, of which aristotle knew no other examples than the _iliad_ and the _odyssey_, the personages are made individual through their dramatic conduct and their speeches in varying circumstances; in the other kind, in place of the moods and sentiments of a multitude of different people entering into the story and working it out, there is the sentiment of the author in his own person; there is one voice, the voice of the story-teller, and his theory of the characters is made to do duty for the characters themselves. there may be every poetic grace, except that of dramatic variety; and wherever, in narrative, the independence of the characters is merged in the sequence of adventures, or in the beauty of the landscape, or in the effusion of poetic sentiment, the narrative falls below the highest order, though the art be the art of ovid or of spenser. the romance of odysseus is indeed "brought into conformity with poetic verisimilitude," but in a different way from that of bossu _on the epic poem_. it is not because the phaeacians are romantic in their tastes, but because it belongs to odysseus, that the phaeacian night's entertainment has its place in the _odyssey_. the _odyssey_ is the story of his home-coming, his recovery of his own. the great action of the drama of odysseus is in his dealings with penelope, eumaeus, telemachus, the suitors. the phaeacian story is indeed episodic; the interest of those adventures is different from that of the meeting with penelope. nevertheless it is all kept in harmony with the stronger part of the poem. it is not pure fantasy and "faerie," like the voyage of maelduin or the vigil in the castle of busirane. odysseus in the house of alcinous is not different from odysseus of the return to ithaca. the story is not pure romance, it is a dramatic monologue; and the character of the speaker has more part than the wonders of the story in the silence that falls on the listeners when the story comes to an end. in all early literature it is hard to keep the story within limits, to observe the proportion of the _odyssey_ between strong drama and romance. the history of the early heroic literature of the teutonic tongues, and of the epics of old france, comes to an end in the victory of various romantic schools, and of various restricted and one-sided forms of narrative. from within and without, from the resources of native mythology and superstition and from the fascination of welsh and arabian stories, there came the temptation to forget the study of character, and to part with an inheritance of tragic fables, for the sake of vanities, wonders, and splendours among which character and the tragic motives lost their pre-eminent interest and their old authority over poets and audience. iii romantic mythology between the dramatic qualities of epic poetry and the myths and fancies of popular tradition there must inevitably be a conflict and a discrepancy. the greatest scenes of the _iliad_ and the _odyssey_ have little to do with myth. where the characters are most vividly realised there is no room for the lighter kinds of fable; the epic "machines" are superfluous. where all the character of achilles is displayed in the interview with priam, all his generosity, all his passion and unreason, the imagination refuses to be led away by anything else from looking on and listening. the presence of hermes, priam's guide, is forgotten. olympus cannot stand against the spell of words like those of priam and achilles; it vanishes like a parched scroll. in the great scene in the other poem where the disguised odysseus talks with penelope, but will not make himself known to her for fear of spoiling his plot, there is just as little opportunity for any intervention of the olympians. "odysseus pitied his wife as she wept, but his eyes were firm as horn or steel, unwavering in his eyelids, and with art he concealed his tears.[ ]" [footnote : [greek: autar' odysseus thymôi men gooôsan heên eleaire gynaika, ophthalmoi d' hôs ei kera hestasan êe sidêros atremas en blepharoisi; dolôi d' ho ge dakrya keuthen.] _od._ xix. .] in passages like these the epic poet gets clear away from the cumbrous inheritance of traditional fancies and stories. in other places he is inevitably less strong and self-sustained; he has to speak of the gods of the nation, or to work into his large composition some popular and improbable histories. the result in homer is something like the result in shakespeare, when he has a more than usually childish or old-fashioned fable to work upon. a story like that of the _three caskets_ or the _pound of flesh_ is perfectly consistent with itself in its original popular form. it is inconsistent with the form of elaborate drama, and with the lives of people who have souls of their own, like portia or shylock. hence in the drama which uses the popular story as its ground-plan, the story is never entirely reduced into conformity with the spirit of the chief characters. the caskets and the pound of flesh, in despite of all the author's pains with them, are imperfectly harmonised; the primitive and barbarous imagination in them retains an inconvenient power of asserting its discordance with the principal parts of the drama. their unreason is of no great consequence, yet it is something; it is not quite kept out of sight. the epic poet, at an earlier stage of literature than shakespeare, is even more exposed to this difficulty. shakespeare was free to take his plots where he chose, and took these old wives' tales at his own risk. the epic poet has matter of this sort forced upon him. in his treatment of it, it will be found that ingenuity does not fail him, and that the transition from the unreasonable or old-fashioned part of his work to the modern and dramatic part is cunningly worked out. "he gets over the unreason by the grace and skill of his handling,"[ ] says aristotle of a critical point in the "machinery" of the _odyssey_, where odysseus is carried ashore on ithaca in his sleep. there is a continual play in the _iliad_ and _odyssey_ between the wonders of mythology and the spirit of the drama. in this, as in other things, the homeric poems observe the mean: the extremes may be found in the heroic literature of other nations; the extreme of marvellous fable in the old irish heroic legends, for example; the extreme of plainness and "soothfastness" in the old english lay of _maldon_. in some medieval compositions, as in _huon of bordeaux_, the two extremes are brought together clumsily and without harmony. in other medieval works again it is possible to find something like the homeric proportion--the drama of strong characters, taking up and transforming the fanciful products of an earlier world, the inventions of minds not deeply or especially interested in character. [footnote : [greek: nun de tois allois agathois aphanizei hêdunôn to atopon.] aristot. _poet._ b.] the defining and shaping of myths in epic poetry is a process that cannot go on in a wholly simple and unreflecting society. on the contrary, this process means that the earlier stages of religious legend have been succeeded by a time of criticism and selection. it is hard on the old stories of the gods when men come to appreciate the characters of achilles and odysseus. the old stories are not all of equal value and authority; they cannot all be made to fit in with the human story; they have to be tested, and some have to be rejected as inconvenient. the character of the gods is modified under the influence of the chief actors in the drama. agamemnon, diomede, odysseus, ajax, and achilles set the standard by which the gods are judged. the homeric view of the gods is already more than half-way to the view of a modern poet. the gods lose their old tyranny and their right to the steam of sacrifice as they gain their new poetical empire, from which they need not fear to be banished; not, at any rate, for any theological reasons. in shakespearean drama, where each man is himself, with his own character and his own fortune to make, there is small scope for any obvious divine interposition in the scene. the story of human actions and characters, the more fully it is developed, leaves the less opportunity for the gods to interfere in it. something of this sort was felt by certain medieval historians; they found it necessary to begin with an apologetic preface explaining the long-suffering of god, who has given freedom to the will of man to do good or evil. it was felt to be on the verge of impiety to think of men as left to themselves and doing what they pleased. those who listen to a story might be tempted to think of the people in it as self-sufficient and independent powers, trespassing on the domain of providence. a pious exculpation was required to clear the author of blame.[ ] [footnote : "in the events of this history may be proved the great long-suffering of god almighty towards us every day; and the freedom of will which he has given to every man, that each may do what he will, good or evil."--_hrafns saga_, prologue (_sturlunga saga_ oxford, , ii. p. ). "as all good things are the work of god, so valour is made by him and placed in the heart of stout champions, and freedom therewithal to use it as they will, for good or evil."--_fóstbræðra saga_ ( ), p. : one of the sophistical additions to the story: see below p. . the moral is different in the following passage:-- "and inasmuch as the providence of god hath ordained, and it is his pleasure, that the seven planets should have influence on the world, and bear dominion over man's nature, giving him divers inclinations to sin and naughtiness of life: nevertheless the universal creator has not taken from him the free will, which, as it is well governed, may subdue and abolish these temptations by virtuous living, if men will use discretion."--_tirant lo blanch_ ( ), c. i.] in the _iliad_ this scrupulous conscience has less need to deliver itself. the gods are not far away; the heroes are not left alone. but the poet has already done much to reduce the immediate power of the gods, not by excluding them from the action, certainly, nor by any attenuation of their characters into allegory, but by magnifying and developing the characters of men. in many occasional references it would seem that an approach was being made to that condition of mind, at ease concerning the gods, so common in the north, in norway and iceland, in the last days of heathendom. there is the great speech of hector to polydamas--"we defy augury"[ ]--there is the speech of apollo himself to aeneas[ ] about those who stand up for their own side, putting trust in their own strength. but passages like these do not touch closely on the relations of gods and men as they are depicted in the story. as so depicted, the gods are not shadowy or feeble abstractions and personifications; yet they are not of the first value to the poem, they do not set the tone of it. [footnote : _il._ xii. .] [footnote : _il._ xvii. .] they are subsidiary, like some other of the most beautiful things in the poem; like the similes of clouds and winds, like the pictures on the shield. they are there because the whole world is included in epic poetry; the heroes, strong in themselves as they could be if they were left alone in the common day, acquire an additional strength and beauty from their fellowship with the gods. achilles talking with the embassy is great; he is great in another way when he stands at the trench with the flame of athena on his head. these two scenes belong to two different kinds of imagination. it is because the first is there that the second takes effect. it is the hero that gives meaning and glory to the light of the goddess. it is of some importance that it is achilles, and not another, that here is crowned with the light of heaven and made terrible to his enemies. there is a double way of escape for young nations from their outgrown fables and mythologies. they start with enormous, monstrous, and inhuman beliefs and stories. either they may work their way out of them, by gradual rejection of the grosser ingredients, to something more or less positive and rational; or else they may take up the myths and transmute them into poetry. the two processes are not independent of one another. both are found together in the greater artists of early times, in homer most notably; and also in artists less than homer; in the poem of _beowulf_, in the stories of sigfred and brynhild. there are further, under the second mode, two chief ways of operation by which the fables of the gods may be brought into poetry. it is possible to take them in a light-hearted way and weave them into poetical stories, without much substance or solemnity; enhancing the beauty that may be inherent in any part of the national legend, and either rejecting the scandalous chronicle of olympus or asgard altogether, or giving it over to the comic graces of levity and irony, as in the phaeacian story of ares and aphrodite, wherein the phaeacian poet digressed from his tales of war in the spirit of ariosto, and with an equally accomplished and elusive defiance of censure.[ ] [footnote : the censure is not wanting:-- "l'on doit considérer que ce n'est ni le poëte, ni son héros, ni un honnête homme qui fait ce récit: mais que les phéaques, peuples mols et effeminez, se le font chanter pendant leur festin."--bossu, _op. cit._ p. .] there is another way in which poetry may find room for fable. it may treat the myths of the gods as material for the religious or the ethical imagination, and out of them create ideal characters, analogous in poetry to the ideal divine or heroic figures of painting and sculpture. this is the kind of imagination in virtue of which modern poets are best able to appropriate the classical mythology; but this modern imagination is already familiar to homer, and that not only in direct description, as in the description of the majesty of zeus, but also, more subtly, in passages where the character of the divinity is suggested by comparison with one of the human personages, as when nausicaa is compared to artemis,[ ] a comparison that redounds not less to the honour of the goddess than of nausicaa. [footnote : _od._ vi. .] in icelandic literature there are many instances of the trouble arising from inconsiderate stories of the gods, in the minds of people who had got beyond the more barbarous kind of mythology. they took the boldest and most conclusive way out of the difficulty; they made the barbarous stories into comedy. the _lokasenna_, a poem whose author has been called the aristophanes of the western islands, is a dramatic piece in which loki, the northern satan, appearing in the house of the gods, is allowed to bring his railing accusations against them and remind them of their doings in the "old days." one of his victims tells him to "let bygones be bygones." the gods are the subject of many stories that are here raked up against them, stories of another order of belief and of civilisation than those in which odin appears as the wise and sleepless counsellor. this poem implies a great amount of independence in the author of it. it is not a satire on the gods; it is pure comedy; that is, it belongs to a type of literature which has risen above prejudices and which has an air of levity because it is pure sport--or pure art--and therefore is freed from bondage to the matter which it handles. this kind of invention is one that tests the wit of its audience. a serious-minded heathen of an older school would no doubt have been shocked by the levity of the author's manner. not much otherwise would the poem have affected a serious adversary of heathendom, or any one whose education had been entirely outside of the circle of heathen or mythological tradition. an englishman of the tenth century, familiar with the heroic poetry of his own tongue, would have thought it indecent. if chance had brought such an one to hear this _lokasenna_ recited at some entertainment in a great house of the western islands, he might very well have conceived the same opinion of his company and their tastes in literature as is ascribed by bossu to ulysses among the phaeacians. this genius for comedy is shown in other icelandic poems. as soon as the monstrosities of the old traditions were felt to be monstrous, they were overcome (as mr. carlyle has shown) by an appreciation of the fun of them, and so they ceased to be burdensome. it is something of this sort that has preserved old myths, for amusement, in popular tales all over the world. the icelandic poets went further, however, than most people in their elaborate artistic treatment of their myths. there is with them more art and more self-consciousness, and they give a satisfactory and final poetical shape to these things, extracting pure comedy from them. the perfection of this ironical method is to be found in the _edda_, a handbook of the art of poetry, written in the thirteenth century by a man of liberal genius, for whom the Æsir were friends of the imagination, without any prejudice to the claims of the church or of his religion. in the view of snorri sturluson, the old gods are exempt from any touch of controversy. belief has nothing to do with them; they are free. it may be remembered that some of the greatest english writers of the seventeenth century have come short of this security of view, and have not scrupled to repeat the calumny of the missionaries and the disputants against the ancient gods, that jupiter and apollo were angels of the bottomless pit, given over to their own devices for a season, and masking as olympians. in this freedom from embarrassing and irrelevant considerations in dealing with myth, the author of the _edda_ follows in his prose the spirit of mythological poems three centuries older, in which, even before the change of faith in the north, the gods were welcomed without fear as sharing in many humorous adventures. and at the same time, along with this detached and ironical way of thinking there is to be found in the northern poetry the other, more reverent mode of shaping the inherited fancies; the mode of pindar, rejecting the vain things fabled about the gods, and holding fast to the more honourable things. the humours of thor in the fishing for the serpent and the winning of the hammer may be fairly likened to the humours of hermes in the greek hymn. the _lokasenna_ has some likeness to the homeric description of the brawls in heaven. but in the poems that refer to the death of balder and the sorrow of the gods there is another tone; and the greatest of them all, the _sibyl's prophecy_, is comparable, not indeed in volume of sound, but in loftiness of imagination, to the poems in which pindar has taken up the myths of most inexhaustible value and significance--the happy islands, the birth of athena. the poet who lives in anything like an heroic or homeric age has it in his power to mingle the elements of mythology and of human story--phaeacia and ithaca--in any proportion he pleases. as a matter of fact, all varieties of proportion are to be found in medieval documents. at the one extreme is the mythological romance and fantasy of celtic epic, and at the other extreme the plain narrative of human encounters, in the old english battle poetry or the icelandic family histories. as far as one can judge from the extant poems, the old english and old german poetry did not make such brilliant romance out of mythological legend as was produced by the northern poets. these alone, and not the poets of england or saxony, seem to have appropriated for literature, in an homeric way, the histories of the gods. myth is not wanting in old english or german poetry, but it does not show itself in the same clear and delightful manner as in the northern poems of thor, or in the wooing of frey. thus in different places there are different modes in which an inheritance of mythical ideas may be appreciated and used. it may become a treasury for self-possessed and sure-handed artists, as in greece, and so be preserved long after it has ceased to be adequate to all the intellectual desires. it may, by the fascination of its wealth, detain the minds of poets in its enchanted ground, and prevent them from ever working their way through from myth to dramatic imagination, as in ireland. the early literature, and therewith the intellectual character and aptitudes, of a nation may be judged by their literary use of mythology. they may neglect it, like the romans; they may neglect all things for the sake of it, like the celts; they may harmonise it, as the greeks did, in a system of imaginative creations where the harmony is such that myth need never be felt as an encumbrance or an absurdity, however high or far the reason may go beyond it in any direction of art or science. at the beginning of modern literature there are to be found the attempts of irish and welsh, of english and germans, danes and northmen, to give shape to myth, and make it available for literature. together with that, and as part of the same process, there is found the beginning of historical literature in an heroic or epic form. the results are various; but one thing may be taken as certain, that progress in literature is most assured when the mythology is so far under control as to leave room for the drama of epic characters; for epic, as distinguished from romance. now the fortunes of these people were such as to make this self-command exceedingly difficult for them, and to let in an enormous extraneous force, encouraging the native mythopoetic tendencies, and unfavourable to the growth of epic. they had to come to an understanding with themselves about their own heathen traditions, to bring the extravagances of them into some order, so as to let the epic heroes have free play. but they were not left to themselves in this labour of bringing mythology within bounds; even before they had fairly escaped from barbarism, before they had made a fair beginning of civilisation and of reflective literature on their own account, they were drawn within the empire, into christendom. before their imaginations had fully wakened out of the primeval dream, the cosmogonies and theogonies, gross and monstrous, of their national infancy, they were asked to have an opinion about the classical mythology, as represented by the latin poets; they were made acquainted with the miracles of the lives of saints. more than all this, even, their minds were charmed away from the labour of epic invention, by the spell of the preacher. the task of representing characters--waldere or theodoric or attila--was forgotten in the lyrical rapture of devotion, in effusion of pathos. the fascination of religious symbolism crept over minds that had hardly yet begun to see and understand things as they are; and in all their reading the "moral," "anagogical," and "tropological" significations prevailed against the literal sense. one part of medieval history is concerned with the progress of the teutonic nations, in so far as they were left to themselves, and in so far as their civilisation is home-made. the _germania_ of tacitus, for instance, is used by historians to interpret the later development of teutonic institutions. but this inquiry involves a good deal of abstraction and an artificial limitation of view. in reality, the people of germania were never left to themselves at all, were never beyond the influence of southern ideas; and the history of the influence of southern ideas on the northern races takes up a larger field than the isolated history of the north. nothing in the world is more fantastic. the logic of aristotle and the art of virgil are recommended to people whose chief men, barons and earls, are commonly in their tastes and acquirements not very different from the suitors in the _odyssey_. gentlemen much interested in raids and forays, and the profits of such business, are confronted with a literature into which the labours of all past centuries have been distilled. in a society that in its native elements is closely analogous to homer's achaeans, men are found engaged in the study of boethius _on the consolation of philosophy_, a book that sums up the whole course of greek philosophical speculation. ulysses quoting aristotle is an anachronism; but king alfred's translation of boethius is almost as much of a paradox. it is not easy to remain unmoved at the thought of the medieval industry bestowed on authors like martianus capella _de nuptiis philologiae_, or macrobius _de somnio scipionis_. what is to be said of the solemnity with which, in their pursuit of authoritative doctrine, they applied themselves to extract the spiritual meaning of ovid's _metamorphoses_, and appropriate the didactic system of the _art of love_? in medieval literature, whatever there is of the homeric kind has an utterly different relation to popular standards of appreciation from that of the homeric poems in greece. here and there some care may be taken, as by charlemagne and alfred, to preserve the national heroic poetry. but such regard for it is rare; and even where it is found, it comes far short of the honour paid to homer by alexander. english epic is not first, but one of the least, among the intellectual and literary interests of king alfred. heroic literature is only one thread in the weft of medieval literature. there are some curious documents illustrative of its comparative value, and of the variety and complexity of medieval literature. hauk erlendsson, an icelander of distinction in the fourteenth century, made a collection of treatises in one volume for his own amusement and behoof. it contains the _volospá_, the most famous of all the northern mythical poems, the sibyl's song of the doom of the gods; it contains also the _landnámabók_, the history of the colonisation of iceland; _kristni saga_, the history of the conversion to christianity; the history of _eric the red_, and _fóstbræðra saga_, the story of the two sworn brethren, thorgeir and thormod the poet. besides these records of the history and the family traditions of iceland and greenland, there are some mythical stories of later date, dealing with old mythical themes, such as the life of ragnar lodbrok. in one of them, the _heidreks saga_, are embedded some of the most memorable verses, after _volospá_, in the old style of northern poetry--the poem of the _waking of angantyr_. the other contents of the book are as follows: geographical, physical, and theological pieces; extracts from st. augustine; the _history of the cross_; the _description of jerusalem_; the _debate of body and soul_; _algorismus_ (by hauk himself, who was an arithmetician); a version of the _brut_ and of _merlin's prophecy_; _lucidarium_, the most popular medieval handbook of popular science. this is the collection, to which all the ends of the earth have contributed, and it is in strange and far-fetched company like this that the northern documents are found. in greece, whatever early transactions there may have been with the wisdom of egypt or phoenicia, there is no such medley as this. another illustration of the literary chaos is presented, even more vividly than in the contents of hauk's book, by the whalebone casket in the british museum. weland the smith (whom alfred introduced into his _boethius_) is here put side by side with the adoration of the magi; on another side are romulus and remus; on another, titus at jerusalem; on the lid of the casket is the defence of a house by one who is shooting arrows at his assailants; his name is written over him, and his name is _Ægili_,--egil the master-bowman, as weland is the master-smith, of the northern mythology. round the two companion pictures, weland on the left and the three kings on the right, side by side, there go wandering runes, with some old english verses about the "whale," or walrus, from which the ivory for these engravings was obtained. the artist plainly had no more suspicion than the author of _lycidas_ that there was anything incorrect or unnatural in his combinations. it is under these conditions that the heroic poetry of germania has been preserved; never as anything more than an accident among an infinity of miscellaneous notions, the ruins of ancient empires, out of which the commonplaces of european literature and popular philosophy have been gradually collected. the fate of epic poetry was the same as that of the primitive german forms of society. in both there was a progress towards independent perfection, an evolution of the possibilities inherent in them, independent of foreign influences. but both in teutonic society, and in the poetry belonging to it and reflecting it, this independent course of life is thwarted and interfered with. instead of independent strong teutonic national powers, there are the more or less romanised and blended nationalities possessing the lands that had been conquered by goths and burgundians, lombards and franks; instead of germania, the holy roman empire; instead of epic, romance; not the old-fashioned romance of native mythology, not the natural spontaneous romance of the irish legends or the icelandic stories of gods and giants, but the composite far-fetched romance of the age of chivalry, imported from all countries and literatures to satisfy the medieval appetite for novel and wonderful things. nevertheless, the stronger kind of poetry had still something to show, before all things were overgrown with imported legend, and before the strong enunciation of the older manner was put out of fashion by the medieval clerks and rhetoricians. iv the three schools--teutonic epic--french epic--the icelandic histories the teutonic heroic poetry was menaced on all hands from the earliest times; it was turned aside from the national heroes by saints and missionaries, and charmed out of its sterner moods by the spell of wistful and regretful meditation. in continental germany it appears to have been early vanquished. in england, where the epic poetry was further developed than on the continent, it was not less exposed to the rivalry of the ideas and subjects that belonged to the church. the anglo-saxon histories of st. andrew and st. helen are as full of romantic passages as those poems of the fourteenth century in which the old alliterative verse is revived to tell the tale of troy or of the _mort arthur_. the national subjects themselves are not proof against the ideas of the church; even in the fragments of _waldere_ they are to be found; and the poem of _beowulf_ has been filled, like so much of the old english poetry, with the melancholy of the preacher, and the sense of the vanity of earthly things. but the influence of fantasy and pathos could not dissolve the strength of epic beyond recovery, or not until it had done something to show what it was worth. not all the subjects are treated in the romantic manner of cynewulf and his imitators. the poem of _maldon_, written at the very end of the tenth century, is firm and unaffected in its style, and of its style there can be no question that it is heroic. the old norse poetry was beyond the influence of most of the tendencies and examples that corrupted the heroic poetry of the germans, and changed the course of poetry in england. it was not till the day of its glory was past that it took to subjects like those of cynewulf and his imitators. but it was hindered in other ways from representing the lives of heroes in a consistent epic form. if it knew less of the miracles of saints, it knew more of the old mythology; and though it was not, like english and german poetry, taken captive by the preachers, it was stirred and thrilled by the beauty of its own stories in a way that inclined to the lyrical rather than the epic tone. yet here also there are passages of graver epic, where the tone is more assured and the composition more stately. the relation of the french epics to french romance is on the one side a relation of antagonism, in which the older form gives way to the newer, because "the newer song is sweeter in the ears of men." the _chanson de geste_ is driven out by poems that differ from it in almost every possible respect; in the character of their original subject-matter, in their verse, their rhetoric, and all their gear of commonplaces, and all the devices of their art. but from another point of view there may be detected in the _chansons de geste_ no small amount of the very qualities that were fatal to them, when the elements were compounded anew in the poems of _erec_ and _lancelot_. the french epics have many points of likeness with the teutonic poetry of _beowulf_ or _finnesburh_, or of the norse heroic songs. they are epic in substance, having historical traditions at the back of them, and owing the materials of their picture to no deliberate study of authorities. they differ from _beowulf_ in this respect, among others, that they are the poems of feudal society, not of the simpler and earlier communities. the difference ought not to be exaggerated. as far as heroic poetry is concerned, the difference lies chiefly in the larger frame of the story. the kingdom of france in the french epics is wider than the kingdom of hrothgar or hygelac. the scale is nearer that of the _iliad_ than of the _odyssey_. the "catalogue of the armies sent into the field" is longer, the mass of fighting-men is more considerable, than in the epic of the older school. there is also, frequently, a much fuller sense of the national greatness and the importance of the defence of the land against its enemies, a consciousness of the dignity of the general history, unlike the carelessness with which the teutonic poets fling themselves into the story of individual lives, and disregard the historical background. generally, however, the teutonic freedom and rebellious spirit is found as unmistakably in the _chansons de geste_ as in the alliterative poems. feudalism appears in heroic poetry, and indeed in prosaic history, as a more elaborate form of that anarchy which is the necessary condition of an heroic age. it does not deprive the poet of his old subjects, his family enmities, and his adventures of private war. feudalism did not invent, neither did it take away, the virtue of loyalty that has so large a place in all true epic, along with its counterpart of defiance and rebellion, no less essential to the story. it intensified the poetical value of both motives, but they are older than the _iliad_. it provided new examples of the "wrath" of injured or insulted barons; it glorified to the utmost, it honoured as martyrs, those who died fighting for their lord.[ ] [footnote : lor autres mors ont toz en terre mis: crois font sor aus, qu'il erent droit martir: por lor seignor orent esté ocis. _garin le loherain_, tom. ii. p. .] in all this it did nothing to change the essence of heroic poetry. the details were changed, the scene was enlarged, and so was the number of the combatants. but the details of feudalism that make a difference between beowulf, or the men of attila, and the epic paladins of charlemagne in the french poems of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, need not obscure the essential resemblance between one heroic period and another. on the other hand, it is plain from the beginning that french epic had to keep its ground with some difficulty against the challenge of romantic skirmishers. in one of the earliest of the poems about charlemagne, the emperor and his paladins are taken to the east by a poet whom bossu would hardly have counted "honest." in the poem of _huon of bordeaux_, much later, the story of oberon and the magic horn has been added to the plot of a feudal tragedy, which in itself is compact and free from extravagance. between those extreme cases there are countless examples of the mingling of the graver epic with more or less incongruous strains. sometimes there is magic, sometimes the appearance of a paynim giant, often the repetition of long prayers with allusions to the lives of saints and martyrs, and throughout there is the constant presence of ideas derived from homilies and the common teaching of the church. in some of these respects the french epics are in the same case as the old english poems which, like _beowulf_, show the mingling of a softer mood with the stronger; of new conventions with old. in some respects they show a further encroachment of the alien spirit. the english poem of _maldon_ has some considerable likeness in the matter of its story, and not a little in its ideal of courage, with the _song of roland_. a comparison of the two poems, in those respects in which they are commensurable, will show the english poem to be wanting in certain elements of mystery that are potent in the other. the _song of maldon_ and the _song of roncesvalles_ both narrate the history of a lost battle, of a realm defended against its enemies by a captain whose pride and self-reliance lead to disaster, by refusing to take fair advantage of the enemy and put forth all his available strength. byrhtnoth, fighting the northmen on the shore of the essex river, allows them of his own free will to cross the ford and come to close quarters. "he gave ground too much to the adversary; he called across the cold river and the warriors listened: 'now is space granted to you; come speedily hither and fight; god alone can tell who will hold the place of battle.' then the wolves of blood, the rovers, waded west over panta." this unnecessary magnanimity has for the battle of maldon the effect of roland's refusal to sound the horn at the battle of roncesvalles; it is the tragic error or transgression of limit that brings down the crash and ruin at the end of the day. in both poems there is a like spirit of indomitable resistance. the close of the battle of maldon finds the loyal companions of byrhtnoth fighting round his body, abandoned by the cowards who have run away, but themselves convinced of their absolute strength to resist to the end. byrhtwold spoke and grasped his shield--he was an old companion--he shook his ashen spear, and taught courage to them that fought:-- "thought shall be the harder, heart the keener, mood shall be the more, as our might lessens. here our prince lies low, they have hewn him to death! grief and sorrow for ever on the man that leaves this war-play! i am old of years, but hence i will not go; i think to lay me down by the side of my lord, by the side of the man i cherished." the story of roncesvalles tells of an agony equally hopeless and equally secure from every touch of fear. the _song of maldon_ is a strange poem to have been written in the reign of ethelred the unready. but for a few phrases it might, as far as the matter is concerned, have been written before the conversion of england, and although it is a battle in defence of the country, and not a mere incident of private war, the motive chiefly used is not patriotism, but private loyalty to the captain. roland is full of the spirit of militant christendom, and there is no more constant thought in the poem than that of the glory of france. the virtue of the english heroes is the old teutonic virtue. the events of the battle are told plainly and clearly; nothing adventitious is brought in to disturb the effect of the plain story; the poetical value lies in the contrast between the grey landscape (which is barely indicated), the severe and restrained description of the fighters, on the one hand, and on the other the sublimity of the spirit expressed in the last words of the "old companion." in the narrative of events there are no extraneous beauties to break the overwhelming strength of the eloquence in which the meaning of the whole thing is concentrated. with roland at roncesvalles the case is different. he is not shown in the grey light of the essex battlefield. the background is more majestic. there is a mysterious half-lyrical refrain throughout the tale of the battle: "high are the mountains and dark the valleys" about the combatants in the pass; they are not left to themselves like the warriors of the poem of _maldon_. it is romance, rather than epic or tragedy, which in this way recognises the impersonal power of the scene; the strength of the hills under which the fight goes on. in the first part of the _odyssey_ the spell of the mystery of the sea is all about the story of odysseus; in the later and more dramatic part the hero loses this, and all the strength is concentrated in his own character. in the story of roland there is a vastness and vagueness throughout, coming partly from the numbers of the hosts engaged, partly from the author's sense of the mystery of the pyrenean valleys, and, in a very large measure, from the heavenly aid accorded to the champion of christendom. the earth trembles, there is darkness over all the realm of france even to the mount st. michael: c'est la dulur pur la mort de rollant. st. gabriel descends to take from the hand of roland the glove that he offers with his last confession; and the three great angels of the lord are there to carry his soul to paradise. there is nothing like this in the english poem. the battle is fought in the light of an ordinary day; there is nothing to greet the eyes of byrhtnoth and his men except the faces of their enemies. it is not hard to find in old english poetry descriptions less austere than that of _maldon_; there may be found in the french _chansons de geste_ great spaces in which there is little of the majestic light and darkness of roncesvalles. but it is hard to escape the conviction that the poem of _maldon_, late as it is, has uttered the spirit and essence of the northern heroic literature in its reserved and simple story, and its invincible profession of heroic faith; while the poem of roncesvalles is equally representative of the french epic spirit, and of the french poems in which the ideas common to every heroic age are expressed with all the circumstances of the feudal society of christendom, immediately before the intellectual and literary revolutions of the twelfth century. the french epics are full of omens of the coming victory of romance, though they have not yet given way. they still retain, in spite of their anticipations of the kingdom of the grail, an alliance in spirit with the older teutonic poetry, and with those icelandic histories that are the highest literary expression of the northern spirit in its independence of feudalism. the heroic age of the ancient germans may be said to culminate, and end, in iceland in the thirteenth century. the icelandic _sagas_--the prose histories of the fortunes of the great icelandic houses--are the last and also the finest expression and record of the spirit and the ideas belonging properly to the germanic race in its own right, and not derived from rome or christendom. those of the german nations who stayed longest at home had by several centuries the advantage of the goths and franks, and had time to complete their native education before going into foreign subjects. the english were less exposed to southern influences than the continental germans; the scandinavian nations less than the angles and saxons. in norway particularly, the common german ideas were developed in a way that produced a code of honour, a consciousness of duty, and a strength of will, such as had been unknown in the german nations who were earlier called upon to match themselves against rome. iceland was colonised by a picked lot of norwegians; by precisely those norwegians who had this strength of will in its highest degree. political progress in the middle ages was by way of monarchy; but strong monarchy was contrary to the traditions of germania, and in norway, a country of great extent and great difficulties of communication, the ambition of harold fairhair was resisted by numbers of chieftains who had their own local following and their own family dignity to maintain, in their firths and dales. those men found norway intolerable through the tyranny of king harold, and it was by them that iceland was colonised through the earlier colonies in the west--in scotland, in ireland, in shetland and the other islands. the ideas that took the northern colonists to iceland were the ideas of germania,--the love of an independent life, the ideal of the old-fashioned northern gentleman, who was accustomed to consideration and respect from the freemen, his neighbours, who had authority by his birth and fortune to look after the affairs of his countryside, who would not make himself the tenant, vassal, or steward of any king. in the new country these ideas were intensified and defined. the ideal of the icelandic commonwealth was something more than a vague motive, it was present to the minds of the first settlers in a clear and definite form. the most singular thing in the heroic age of iceland is that the heroes knew what they were about. the heroic age of iceland begins in a commonwealth founded by a social contract. the society that is established there is an association of individuals coming to an agreement with one another to invent a set of laws and observe them. thus while iceland on the one hand is a reactionary state, founded by men who were turning their backs on the only possible means of political progress, cutting themselves off from the world, and adhering obstinately to forms of life with no future before them, on the other hand this reactionary commonwealth, this fanatical representative of early germanic use and wont, is possessed of a clearness of self-consciousness, a hard and positive clearness of understanding, such as is to be found nowhere else in the middle ages and very rarely at all in any polity. the prose literature of iceland displays the same two contradictory characters throughout. the actions described, and the customs, are those of an early heroic age, with rather more than the common amount of enmity and vengeance, and an unequalled power of resistance and rebellion in the individual wills of the personages. the record of all this anarchy is a prose history, rational and unaffected, seeing all things in a dry light; a kind of literature that has not much to learn from any humanism or rationalism, in regard to its own proper subjects at any rate. the people of iceland were not cut off from the ordinary european learning and its commonplaces. they read the same books as were read in england or germany. they read st. gregory _de cura pastorali_, they read _ovidius epistolarum_, and all the other popular books of the middle ages. in time those books and the world to which they belonged were able to obtain a victory over the purity of the northern tradition and manners, but not until the northern tradition had exhausted itself, and the icelandic polity began to break up. the literature of the maturity of iceland just before the fall of the commonwealth is a literature belonging wholly and purely to iceland, in a style unmodified by latin syntax and derived from the colloquial idiom. the matter is the same in kind as the common matter of heroic poetry. the history represents the lives of adventurers, the rivalries and private wars of men who are not ignorant of right and honour, but who acknowledge little authority over them, and are given to choose their right and wrong for themselves, and abide the consequences. this common matter is presented in a form which may be judged on its own merits, and there is no need to ask concessions from any one in respect of the hard or unfavourable conditions under which this literature was produced. one at least of the icelandic sagas is one of the great prose works of the world--the story of njal and his sons. the most perfect heroic literature of the northern nations is to be found in the country where the heroic polity and society had most room and leisure; and in iceland the heroic ideals of life had conditions more favourable than are to be discovered anywhere else in history. iceland was a world divided from the rest, outside the orbit of all the states of europe; what went on there had little more than an ideal relation to the course of the great world; it had no influence on europe, it was kept separate as much as might be from the european storms and revolutions. what went on in iceland was the progress in seclusion of the old germanic life--a life that in the rest of the world had been blended and immersed in other floods and currents. iceland had no need of the great movements of european history. they had a humanism of their own, a rationalism of their own, gained quite apart from the great european tumults, and gained prematurely, in comparison with the rest of europe. without the labour of the middle ages, without the storm and stress of the reform of learning, they had the faculty of seeing things clearly and judging their values reasonably, without superstition. they had to pay the penalty of their opposition to the forces of the world; there was no cohesion in their society, and when once the balance of power in the island was disturbed, the commonwealth broke up. but before that, they accomplished what had been ineffectually tried by the poet of _beowulf_, the poet of _roland_; they found an adequate form of heroic narrative. also in their use of this instrument they were led at last to a kind of work that has been made nowhere else in the world, for nowhere else does the form of heroic narrative come to be adapted to contemporary events, as it was in iceland, by historians who were themselves partakers in the actions they described. epic, if the sagas are epic, here coincides with autobiography. in the _sturlunga saga_, written by sturla, snorri's nephew, the methods of heroic literature are applied by an eye-witness to the events of his own time, and there is no discrepancy or incongruity between form and matter. the age itself takes voice and speaks in it; there is no interval between actors and author. this work is the end of the heroic age, both in politics and in literature. after the loss of icelandic freedom there is no more left of germania, and the _sturlunga saga_ which tells the story of the last days of freedom is the last word of the teutonic heroic age. it is not a decrepit or imitative or secondary thing; it is a masterpiece; and with this true history, this adaptation of an heroic style to contemporary realities, the sequence of german heroic tradition comes to an end. chapter ii the teutonic epic i the tragic conception of the heroic poetry in the teutonic alliterative verse, the history must be largely conjectural. the early stages of it are known merely through casual references like those of tacitus. we know that to the mind of the emperor julian, the songs of the germans resembled the croaking of noisy birds; but this criticism is not satisfactory, though it is interesting. the heroes of the old time before ermanaric and attila were not without their poets, but of what sort the poems were in which their praises were sung, we can only vaguely guess. even of the poems that actually remain it is difficult to ascertain the history and the conditions of their production. the variety of styles discoverable in the extant documents is enough to prevent the easy conclusion that the german poetry of the first century was already a fixed type, repeated by successive generations of poets down to the extinction of alliterative verse as a living form. after the sixth century things become a little clearer, and it is possible to speak with more certainty. one thing at any rate of the highest importance may be regarded as beyond a doubt. the passages in which jordanes tells of suanihilda trampled to death by the horses of ermanaric, and of the vengeance taken by her brothers sarus and ammius, are enough to prove that the subjects of heroic poetry had already in the sixth century, if not earlier, formed themselves compactly in the imagination. if jordanes knew a gothic poem on ermanaric and the brothers of suanihilda, that was doubtless very different from the northern poem of sorli and hamther, which is a later version of the same story. but even if the existence of a gothic ballad of swanhild were doubted,--and the balance of probabilities is against the doubter,--it follows indisputably from the evidence that in the time of jordanes people were accustomed to select and dwell upon dramatic incidents in what was accepted as history; the appreciation of tragedy was there, the talent to understand a tragic situation, to shape a tragic plot, to bring out the essential matter in relief and get rid of irrelevant particulars. in this respect at any rate, and it is one of the most important, there is continuity in the ancient poetry, onward from this early date. the stories of alboin in the lombard history of paulus diaconus, the meaning of which for the history of poetry is explained so admirably in the introduction to _corpus poeticum boreale_, by dr. vigfusson and mr. york powell, are further and more vivid illustrations of the same thing. in the story of the youth of alboin, and the story of his death, there is matter of the same amount as would suffice for one of the short epics of the kind we know,--a poem of the same length as the northern lay of the death of ermanaric, of the same compass as _waltharius_,--or, to take another standard of measurement, matter for a single tragedy with the unities preserved. further, there is in both of them exactly that resolute comprehension and exposition of tragic meaning which is the virtue of the short epics. the tragic contradiction in them could not be outdone by victor hugo. it is no wonder that the story of rosamond and albovine king of the lombards became a favourite with dramatists of different schools, from the first essays of the modern drama in the _rosmunda_ of rucellai, passing by the common way of the novels of bandello to the elizabethan stage. the earlier story of alboin's youth, if less valuable for emphatic tragedy, being without the baleful figure of a rosamond or a clytemnestra, is even more perfect as an example of tragic complication. here again is the old sorrow of priam; the slayer of the son face to face with the slain man's father, and not in enmity. in beauty of original conception the story is not finer than that of priam and achilles; and it is impossible to compare the stories in any other respect than that of the abstract plot. but in one quality of the plot the lombard drama excels or exceeds the story of the last book of the _iliad_. the contradiction is strained with a greater tension; the point of honour is more nearly absolute. this does not make it a better story, but it proves that the man who told the story could understand the requirements of a tragic plot, could imagine clearly a strong dramatic situation, could refrain from wasting or obliterating the outline of a great story. the lombards and the gepidae were at war. alboin, son of the lombard king audoin, and thurismund, son of the gepid king thurisvend, met in battle, and alboin killed thurismund. after the battle, the lombards asked king audoin to knight his son. but audoin answered that he would not break the lombard custom, according to which it was necessary for the young man to receive arms first from the king of some other people. alboin when he heard this set out with forty of the lombards, and went to thurisvend, whose son he had killed, to ask this honour from him. thurisvend welcomed him, and set him down at his right hand in the place where his son used to sit. then follows the critical point of the action. the contradiction is extreme; the reconciliation also, the solution of the case, is perfect. things are stretched to the breaking-point before the release comes; nothing is spared that can possibly aggravate the hatred between the two sides, which is kept from breaking out purely by the honour of the king. the man from whom an infinite debt of vengeance is owing, comes of his own will to throw himself on the generosity of his adversary. this, to begin with, is hardly fair to simple-minded people like the gepid warriors; they may fairly think that their king is going too far in his reading of the law of honour: and it came to pass while the servants were serving at the tables, that thurisvend, remembering how his son had been lately slain, and calling to mind his death, and beholding his slayer there beside him in his very seat, began to draw deep sighs, for he could not withhold himself any longer, and at last his grief burst forth in words. "very pleasant to me," quoth he, "is the seat, but sad enough it is to see him that is sitting therein."[ ] [footnote : _c.p.b._, introduction, p. lii.] by his confession of his thoughts the king gives an opening to those who are waiting for it, and it is taken at once. insult and rejoinder break out, and it is within a hair's breadth of the irretrievable plunge that the king speaks his mind. he is lord in that house, and his voice allays the tumult; he takes the weapons of his son thurismund, and gives them to alboin and sends him back in peace and safety to his father's kingdom. it is a great story, even in a prose abstract, and the strength of its tragic problem is invincible. it is with strength like that, with a knowledge not too elaborate or minute, but sound and clear, of some of the possibilities of mental conflict and tragic contradiction, that heroic poetry first reveals itself among the germans. it is this that gives strength to the story of the combat between hildebrand and his son, of the flight of walter and hildegund, of the death of brynhild, of attila and gudrun. some of the heroic poems and plots are more simple than these. the battle of maldon is a fair fight without any such distressful circumstances as in the case of hildebrand or of walter of aquitaine. the adventures of beowulf are simple, also; there is suspense when he waits the attack of the monster, but there is nothing of the deadly crossing of passions that there is in other stories. even in _maldon_, however, there is the tragic error; the fall and defeat of the english is brought about by the over-confidence and over-generosity of byrhtnoth, in allowing the enemy to come to close quarters. in _beowulf_, though the adventures of the hero are simple, other less simple stories are referred to by the way. one of these is a counterpart to the story of the youth of alboin and the magnanimity of thurisvend. one of the most famous of all the old subjects of heroic poetry was the vengeance of ingeld for the death of his father, king froda. the form of this story in _beowulf_ agrees with that of saxo grammaticus in preserving the same kind of opposition as in the story of alboin, only in this case there is a different solution. here a deadly feud has been put to rest by a marriage, and the daughter of froda's slayer is married to froda's son. but as in the lombard history and in so many of the stories of iceland, this reconciliation is felt to be intolerable and spurious; the need of vengeance is real, and it finds a spokesman in an old warrior, who cannot forget his dead lord, nor endure the sight of the new bride's kinsmen going free and wearing the spoils of their victory. so ingeld has to choose between his wife, wedded to him out of his enemy's house, and his father, whom that enemy has killed. and so everywhere in the remains, not too voluminous, of the literature of the heroic age, one encounters this sort of tragic scheme. one of those ancient plots, abstracted and written out fair by saxo, is the plot of _hamlet_. there is not one of the old northern heroic poems, as distinct from the didactic and mythological pieces, that is without this tragic contradiction; sometimes expressed with the extreme of severity, as in the lay of the death of ermanaric; sometimes with lyrical effusiveness, as in the lament of gudrun; sometimes with a mystery upon it from the under-world and the kingdom of the dead, as in the poems of helgi, and of the daughter of angantyr. the poem of the death of ermanaric is a version of the story told by jordanes, which since his time had come to be attached to the cycle of the niblungs. swanhild, the daughter of sigurd and gudrun, was wedded to ermanaric, king of the goths. the king's counsellor wrought on his mind with calumnies against the queen, and he ordered her to be trampled to death under horses' feet, and so she died, though the horses were afraid of the brightness of her eyes and held back until her eyes were covered. gudrun stirred up her sons, sorli and hamther, to go and avenge their sister. as they set out, they quarrelled with their base-born brother erp, and killed him,--the tragic error in this history, for it was the want of a third man that ruined them, and erp would have helped them if they had let him. in the hall of the goths they defy their enemy and hew down his men; no iron will bite in their armour; they cut off the hands and feet of ermanaric. then, as happens so often in old stories, they go too far, and a last insult alters the balance against them, as odysseus alters it at the leave-taking with polyphemus. the last gibe at ermanaric stirs him as he lies, and he calls on the remnant of the goths to stone the men that neither sword nor spear nor arrow will bring down. and that was the end of them. "we have fought a good fight; we stand on slain goths that have had their fill of war. we have gotten a good report, though we die to-day or to-morrow. no man can live over the evening, when the word of the fates has gone forth." there fell sorli at the gable of the hall, and hamther was brought low at the end of the house. among the norse poems it is this one, the _hamðismál_, that comes nearest to the severity of the english _maldon_ poem. it is wilder and more cruel, but the end attains to simplicity. the gap in _codex regius_, the "elder" or "poetic edda," has destroyed the poems midway between the beginning and end of the tragedy of sigfred and brynhild, and among them the poem of their last meeting. there is nothing but the prose paraphrase to tell what that was, but the poor substitute brings out all the more clearly the strength of the original conception, the tragic problem. after the gap in the manuscript there are various poems of brynhild and gudrun, in which different views of the story are taken, and in all of them the tragic contradiction is extreme: in brynhild's vengeance on sigurd, in gudrun's lament for her husband slain by her brothers, and in the later fortunes of gudrun. in some of these poems the tragedy becomes lyrical, and two kinds of imagination, epic and elegiac, are found in harmony. the story of helgi and sigrun displays this rivalry of moods--a tragic story, carried beyond the tragic stress into the mournful quiet of the shadows. helgi is called upon by sigrun to help her against hodbrodd, and save her from a hateful marriage. helgi kills hodbrodd, and wins sigrun; but he has also killed sigrun's father hogni and her elder brother. the younger brother dag takes an oath to put away enmity, but breaks his oath and kills helgi. it is a story like all the others in which there is a conflict of duties, between friendship and the duty of vengeance, a plot of the same kind as that of froda and ingeld. sigrun's brother is tried in the same way as ingeld in the story told by saxo and mentioned in _beowulf_. but it does not end with the death of helgi. sigrun looks for helgi to come back in the hour of the "assembly of dreams," and helgi comes and calls her, and she follows him:-- "thy hair is thick with rime, thou art wet with the dew of death, thy hands are cold and dank." "it is thine own doing, sigrun from sevafell, that helgi is drenched with deadly dew; thou weepest cruel tears, thou gold-dight, sunbright lady of the south, before thou goest to sleep; every one of them falls with blood, wet and chill, upon my breast. yet precious are the draughts that are poured for us, though we have lost both love and land, and no man shall sing a song of lamentation though he see the wounds on my breast, for kings' daughters have come among the dead." "i have made thee a bed, helgi, a painless bed, thou son of the wolfings. i shall sleep in thine arms, o king, as i should if thou wert alive." this is something different from epic or tragedy, but it does not interfere with the tragedy of which it is the end. the poem of the _waking of angantyr_ is so filled with mystery and terror that it is hard to find in it anything else. after the _volospá_ it is the most wonderful of all the northern poems. hervor, daughter of angantyr, is left alone to avenge her father and her eleven brothers, killed by arrow odd before her birth. in her father's grave is the sword of the dwarfs that never is drawn in vain, and she comes to his grave to find it. the island where he lies is full of death-fires, and the dead are astir, but hervor goes on. she calls on her father and her brothers to help her: "awake, angantyr! it is hervor that bids thee awake. give me the sword of the dwarfs! hervard! hiorvard! rani! angantyr! i bid you all awake!" her father answers from the grave; he will not give up the sword, for the forgers of it when it was taken from them put a curse on those who wear it. but hervor will not leave him until he has yielded to her prayers, and at last she receives the sword from her father's hands.[ ] [footnote : this poem has been followed by m. leconte de lisle in _l'Épée d'angantyr (poèmes barbares)_. it was among the first of the northern poems to be translated into english, in hickes's _thesaurus_ ( ), i. p. . it is also included in percy's _five pieces of runic poetry_ ( ).] although the poem of hervor lies in this way "between the worlds" of life and death,--the phrase is hervor's own,--although the action is so strange and so strangely encompassed with unearthly fire and darkness, its root is not set in the dim borderland where the dialogue is carried on. the root is tragic, and not fantastic, nor is there any excess, nor anything strained beyond the limit of tragedy, in the passion of hervor. definite imagination of a tragic plot, and sure comprehension of the value of dramatic problems, are not enough in themselves to make a perfect poem. they may go along with various degrees of imperfection in particular respects; faults of diction, either tenuity or extravagance of phrasing may accompany this central imaginative power. strength of plot is partly independent of style; it bears translation, it can be explained, it is something that can be abstracted from the body of a poem and still make itself impressive. the dramatic value of the story of the death of alboin is recognisable even when it is stated in the most general terms, as a mere formula; the story of _waltharius_ retains its life, even in the latin hexameters; the plot of _hamlet_ is interesting, even in saxo; the story of the niblungs, even in the mechanical prose paraphrase. this gift of shaping a plot and letting it explain itself without encumbrances is not to be mistaken for the whole secret of the highest kind of poetry. but, if not the whole, it is the spring of the whole. all the other gifts may be there, but without this, though all but the highest kind of epic or tragic art may be attainable, the very highest will not be attained. aristotle may be referred to again. as he found it convenient in his description of epic to insist on its dramatic nature, in his description of tragedy it pleased him to lay emphasis on that part of the work which is common to tragedy and epic--the story, the plot. it may be remarked how well the barbarous poetry conforms to the pattern laid down in aristotle's description. the old german epic, in _hildebrand_, _waldere_, _finnesburh_, _byrhtnoth_, besides all the northern lays of sigurd, brynhild, and gudrun, is dramatic in its method, letting the persons speak for themselves as much as may be. so far it complies with aristotle's delineation of epic. and further, all this dramatic bent may be seen clearly to have its origin in the mere story,--in the dramatic situation, in fables that might be acted by puppets or in a dumb show, and yet be tragical. no analytic or psychological interest in varieties of character--in [greek: êthê]--could have uttered the passion of brynhild or of gudrun. aristotle knew that psychological analysis and moral rhetoric were not the authors of clytemnestra or oedipus. the barbarian poets are on a much lower and more archaic level than the poets with whom aristotle is concerned, but here, where comparison is not meaningless nor valueless, their imaginations are seen to work in the same sound and productive way as the minds of aeschylus or sophocles, letting the seed--the story in its abstract form, the mere plot--develop itself and spring naturally into the fuller presentation of the characters that are implied in it. it is another kind of art that studies character in detail, one by one, and then sets them playing at chance medley, and trusts to luck that the result will be entertaining. that aristotle is confirmed by these barbarian auxiliaries is of no great importance to aristotle, but it is worth arguing that the barbarous german imagination at an earlier stage, relatively, than the homeric, is found already possessed of something like the sanity of judgment, the discrimination of essentials from accidents, which is commonly indicated by the term classical. compared with homer these german songs are prentice work; but they are begun in the right way, and therefore to compare them with a masterpiece in which the same way is carried out to its end is not unjustifiable. ii scale of the poems the following are the extant poems on native heroic themes, written in one or other of the dialects of the teutonic group, and in unrhymed alliterative measures. ( ) _continental._--the _lay of hildebrand_ (_c._ a.d. ), a low german poem, copied by high german clerks, is the only remnant of the heroic poetry of the continental germans in which, together with the national metre, there is a national theme. ( ) _english._--the poems of this order in old english are _beowulf_, _finnesburh_, _waldere_, and _byrhtnoth_, or the _lay of maldon_. besides these there are poems on historical themes preserved in the chronicle, of which _brunanburh_ is the most important, and two dramatic lyrics, _widsith_ and _deor_, in which there are many allusions to the mythical and heroic cycles. ( ) _scandinavian and icelandic._--the largest number of heroic poems in alliterative verse is found in the old northern language, and in manuscripts written in iceland. the poems themselves may have come from other places in which the old language of norway was spoken, some of them perhaps from norway itself, many of them probably from those islands round britain to which a multitude of norwegian settlers were attracted,--shetland, the orkneys, the western islands of scotland.[ ] [footnote : cf. g. vigfusson, prolegomena to _sturlunga_ (oxford, ); (_corpus poeticum boreale_ (_ibid._ ); _grimm centenary papers_ ); sophus bugge, _helgedigtene_ ( ; trans. schofield, ).] the principal collection is that of the manuscript in the king's library at copenhagen ( , 'o) generally referred to as _codex regius_ (r); it is this book, discovered in the seventeenth century, that has received the inaccurate but convenient names of _elder edda_, or _poetic edda_, or _edda of sæmund the wise_, by a series of miscalculations fully described in the preface to the _corpus poeticum boreale_. properly, the name _edda_ belongs only to the prose treatise by snorri sturluson. the chief contents of _codex regius_ are a series of independent poems on the volsung story, beginning with the tragedies of _helgi and swava_ and _helgi and sigrun_ (originally unconnected with the volsung legend), and going on in the order of events. the series is broken by a gap in which the poems dealing with some of the most important parts of the story have been lost. the matter of their contents is known from the prose paraphrase called _volsunga saga_. before the volsung series comes a number of poems chiefly mythological: the _sibyl's prophecy_, (volospá); _the wooing of frey_, or the _errand of skirnir_; the _flyting of thor and woden_ (harbarzlióð); _thor's fishing for the midgarth serpent_ (hymiskviða); the _railing of loki_ (lokasenna); the _winning of thor's hammer_ (Þrymskviða); the _lay of weland_. there are also some didactic poems, chief among them being the gnomic miscellany under the title _hávamál_; while besides this there are others, like _vafþrúðnismál_, treating of mythical subjects in a more or less didactic and mechanical way. there are a number of prose passages introducing or linking the poems. the confusion in some parts of the book is great. _codex regius_ is not the only source; other mythic and heroic poems are found in other manuscripts. the famous poem of the _doom of balder_ (gray's "descent of odin"); the poem of the _rescue of menglad_, the enchanted princess; the verses preserved in the _heiðreks saga_, belonging to the story of angantyr; besides the poem of the _magic mill_ (grottasöngr) and the _song of the dart_ (gray's "fatal sisters"). there are many fragmentary verses, among them some from the _biarkamál_, a poem with some curious points of likeness to the english _lay of finnesburh_. a swedish inscription has preserved four verses of an old poem on theodoric. thus there is some variety in the original documents now extant out of the host of poems that have been lost. one conclusion at least is irresistible--that, in guessing at the amount of epic poetry of this order which has been lost, one is justified in making a liberal estimate. fragments are all that we possess. the extant poems have escaped the deadliest risks; the fire at copenhagen in , the bombardment in , the fire in the cotton library in , in which _beowulf_ was scorched but not burned. the manuscripts of _finnesburh_ and _maldon_ have been mislaid; but for the transcripts taken in time by hickes and hearne they would have been as little known as the songs that the sirens sang. the poor remnants of _waldere_ were found by stephens in two scraps of bookbinders' parchment. when it is seen what hazards have been escaped by those bits of wreckage, and at the same time how distinct in character the several poems are, it is plain that one may use some freedom in thinking of the amount of this old poetry that has perished. the loss is partly made good in different ways: in the latin of the historians, jordanes, paulus diaconus, and most of all in the paraphrases, prose and verse, by saxo grammaticus; in ekkehard's latin poem of _waltharius_ (_c._ a.d. ); in the _volsunga saga_, which has kept the matter of the lost poems of _codex regius_ and something of their spirit; in the _thidreks saga_, a prose story made up by a norwegian in the thirteenth century from current north german ballads of the niblungs; in the german poems of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, which, in a later form of the language and in rhyming verse, have preserved at any rate some matters of tradition, some plots of stories, if little of the peculiar manner and imagination of the older poetry. the casual references to teutonic heroic subjects in a vast number of authors have been brought together in a monumental work, _die deutsche heldensage_, by wilhelm grimm ( ). the western group _hildebrand_, _finnesburh_, _waldere_, _beowulf_, _byrhtnoth_ the western group of poems includes all those that are not scandinavian; there is only one among them which is not english, the poem of _hildebrand_. they do not afford any very copious material for inferences as to the whole course and progress of poetry in the regions to which they belong. a comparison of the fragmentary _hildebrand_ with the fragments of _waldere_ shows a remarkable difference in compass and fulness; but, at the same time, the vocabulary and phrases of _hildebrand_ declare that poem unmistakably to belong to the same family as the more elaborate _waldere_. _finnesburh_, the fragmentary poem of the lost lambeth ms., seems almost as far removed as _hildebrand_ from the more expansive and leisurely method of _waldere_; while _waldere_, _beowulf_, and the poem of _maldon_ resemble one another in their greater ease and fluency, as compared with the brevity and abruptness of _hildebrand_ or _finnesburh_. the documents, as far as they go, bear out the view that in the western german tongues, or at any rate in england, there was a development of heroic poetry tending to a greater amplitude of narration. this progress falls a long way short of the fulness of homer, not to speak of the extreme diffuseness of some of the french _chansons de geste_. it is such, however, as to distinguish the english poems, _waldere_, _beowulf_, and _byrhtnoth_, very obviously from the poem of _hildebrand_. while, at the same time, the brevity of _hildebrand_ is not like the brevity of the northern poems. _hildebrand_ is a poem capable of expansion. it is easy enough to see in what manner its outlines might be filled up and brought into the proportions of _waldere_ or _beowulf_. in the northern poems, on the other hand, there is a lyrical conciseness, and a broken emphatic manner of exposition, which from first to last prevented any such increase of volume as seems to have taken place in the old english poetry; though there are some poems, the _atlamál_ particularly, which indicate that some of the northern poets wished to go to work on a larger scale than was generally allowed them by their traditions. in the northern group there is a great variety in respect of the amount of incident that goes to a single poem; some poems deal with a single adventure, while others give an abstract of a whole heroic history. in the western poems this variety is not to be found. there is a difference in this respect between _hildebrand_ and _waldere_, and still more, at least on the surface, between _hildebrand_ and _beowulf_; but nothing like the difference between the _lay of the hammer_ (Þrymskviða), which is an episode of thor, and the _lay of weland_ or the _lay of brynhild_, which give in a summary way a whole history from beginning to end. _hildebrand_ tells of the encounter of father and son, hildebrand and hadubrand, with a few references to the past of hildebrand and his relations to odoacer and theodoric. it is one adventure, a tragedy in one scene. _finnesburh_, being incomplete at the beginning and end, is not good evidence. what remains of it presents a single adventure, the fight in the hall between danes and frisians. there is another version of the story of _finnesburh_, which, as reported in _beowulf_ (ll. - ) gives a good deal more of the story than is given in the separate _finnesburh lay_. this episode in _beowulf_, where a poem of _finnesburh_ is chanted by the danish minstrel, is not to be taken as contributing another independent poem to the scanty stock; the minstrel's story is reported, not quoted at full length. it has been reduced by the poet of _beowulf_, so as not to take up too large a place of its own in the composition. such as it is, it may very well count as direct evidence of the way in which epic poems were produced and set before an audience; and it may prove that it was possible for an old english epic to deal with almost the whole of a tragic history in one sitting. in this case the tragedy is far less complex than the tale of the niblungs, whatever interpretation may be given to the obscure allusions in which it is preserved. finn, son of folcwalda, king of the frisians, entertained hnæf the dane, along with the danish warriors, in the castle of finnesburh. there, for reasons of his own, he attacked the danes; who kept the hall against him, losing their own leader hnæf, but making a great slaughter of the frisians. the _beowulf_ episode takes up the story at this point. hnæf was slain in the place of blood. his sister hildeburg, finn's wife, had to mourn for brother and son. hengest succeeded hnæf in command of the danes and still kept the hall against the frisians. finn was compelled to make terms with the danes. hengest and his men were to live among the frisians with a place of their own, and share alike with finn's household in all the gifts of the king. finn bound himself by an oath that hengest and his men should be free of blame and reproach, and that he would hold any frisian guilty who should cast it up against the danes that they had followed their lord's slayer.[ ] then, after the oaths, was held the funeral of the danish and the frisian prince, brother and son of hildeburg the queen. [footnote : compare _cynewulf and cyneheard_ in the chronicle (a.d. ); also the outbreak of enmity, through recollection of old wrongs, in the stories of alboin, and of the vengeance for froda (_supra_, pp. - ).] then they went home to friesland, where hengest stayed with finn through the winter. with the spring he set out, meaning vengeance; but he dissembled and rendered homage, and accepted the sword the lord gives his liegeman. death came upon finn in his house; for the danes came back and slew him, and the hall was made red with the frisian blood. the danes took hildeburg and the treasure of finn and carried the queen and the treasure to denmark. the whole story, with the exception of the original grievance or grudge of the frisian king, which is not explained, and the first battle, which is taken as understood, is given in _beowulf_ as the contents of one poem, delivered in one evening by a harper. it is more complicated than the story of _hildebrand_, more even than _waldere_; and more than either of the two chief sections of _beowulf_ taken singly--"beowulf in denmark" and the "fight with the dragon." it is far less than the plot of the long _lay of brynhild_, in which the whole niblung history is contained. in its distribution of the action, it corresponds very closely to the story of the death of the niblungs as given by the _atlakviða_ and the _atlamál_. the discrepancies between these latter poems need not be taken into account here. in each of them and in the _finnesburh_ story there is a double climax; first the wrong, then the vengeance. _finnesburh_ might also be compared, as far as the arrangement goes, with the _song of roland_; the first part gives the treacherous attack and the death of the hero; then comes a pause between the two centres of interest, followed in the second part by expiation of the wrong. the story of _finnesburh_ is obscure in many respects; the tradition of it has failed to preserve the motive for finn's attack on his wife's brother, without which the story loses half its value. something remains, nevertheless, and it is possible to recognise in this episode a greater regard for unity and symmetry of narrative than is to be found in _beowulf_ taken as a whole. the lambeth poem of _finnesburh_ most probably confined itself to the battle in the hall. there is no absolute proof of this, apart from the intensity of its tone, in the extant fragment, which would agree best with a short story limited, like _hildebrand_, to one adventure. it has all the appearance of a short lay, a single episode. such a poem might end with the truce of finn and hengest, and an anticipation of the danes' vengeance: it is marvel an the red blood run not, as the rain does in the street. yet the stress of this adventure is not greater than that of roland, which does not end at roncesvalles; it may be that the _finnesburh_ poem went on to some of the later events, as told in the _finnesburh_ abridgment in _beowulf_. the story of walter of aquitaine as represented by the two fragments of old english verse is not greatly inconsistent with the same story in its latin form of _waltharius_. the latin verses of _waltharius_ tell the story of the flight of walter and hildegund from the house of attila, and of the treacherous attack on walter by gunther, king of the franks, against the advice, but with the unwilling consent, of hagen, his liegeman and walter's friend. hagen, hildegund, and walter were hostages with attila from the franks, burgundians, and aquitanians. they grew up together at the court of attila till gunther, son of gibicho, became king of the franks and refused tribute to the huns. then hagen escaped and went home. walter and hildegund were lovers, and they, too, thought of flight, and escaped into the forests, westward, with a great load of treasure, and some fowling and fishing gear for the journey. after they had crossed the rhine, they were discovered by hagen; and gunther, with twelve of the franks, went after them to take the hunnish treasure: hagen followed reluctantly. the pursuers came up with walter as he was asleep in a hold among the hills, a narrow green place with overhanging cliffs all round, and a narrow path leading up to it. hildegund awakened walter, and he went and looked down at his adversaries. walter offered terms, through the mediation of hagen, but gunther would have none of them, and the fight began. the latin poem describes with great spirit how one after another the franks went up against walter: camelo (ll. - ), scaramundus ( - ), werinhardus the bowman ( - ), ekevrid the saxon ( - ), who went out jeering at walter; hadavartus ( - ), patavrid ( - ), hagen's sister's son, whose story is embellished with a diatribe on avarice; gerwicus ( - ), fighting to avenge his companions and restore their honour-- is furit ut caesos mundet vindicta sodales; but he, too, fell-- exitiumque dolens, pulsabat calcibus arvum. then there was a breathing-space, before randolf, the eighth of them, made trial of walter's defence ( - ). after him came eleuther, whose other name was helmnod, with a harpoon and a line, and the line was held by trogus, tanastus, and the king; hagen still keeping aloof, though he had seen his nephew killed. the harpoon failed; three frankish warriors were added to the slain; the king and hagen were left (l. ). gunther tried to draw hagen into the fight. hagen refused at first, but gave way at last, on account of the slaying of his nephew. he advised a retreat for the night, and an attack on walter when he should have left the fastness. and so the day ended. walter and hildegund took turns to watch, hildegund singing to awaken walter when his turn came. they left their hold in the morning; but they had not gone a mile when hildegund, looking behind, saw two men coming down a hill after them. these were gunther and hagen, and they had come for walter's life. walter sent hildegund with the horse and its burden into the wood for safety, while he took his stand on rising ground. gunther jeered at him as he came up; walter made no answer to him, but reproached hagen, his old friend. hagen defended himself by reason of the vengeance due for his nephew; and so they fought, with more words of scorn. hagen lost his eye, and gunther his leg, and walter's right hand was cut off by hagen; and "this was their sharing of the rings of attila!"-- sic, sic, armillas partiti sunt avarenses (l. ). walter and hildegund were king and queen of aquitaine, but of his later wars and victories the tale has no more to tell. of the two old english fragments of this story the first contains part of a speech of hildegund[ ] encouraging walter. [footnote : hildegyth, her english name, is unfortunately not preserved in either of the fragmentary leaves. it is found (hildigið) in the _liber vitae_ (sweet, _oldest english texts_, p. ).] its place appears to be in the pause of the fight, when the frankish champions have been killed, and gunther and hagen are alone. the speech is rhetorical: "thou hast the sword mimming, the work of weland, that fails not them that wield it. be of good courage, captain of attila; never didst thou draw back to thy hold for all the strokes of the foeman; nay, my heart was afraid because of thy rashness. thou shalt break the boast of gunther; he came on without a cause, he refused the offered gifts; he shall return home empty-handed, if he return at all." that is the purport of it. the second fragment is a debate between gunther and walter. it begins with the close of a speech of gunther (guðhere) in which there are allusions to other parts of the heroic cycle, such as are common in _beowulf_. the allusion here is to one of the adventures of widia, weland's son; how he delivered theodoric from captivity, and of theodoric's gratitude. the connexion is obscure, but the reference is of great value as proving the resemblance of narrative method in _waldere_ and _beowulf_, not to speak of the likeness to the homeric way of quoting old stories. waldere answers, and this is the substance of his argument: "lo, now, lord of the burgundians, it was thy thought that hagena's hand should end my fighting. come then and win my corselet, my father's heirloom, from the shoulders weary of war."[ ] [footnote : the resemblance to hildebrand, l. , is pointed out by sophus bugge: "doh maht du nu aodlihho, ibu dir din ellen taoc, in sus heremo man hrusti giwinnan." (hildebrand speaks): "easily now mayest thou win the spoils of so old a man, if thy strength avail thee." it is remarkable as evidence of the strong conventional character of the teutonic poetry, and of the community of the different nations in the poetical convention, that two short passages like _hildebrand_ and _waldere_ should present so many points of likeness to other poems, in details of style. thus the two lines quoted from _hildebrand_ as a parallel to _waldere_ contain also the equivalent of the anglo-saxon phrase, _Þonne his ellen deah_, a familiar part of the teutonic _gradus_.] the fragment closes with a pious utterance of submission to heaven, by which the poem is shown to be of the same order as _beowulf_ in this respect also, as well as others, that it is affected by a turn for edification, and cannot stand as anything like a pure example of the older kind of heroic poetry. the phrasing here is that of the anglo-saxon secondary poems; the common religious phrasing that came into vogue and supplemented the old heathen poetical catch-words. the style of _waldere_ makes it probable that the action of the story was not hurried unduly. if the author kept the same proportion throughout, his poem may have been almost as long as _waltharius_. it is probable that the fight among the rocks was described in detail; the _maldon_ poem may show how such a subject could be managed in old english verse, and how the matter of _waltharius_ may have been expressed in _waldere_. roughly speaking, there is about as much fighting in the three hundred and twenty-five lines of _maldon_ as in double the number of hexameters in _waltharius_; but the _maldon_ poem is more concise than the extant fragments of _waldere_. _waldere_ may easily have taken up more than a thousand lines. the latin and the english poems are not in absolute agreement. the english poet knew that guðhere, guntharius, was burgundian, not frank; and an expression in the speech of hildegyth suggests that the fight in the narrow pass was not so exact a succession of single combats as in _waltharius_. the poem of _maldon_ is more nearly related in its style to _waldere_ and _beowulf_ than to the _finnesburh_ fragment. the story of the battle has considerable likeness to the story of the fight at finnesburh. the details, however, are given in a fuller and more capable way, at greater length. _beowulf_ has been commonly regarded as exceptional, on account of its length and complexity, among the remains of the old teutonic poetry. this view is hardly consistent with a right reading of _waldere_, or of _maldon_ either, for that matter. it is not easy to make any great distinction between _beowulf_ and _waldere_ in respect of the proportions of the story. the main action of _beowulf_ is comparable in extent with the action of _waltharius_. the later adventure of _beowulf_ has the character of a sequel, which extends the poem, to the detriment of its proportions, but without adding any new element of complexity to the epic form. almost all the points in which the manner of _beowulf_ differs from that of _finnesburh_ may be found in _waldere_ also, and are common to _waldere_ and _beowulf_ in distinction from _hildebrand_ and _finnesburh_. the two poems, the poem of _beowulf_ and the fragments of _waldere_, seem to be alike in the proportion they allow to dramatic argument, and in their manner of alluding to heroic matters outside of their own proper stories, not to speak of their affinities of ethical tone and sentiment. the time of the whole action of _beowulf_ is long. the poem, however, falls naturally into two main divisions--_beowulf in denmark_, and the _death of beowulf_. if it is permissible to consider these for the present as two separate stories, then it may be affirmed that in none of the stories preserved in the old poetic form of england and the german continent is there any great length or complexity. _hildebrand_, a combat; _finnesburh_, a defence of a house; _waldere_, a champion beset by his enemies; _beowulf in denmark_, the hero as a deliverer from pests; _beowulf's death_ in one action; _maldon_ the last battle of an english captain; these are the themes, and they are all simple. there is more complexity in the story of _finnesburh_, as reported in _beowulf_, than in all the rest; but even that story appears to have observed as much as possible the unity of action. the epic singer at the court of the dane appears to have begun, not with the narrative of the first contest, but immediately after that, assuming that part of the story as known, in order to concentrate attention on the vengeance, on the penalty exacted from finn the frisian for his treachery to his guests. some of the themes may have less in them than others, but there is no such variety of scale among them as will be found in the northern poems. there seems to be a general agreement of taste among the western german poets and audiences, english and saxon, as to the right compass of an heroic lay. when the subject was a foreign one, as in the _hêliand_, in the poems of _genesis_ and _exodus_, in _andreas_, or _elene_, there might be room for the complexity and variety of the foreign model. the poem of _judith_ may be considered as a happy instance in which the foreign document has of itself, by a pre-established harmony, conformed to an old german fashion. in the original story of _judith_ the unities are observed in the very degree that was suited to the ways of the anglo-saxon poetry. it is hazardous to speak generally of a body of poetry so imperfectly represented in extant literature, but it is at any rate permissible to say that the extant heroic poems, saved out of the wreck of the western teutonic poetry, show a strong regard for unity of action, in every case except that of _beowulf_; while in that case there are two stories--a story and a sequel--each observing a unity within its own limit. considered apart from the northern poems, the poems of england and germany give indication of a progress in style from a more archaic and repressed, to a more developed and more prolix kind of narrative. the difference is considerable between _hildebrand_ and _waldere_, between _finnesburh_ and _beowulf_. it is the change and development in style, rather than any increase in the complexity of the themes, that accounts for the difference in scale between the shorter and the longer poems. for the natural history of poetical forms this point is of the highest importance. the teutonic poetry shows that epic may be developed out of short lays through a gradual increase of ambition and of eloquence in the poets who deal with common themes. there is no question here of the process of agglutination and contamination whereby a number of short lays are supposed to be compounded into an epic poem. of that process it may be possible to find traces in _beowulf_ and elsewhere. but quite apart from that, there is the process by which an archaic stiff manner is replaced by greater freedom, without any loss of unity in the plot. the story of walter of aquitaine is as simple as the story of hildebrand. the difference between _hildebrand_ and _waldere_ is the difference between an archaic and an accomplished mode of narrative, and this difference is made by a change in spirit and imagination, not by a process of agglutination. to make the epic of _waldere_ it was not necessary to cobble together a number of older lays on separate episodes. it was possible to keep the original plan of the old story in its simplest irreducible form, and still give it the force and magnificence of a lofty and eloquent style. it was for the attainment of this pitch of style that the heroic poetry laboured in _waldere_ and _beowulf_, with at least enough success to make these poems distinct from the rest in this group. with all the differences among them, the continental and english poems, _hildebrand_, _waldere_, and the rest, form a group by themselves, with certain specific qualities of style distinguishing them from the scandinavian heroic poetry. the history of the scandinavian poetry is the converse of the english development. epic poetry in the north becomes more and more hopeless as time goes on, and with some exceptions tends further and further away from the original type which was common to all the germans, and from which those common forms and phrases have been derived that are found in the "poetic edda" as well as in _beowulf_ or the _hêliand_. in england before the old poetry died out altogether there was attained a certain magnitude and fulness of narrative by which the english poems are distinguished, and in virtue of which they may claim the title _epic_ in no transferred or distorted sense of the term. in the north a different course is taken. there seems indeed, in the _atlamál_ especially, a poem of exceptional compass and weight among those of the north, to have been something like the western desire for a larger scale of narrative poem. but the rhetorical expansion of the older forms into an equable and deliberate narrative was counteracted by the still stronger affection for lyrical modes of speech, for impassioned, abrupt, and heightened utterance. no epic solidity or composure could be obtained in the fiery northern verse; the poets could not bring themselves into the frame of mind required for long recitals; they had no patience for the intervals necessary, in epic as in dramatic poetry, between the critical moments. they would have everything equally full of energy, everything must be emphatic and telling. but with all this, the northern heroic poems are in some of their elements strongly allied to the more equable and duller poems of the west; there is a strong element of epic in their lyrical dialogues and monologues, and in their composition and arrangement of plots. the northern group in comparing the english and the northern poems, it should be borne in mind that the documents of the northern poetry are hardly sufficient evidence of the condition of northern epic at its best. the english documents are fragmentary, indeed, but at least they belong to a time in which the heroic poetry was attractive and well appreciated; as is proved by the wonderful freshness of the _maldon_ poem, late though it is. the northern poems seem to have lost their vogue and freshness before they came to be collected and written down. they were imperfectly remembered and reported; the text of them is broken and confused, and the gaps are made up with prose explanations. the fortunate preservation of a second copy of _volospá_, in hauk's book, has further multiplied labours and perplexities by a palpable demonstration of the vanity of copiers, and of the casual way in which the strophes of a poem might be shuffled at random in different texts; while the chief manuscript of the poems itself has in some cases double and incongruous versions of the same passage.[ ] [footnote : cf. _c.p.b._, i. p. , for double versions of part of _hamðismál_, and of the _lay of helgi_. on pp. - , parts of the two texts of _volospá_--r and h--are printed side by side for comparison.] the _codex regius_ contains a number of poems that can only be called _epic_ in the widest and loosest sense of the term, and some that are not _epic_ in any sense at all. the gnomic verses, the mythological summaries, may be passed over for the present; whatever illustrations they afford of early beliefs and ideas, they have no evidence to give concerning the proportions of stories. other poems in the collection come under the denomination of epic only by a rather liberal extension of the term to include poems which are no more epic than dramatic, and just as much the one as the other, like the poems of _frey's wooing_ and of the earlier exploits of sigurd, which tell their story altogether by means of dialogue, without any narrative passages at all. the links and explanations are supplied, in prose, in the manuscript. further, among the poems which come nearer to the english form of narrative poetry there is the very greatest variety of scale. the amount of story told in the northern poems may vary indefinitely within the widest limits. some poems contain little more than an idyll of a single scene; others may give an abstract of a whole history, as the whole volsung story is summarised, for instance, in the _prophecy of gripir_. some of the poems are found in such a confused and fragmentary form, with interruptions and interpolations, that, although it is possible to make out the story, it is hardly possible to give any confident judgment about the original proportions of the poems. this is particularly the case with the poems in which the hero bears the name of helgi. the difficulties of these were partly appreciated, but not solved, by the original editor. the differences of scale may be illustrated by the following summary description, which aims at little more than a rough measurement of the stories, for purposes of comparison with _beowulf_ and _waldere_. the _lay of weland_ gives a whole mythical history. how weland and his brother met with the swan-maidens, how the swan-brides left them in the ninth year, how weland smith was taken prisoner by king nidad, and hamstrung, and set to work for the king; and of the vengeance of weland. there are one hundred and fifty-nine lines, but in the text there are many defective places. the _lay_ is a ballad history, beginning at the beginning, and ending, not with the end of the life of weland, nor with the adventures of his son widia, but with the escape of weland from the king, his enemy, after he had killed the king's sons and put shame on the king's daughter bodvild. in plan, the _lay of weland_ is quite different from the lays of the adventures of thor, the _Þrymskviða_ and the _hymiskviða_, the songs of the hammer and the cauldron. these are chapters, episodes, in the history of thor, not summaries of the whole matter, such as is the poem of _weland_. the stories of helgi hundingsbane, and of his namesakes, as has been already remarked, are given in a more than usually complicated and tangled form. at first everything is simple enough. a poem of the life of helgi begins in a way that promises a mode of narrative fuller and less abrupt than the _lay of weland_. it tells of the birth of helgi, son of sigmund; of the coming of the norns to make fast the threads of his destiny; of the gladness and the good hopes with which his birth was welcomed. then the _lay of helgi_ tells, very briefly, how he slew king hunding, how the sons of hunding made claims for recompense. "but the prince would make no payment of amends; he bade them look for no payment, but for the strong storm, for the grey spears, and for the rage of odin."[ ] and the sons of hunding were slain as their father had been. [footnote : cf. _maldon_, l. _sq._, "hearest thou what this people answer? they will pay you, for tribute, spears, the deadly point, the old swords, the weapons of war that profit you not," etc.] then the main interest begins, the story of helgi and sigrun. "a light shone forth from the mountains of flame, and lightnings followed." there appeared to helgi, in the air, a company of armed maidens riding across the field of heaven; "their armour was stained with blood, and light went forth from their spears." sigrun from among the other "ladies of the south" answered helgi, and called on him for help; her father hogni had betrothed her, against her will, to hodbrodd, son of granmar. helgi summoned his men to save her from this loathed wedding. the battle in which helgi slew his enemies and won the lady of the air is told very shortly, while disproportionate length is given to an interlude of vituperative dialogue between two heroes, sinfiotli, helgi's brother, and gudmund, son of granmar, the warden of the enemy's coast; this passage of _vetus comoedia_ takes up fifty lines, while only six are given to the battle, and thirteen to the meeting of helgi and sigrun afterwards. here ends the poem which is described in _codex regius_ as the _lay of helgi_ (_helgakviða_). the story is continued in the next section in a disorderly way, by means of ill-connected quotations. the original editor, whether rightly or wrongly, is quite certain that the _lay of helgi_, which ends with the victory of helgi over the unamiable bridegroom, is a different poem from that which he proceeds to quote as the _old lay of the volsungs_, in which the same story is told. in this second version there is at least one interpolation from a third; a stanza from a poem in the "dialogue measure," which is not the measure in which the rest of the story is told. it is uncertain what application was meant to be given to the title _old lay of the volsungs_, and whether the editor included under that title the whole of his second version of helgi and sigrun. for instance, he gives another version of the railing verses of sinfiotli, which he may or may not have regarded as forming an essential part of his _old volsung lay_. he distinguishes it at any rate from the other "flyting," which he definitely and by name ascribes to _helgakviða_. it is in this second version of the story of helgi that the tragedy is worked out. helgi slays the father of sigrun in his battle against the bridegroom's kindred: sigrun's brother takes vengeance. the space is scant enough for all that is told in it; scant, that is to say, in comparison with the space of the story of beowulf; though whether the poem loses, as poetry, by this compression is another matter. it is here, in connexion with the second version, that the tragedy is followed by the verses of the grief of sigrun, and the return of helgi from the dead; the passage of mystery, the musical close, in which the tragic idea is changed into something less distinct than tragedy, yet without detriment to the main action. whatever may be the critical solution of the textual problems of these _lays_, it is impossible to get out of the text any form of narrative that shall resemble the english mode. even where the story of helgi is slowest, it is quicker, more abrupt, and more lyrical even than the _lay of finnesburh_, which is the quickest in movement of the english poems. the story of helgi and sigrun is intelligible, and though incomplete, not yet so maimed as to have lost its proportions altogether. along with it, however, in the manuscript there are other, even more difficult fragments of poems about another helgi, son of hiorvard, and his love for another valkyria, swava. and yet again there are traces of a third helgi, with a history of his own. the editors of _corpus poeticum boreale_ have accepted the view of the three helgis that is indicated by the prose passages of the manuscript here; namely, that the different stories are really of the same persons born anew, "to go through the same life-story, though with varying incidents."[ ] "helgi and swava, it is said, were born again," is the note in the manuscript. "there was a king named hogni, and his daughter was sigrun. she was a valkyria and rode over air and sea; _she was swava born again_." and, after the close of the story of sigrun, "it was a belief in the old days that men were born again, but that is now reckoned old wives' fables. helgi and sigrun, it is reported, were born anew, and then he was helgi haddingjaskati, and she kara, halfdan's daughter, as is told in the songs of kara, and she was a valkyria." [footnote : _c.p.b._, i. p. .] it is still possible to regard the "old wives' fable" (which is a common element in celtic legend and elsewhere) as something unessential in the poems of helgi; as a popular explanation intended to reconcile different myths attaching to the name. however that may be, the poems of _helgi and swava_ are so fragmentary and confused, and so much has to be eked out with prose, that it is impossible to say what the complete form and scale of the poetical story may have been, and even difficult to be certain that it was ever anything else than fragments. as they stand, the remains are like those of the story of angantyr; prominent passages quoted by a chronicler, who gives the less important part of the story in prose, either because he has forgotten the rest of the poem, or because the poem was made in that way to begin with. of the poem of _kara_, mentioned in the manuscript, there is nothing left except what can be restored by a conjectural transference of some verses, given under the name of helgi and sigrun, to this third mysterious plot. the conjectures are supported by the reference to the third story in the manuscript, and by the fact that certain passages which do not fit in well to the story of helgi and sigrun, where they are placed by the collector, correspond with prose passages in the late icelandic romance of _hromund greipsson_,[ ] in which kara is introduced. [footnote : _c.p.b._, introduction, p. lxxviii.] the story of helgi and swava is one that covers a large period of time, though the actual remnants of the story are small. it is a tragedy of the early elizabethan type described by sir philip sidney, which begins with the wooing of the hero's father and mother. the hero is dumb and nameless from his birth, until the valkyria, swava, meets him and gives him his name, helgi; and tells him of a magic sword in an island, that will bring him victory. the tragedy is brought about by a witch who drives hedin, the brother of helgi, to make a foolish boast, an oath on the boar's head (like the vows of the heron or the peacock, and the _gabs_ of the paladins of france) that he will wed his brother's bride. hedin confesses his vanity to helgi, and is forgiven, helgi saying, "who knows but the oath may be fulfilled? i am on my way to meet a challenge." helgi is wounded mortally, and sends a message to swava to come to him, and prays her after his death to take hedin for her lord. the poem ends with two short energetic speeches: of swava refusing to have any love but helgi's; and of hedin bidding farewell to swava as he goes to make amends, and avenge his brother. these fragments, though their evidence tells little regarding epic scale or proportions, are, at least, illustrations of the nature of the stories chosen for epic narrative. the character of hedin, his folly and magnanimity, is in strong contrast to that of dag, the brother of sigrun, who makes mischief in the other poem. the character of swava is a fainter repetition of sigrun. nothing very definite can be made out of any of the helgi poems with regard to the conventions of scale in narrative; except that the collector of the poems was himself in difficulties in this part of his work, and that he knew he had no complete poem to offer his readers, except perhaps the _helgakviða_. the poem named by the oxford editors "the long lay of brunhild" (i. p. ) is headed in the manuscript "qviða sigurþar," _lay of sigurd_, and referred to, in the prose gloss of _codex regius_, as "the short lay of sigurd."[ ] this is one of the most important of the northern heroic lays, in every respect; and, among other reasons, as an example of definite artistic calculation and study, a finished piece of work. it shows the difference between the northern and the western standards of epic measurement. the poem is one that gives the whole of the tragedy in no longer space than is used in the poem of _maldon_ for the adventures of a few hours of battle. there are lines, not all complete. [footnote : the "long lay of sigurd" has disappeared. cf. heusler, _die lieder der lücke im codex regius der edda_, .] there are many various modes of representation in the poem. the beginning tells the earlier story of sigurd and brynhild in twenty lines:-- it was in the days of old that sigurd, the young volsung, the slayer of fafni, came to the house of giuki. he took the troth-plight of two brothers; the doughty heroes gave oaths one to another. they offered him the maid gudrun, giuki's daughter, and store of treasure; they drank and took counsel together many a day, child sigurd and the sons of giuki; until they went to woo brynhild, and sigurd the volsung rode in their company; he was to win her if he could get her. the southern hero laid a naked sword, a falchion graven, between them twain; nor did the hunnish king ever kiss her, neither take her into his arms; he handed the young maiden over to giuki's son. she knew no guilt in her life, nor was any evil found in her when she died, no blame in deed or thought. the grim fates came between.[ ] [footnote : from _c.p.b._, i. pp. , , with some modifications.] "it was the fates that worked them ill." this sententious close of the prologue introduces the main story, chiefly dramatic in form, in which brynhild persuades gunnar to plan the death of sigurd, and gunnar persuades hogni. it is love for sigurd, and jealousy of gudrun, that form the motive of brynhild. gunnar's conduct is barely intelligible; there is no explanation of his compliance with brynhild, except the mere strength of her importunity. hogni is reluctant, and remembers the oaths sworn to sigurd. gothorm, their younger brother, is made their instrument,--he was "outside the oaths." the slaying of sigurd by gothorm, and sigurd's dying stroke that cuts his slayer in two, are told in the brief manner of the prologue to the poem; likewise the grief of gudrun. then comes sigurd's speech to gudrun before his death. the principal part of the poem, from line to the end, is filled by the storm in the mind of brynhild: her laughter at the grief of gudrun, her confession of her own sorrows, and her preparation for death; the expostulations of gunnar, the bitter speech of hogni,--"let no man stay her from her long journey"; the stroke of the sword with which brynhild gives herself the death-wound; her dying prophecy. in this last speech of brynhild, with all its vehemence, there is manifest care on the part of the author to bring out clearly his knowledge of the later fortunes of gudrun and gunnar. the prophecy includes the birth of swanhild, the marriage of attila and gudrun, the death of gunnar at the hands of attila, by reason of the love between gudrun and oddrun; the vengeance of gudrun on attila, the third marriage of gudrun, the death of swanhild among the goths. with all this, and carrying all this burden of history, there is the passion of brynhild, not wholly obscured or quenched by the rhetorical ingenuity of the poet. for it is plain that the poet was an artist capable of more than one thing at a time. he was stirred by the tragic personage of brynhild; he was also pleased, intellectually and dispassionately, with his design of grouping together in one composition all the events of the tragic history. the poem is followed by the short separate lay (forty-four lines) of the _hell-ride of brynhild_, which looks as if it might have been composed by the same or another poet, to supply some of the history wanting at the beginning of the _lay of brynhild_. brynhild, riding hell-ward with sigurd, from the funeral pile where she and sigurd had been laid by the giuking lords, is encountered by a giantess who forbids her to pass through her "rock-built courts," and cries shame upon her for her guilt. brynhild answers with the story of her evil fate, how she was a valkyria, punished by odin for disobedience, set in the ring of flame, to be released by none but the slayer of fafni; how she had been beguiled in gunnar's wooing, and how gudrun cast it in her teeth. this supplies the motive for the anger of brynhild against sigurd, not clearly expressed in the _lay_, and also for gunnar's compliance with her jealous appeal, and hogni's consent to the death of sigurd. while, in the same manner as in the _lay_, the formalism and pedantry of the historical poet are burnt up in the passion of the heroine. "sorrow is the portion of the life of all men and women born: we two, i and sigurd, shall be parted no more for ever." the latter part of the _lay_, the long monologue of brynhild, is in form like the _lamentation of oddrun_ and the idyll of gudrun and theodoric; though, unlike those poems, it has a fuller narrative introduction: the monologue does not begin until the situation has been explained. on the same subject, but in strong contrast with the _lay of brynhild_, is the poem that has lost its beginning in the great gap in _codex regius_. it is commonly referred to in the editions as the _fragmentary lay of sigurd_ ("brot af sigurðarkviðu"); in the oxford edition it is styled the "fragment of a short brunhild lay." there are seventy-six lines (incomplete) beginning with the colloquy of gunnar and hogni. here also the character of brynhild is the inspiration of the poet. but there does not seem to have been in his mind anything like the historical anxiety of the other poet to account for every incident, or at least to show that, if he wished, he could account for every incident, in the whole story. it is much stronger in expression, and the conception of brynhild is more dramatic and more imaginative, though less eloquent, than in the longer poem. the phrasing is short and emphatic:-- gudrun, giuki's daughter, stood without, and this was the first word she spoke: "where is sigurd, the king of men, that my brothers are riding in the van?" hogni made answer to her words: "we have hewn sigurd asunder with the sword; ever the grey horse droops his head over the dead king." then spake brynhild, budli's daughter: "have great joy of your weapons and hands. sigurd would have ruled everything as he chose, if he had kept his life a little longer. it was not meet that he should so rule over the host of the goths and the heritage of giuki, who begat five sons that delighted in war and in the havoc of battle." brynhild laughed, the whole house rang: "have long joy of your hands and weapons, since ye have slain the valiant king."[ ] [footnote : from _c.p.b._, i. p. , with some changes.] the mood of brynhild is altered later, and she "weeps at that she had laughed at." she wakens before the day, chilled by evil dreams. "it was cold in the hall, and cold in the bed," and she had seen in her sleep the end of the niblungs, and woke, and reproached gunnar with the treason to his friend. it is difficult to estimate the original full compass of this fragmentary poem, but the scale of its narrative and its drama can be pretty clearly understood from what remains. it is a poem with nothing superfluous in it. the death of sigurd does not seem to have been given in any detail, except for the commentary spoken by the eagle and the raven, prophetic of the doom of the niblungs. the mystery of brynhild's character is curiously recognised by a sort of informal chorus. it is said that "they were stricken silent as she spoke, and none could understand her bearing, that she should weep to speak of that for which she had besought them laughing." it is one of the simplest forms in narrative; but in this case the simplicity of the rhetoric goes along with some variety and subtlety of dramatic imagination. the character of the heroine is rightly imagined and strongly rendered, and her change of mind is impressive, as the author plainly meant it to be. the _lay of attila_ (_atlakviða_) and the greenland poem of _attila_ (_atlamál_) are two poems which have a common subject and the same amount of story: how attila sent for gunnar and hogni, the brothers of gudrun, and had them put to death, and how gudrun took vengeance on attila. in the _atlakviða_ there are lines, and some broken places; in _atlamál_ there are lines; its narrative is more copious than in most of the norse lays. there are some curious discrepancies in the matter of the two poems, but these hardly affect the scale of the story. the difference between them in this respect is fairly represented by the difference in the number of their lines. the scenes of the history are kept in similar proportions in both poems. the story of gudrun's vengeance has been seen (p. ) to correspond, as far as the amount of action is concerned, pretty closely with the story of hengest and finn. the epic unity is preserved; and, as in the _finnesburh_ story, there is a distribution of interest between the _wrong_ and the _vengeance_,--( ) the death of hnæf, the death of gunnar and hogni; ( ) the vengeance of hengest, the vengeance of gudrun, with an interval of dissimulation in each case. the plot of the death of attila, under all its manifold variations, is never without a certain natural fitness for consistent and well-proportioned narrative. none of the northern poems take any account of the theory that the murder of sigfred was avenged by his wife upon her brothers. that theory belongs to the _nibelungenlied_; in some form or other it was known to saxo; it is found in the danish ballad of _grimild's revenge_, a translation or adaptation from the german. that other conception of the story may be more full of tragic meaning; the northern versions, which agree in making attila the slayer of the niblung kings, have the advantage of greater concentration. the motive of attila, which is different in each of the poems on this subject, is in no case equal to the tragic motive of kriemhild in the _nibelungen_. on the other hand, the present interest of the story is not distracted by reference to the long previous history of sigfred; a new start is made when the niblungs are invited to attila's court. the situation is intelligible at once, without any long preliminary explanation. in the _lay of attila_ the hoard of the niblungs comes into the story; its fatal significance is recognised; it is the "metal of discord" that is left in the rhine for ever. but the situation can be understood without any long preliminary history of the niblung treasure and its fate. just as the story of _waldere_ explains itself at once,--a man defending his bride and his worldly wealth against a number of enemies, in a place where he is able to take them one by one, as they come on,--so the story of _attila_ can begin without long preliminaries; though the previous history is to be found, in tradition, in common stories, if any one cares to ask for it. the plot is intelligible in a moment: the brothers inveigled away and killed by their sister's husband (for reasons of his own, as to which the versions do not agree); their sister's vengeance by the sacrifice of her own children and the death of her husband. in the _atlamál_ there is very much less recognition of the previous history than in _atlakviða_. the story begins at once with the invitation to the niblung brothers and with their sister's warning. attila's motive is not emphasised; he has a grudge against them on account of the death of brynhild his sister, but his motive is not very necessary for the story, as the story is managed here. the present scene and the present passion are not complicated with too much reference to the former history of the personages. this mode of procedure will be found to have given some trouble to the author, but the result at any rate is a complete and rounded work. there is great difference of treatment between _atlakviða_ and the greenland poem _atlamál_, a difference which is worth some further consideration.[ ] there is, however, no very great difference of scale; at any rate, the difference between them becomes unimportant when they are compared with _beowulf_. even the more prolix of the two, which in some respects is the fullest and most elaborate of the northern heroic poems, yet comes short of the english scale. _atlamál_ takes up very little more than the space of the english poem of _maldon_, which is a simple narrative of a battle, with nothing like the tragic complexity and variety of the story of the vengeance of gudrun. [footnote : see pp. - below.] there is yet another version of the death of gunnar the giuking to compare with the two poems of _attila_--the _lament of oddrun_ (_oddrúnargrátr_), which precedes the _atlakviða_ in the manuscript. the form of this, as well as the plot of it, is wonderfully different from either of the other two poems. this is one of the epic or tragic idylls in which a passage of heroic legend is told dramatically by one who had a share in it. here the death of gunnar is told by oddrun his mistress, the sister of attila. this form of indirect narration, by giving so great a dramatic value to the person of the narrator, before the beginning of her story, of course tends to depreciate or to exclude the vivid dramatic scenes that are common everywhere else in the northern poems. the character of the speaker leaves too little independence to the other characters. but in none of the poems is the tragic plot more strongly drawn out than in the seventy lines of oddrun's story to borgny. the father of oddrun, brynhild, and attila had destined oddrun to be the bride of gunnar, but it was brynhild that he married. then came the anger of brynhild against sigurd, the death of sigurd, the death of brynhild that is renowned over all the world. gunnar sought the hand of oddrun from her brother attila, but attila would not accept the price of the bride from the son of giuki. the love of oddrun was given to gunnar. "i gave my love to gunnar as brynhild should have loved him. we could not withstand our love: i kept troth with gunnar." the lovers were betrayed to attila, who would not believe the accusation against his sister; "yet no man should pledge his honour for the innocence of another, when it is a matter of love." at last he was persuaded, and laid a plot to take vengeance on the niblungs; gudrun knew nothing of what was intended. the death of gunnar and hogni is told in five-and-twenty lines:-- there was din of the hoofs of gold when the sons of giuki rode into the court. the heart was cut out of the body of hogni; his brother they set in the pit of snakes. the wise king smote on his harp, for he thought that i should come to his help. howbeit i was gone to the banquet at the house of geirmund. from hlessey i heard how the strings rang loud. i called to my handmaidens to rise and go; i sought to save the life of the prince; we sailed across the sound, till we saw the halls of attila. but the accursed serpent crept to the heart of gunnar, so that i might not save the life of the king. full oft i wonder how i keep my life after him, for i thought i loved him like myself. thou hast sat and listened while i have told thee many evils of my lot and theirs. the life of a man is as his thoughts are. the lamentation of oddrun is finished. the _hamðismál_, the poem of the death of ermanaric, is one that, in its proportions, is not unlike the _atlakviða_: the plot has been already described (pp. - ). the poem of lines as it stands has suffered a good deal. this also is like the story of hengest and the story of gudrun in the way the action is proportioned. it began with the slaying of swanhild, the wrong to gudrun--this part is lost. it goes on to the speech of gudrun to her sons, sorli and hamther, and their expedition to the hall of the goth; it ends with their death. in this case, also, the action must have begun at once and intelligibly, as soon as the motive of the gothic treachery and cruelty was explained, or even without that explanation, in the more immediate sense of the treachery and cruelty, in the story of swanhild trampled to death, and of the news brought to gudrun. here, also, there is much less expansion of the story than in the english poems; everything is surcharged with meaning. the _old lay of gudrun_ (_guðrúnarkviða in forna_), or the tale of gudrun to theodoric, an idyll like the story of oddrun, goes quickly over the event of the killing of sigurd, and the return of grani, masterless. unlike the _lament of oddrun_, this monologue of gudrun introduces dramatic passages. the meeting of gudrun and her brother is not merely told by gudrun in indirect narration; the speeches of hogni and gudrun are reported directly, as they might have been in a poem of the form of _atlakviða_, or the _lay of sigurd_, or any other in which the poet tells the story himself, without the introduction of an imaginary narrator. the main part of the poem is an account of the way in which gudrun's mother, grimhild, compelled her, by a potion of forgetfulness, to lose the thought of sigurd and of all her woes, and consent to become the wife of attila. this part is well prefaced by the quiet account of the life of gudrun in her widowhood, before grimhild began her schemes; how gudrun lived in the house of half, with thora, daughter of hakon, in denmark, and how the ladies spent their time at the tapestry frame, working pictures of the heroes, the ships of sigmund, the ranks of hunnish warriors. in the manuscript there are found at the end of the _old lay of gudrun_, as if they were part of it, some verses which have been separated from it by the editors (_c.p.b._, i. ) as a "fragment of an atli lay." they came from a poem of which the design, at any rate, was the same as that of the _old lay_, and gudrun is the speaker. she tells how, after the death of gunnar and hogni, she was wakened by atli, to listen to his evil dreams, foreboding his doom, and how she interpreted them in a way to comfort him and put him off his guard. in english poetry there are instances of stories introduced dramatically, long before the pilgrimage to canterbury. in _beowulf_ there are various episodes where a story is told by one of the persons engaged. besides the poem of hengest chanted in heorot, there is beowulf's own narrative of his adventures, after his return to his own people in the kingdom of the gauts, and passages still nearer in form to the _lament of oddrun_ and the _confession of gudrun_ are the last speech of beowulf before his death ( - ), and the long speech of wiglaf ( - ) telling of the enmity of the gauts and the swedes. but those are not filled with dramatic pathos to the same degree as these northern _heroides_, the monologues of oddrun and gudrun. the _lay of gudrun_ (_gudrúnarkviða_) which comes in the manuscript immediately before the _lay of sigurd_, is a pure heroic idyll. unlike most of its companions, it leaves the details of the volsung story very much in neglect, and brings all its force to bear on the representation of the grief of the queen, contrasted with the stormy passion of brynhild. it is rightly honoured for its pathetic imagination of the dumb grief of gudrun, broken up and dissolved when her sister draws away the covering from the face of sigurd. "but fire was kindled in the eyes of brynhild, daughter of budli, when she looked upon his wounds." the refrain of the poem increases its resemblance to the form of a greek idyll. the verse is that of narrative poetry; the refrain is not purely lyrical and does not come in at regular intervals. the _tregrof guðrúnar_, or _chain of woe_, restored by the oxford editors out of the most confused part of the original text, is pure lamentation, spoken by gudrun before her death, recounting all her sorrows: the bright hair of swanhild trampled in the mire; sigurd slain in his bed, despoiled of victory; gunnar in the court of the serpents; the heart of hogni cut out of his living body--"saddle thy white steed and come to me, sigurd; remember what we promised to one another, that thou wouldst come from hell to seek me, and i would come to thee from the living world." the short poem entitled _qviða guðrúnar_ in the manuscript, the _ordeal of gudrun_ in the english edition, has a simple plot. the subject is the calumny which was brought against gudrun by herkja, the cast-off mistress of attila (that "she had seen gudrun and theodoric together") and the ordeal of water by which gudrun proved her innocence, while the falsehood was brought home to herkja, the bondwoman. the theme is slighter than all the rest, and this poem, at least, might be reckoned not unfit to be taken up as a single scene in a long epic. some of the northern poems in the epic measure are almost wholly made up of dialogue. the story of _balder's doom_ is a dialogue between odin and the witch whom he raises from the dead. the earlier part of the story of sigurd in the "elder edda" is almost all dialogue, even where the narrative measure is employed. there is hardly any mere narrative in the poems remaining of the cycle of angantyr. in several other cases, the writer has only given, perhaps has only remembered clearly, the dramatic part of the poems in which he was interested; the intervals of the story he fills up with prose. it is difficult to tell where this want of narrative connexion in the poetry is original, and where it is due to forgetfulness or ignorance; where the prose of the manuscripts is to be taken as standing in the place of lost narrative verses, and where it fills a gap that was never intended to be filled with verse, but was always left to the reciter, to be supplied in his own way by passages of story-telling, between his chantings of the poetic dialogue of hervor and the shepherd, for instance, or of hervor and angantyr. the poems just mentioned are composed in narrative measure. there are also other dialogue poems in a measure different from this, and peculiarly adapted to dialogues, the measure of the gnomic _hávamál_ and of the didactic mythological poems, _vafþrúðnismál_, _alvíssmál_, _grímnismál_. these pieces are some distance removed from epic or ballad poetry. but there are others in this gnomic measure which it is not easy to keep far apart from such dialogue poems as _balder's doom_, though their verse is different. by their peculiar verse they are distinguished from the english and saxon heroic poetry; but they retain, for all their peculiar metre and their want of direct narrative, some of the characteristics of teutonic epic. the _lokasenna_ has a plot, and represents dramatically an incident in the history of the gods. the chief business is loki's shameless rehearsal of accusations against the gods, and their helpless rejoinders. it is a masque of the gods, and not a ballad like the _winning of thor's hammer_. it is not, however, a mere string of "flytings" without a plot; there is some plot and action. it is the absence of thor that gives loki courage to browbeat the gods; the return of thor at the end of the poem avenges the gods on their accuser. in the strange poem of the _railing of thor and harbard_, and in a very rough and irregular kind of verse, there is a similar kind of plot. the _contention of atli and rimgerd the giantess_ is a short comic dialogue, interposed among the fragments of the poem of helgi hiorvard's son, and marked off from them by its use of the dialogue verse, as well as by its episodic plot. helgi hiorvard's son had killed the giant hati, and the giant's daughter comes at night where helgi's ships are moored in the firth, and stands on a rock over them, challenging helgi and his men. atli, keeping watch on deck, answers the giantess, and there is an exchange of gibes in the old style between them. helgi is awakened and joins in the argument. it is good comedy of its kind, and there is poetry in the giantess's description of the company of armed maidens of the air whom she has seen keeping guard over helgi's ships--"three nines of maids, but one rode foremost, a white maid, enhelmed. their rearing horses shook dew from their manes into the deep dales, and hail upon the lofty woods; thence come fair seasons among men. but the whole sight was hateful to me" (_c.p.b._, i. p. ). the giantess is kept there by the gibes of atli till the daybreak. "look eastward, now, rimgerd!" and the giantess is turned into stone, a great harbour mark, to be laughed at. in some other poems there is much more action, and much more need for an interpreter to act as chorus in the intervals between the dialogues. the story of the wooing of gerd is in this form: how frey sat in the seat of odin and saw a fair maid in jotunheim, and got great sickness of thought, till his swain skirnir found the cause of his languishing, and went to woo gerd for him in gymi's garth. another love-story, and a story not unlike that of frey and gerd, is contained in two poems _grógaldr_ and _fiölsvinnsmál_, that tell of the winning of menglad by her destined lover. these two latter poems are not in _codex regius_, and it was only gradually that their relation to one another was worked out, chiefly by means of the danish ballad which contains the story of both together in the right order. in the first, svipdag the hero comes to his mother's grave to call on her for counsel. he has been laid under a mysterious charge, to go on a quest which he cannot understand, "to find out menglad," and menglad he has never heard of, and does not know where she is to be found. the second poem, also in dialogue, and in the dialogue measure, gives the coming of svipdag to the mysterious castle, and his debate with the giant who keeps the gate. for menglad is the princess whose story is told everywhere, and under a thousand names,--the lady of a strange country, kept under a spell in a witch's castle till the deliverer comes. the wooing of gerd out of jotunheim is another version of the same story, which in different forms is one of the oldest and most universal everywhere,--the fairy story of the princess beyond the sea. the second dialogue is very much encumbered by the pedantries of the giant who keeps the gate; it ends, however, in the recognition of svipdag and menglad. menglad says: "long have i sat waiting for thee, many a day; but now is that befallen that i have sought for, and thou art come to my bower. great was the sorrow of my waiting; great was thine, waiting for the gladness of love. now it is very truth for us: the days of our life shall not be sundered." the same form is used in the older poems of sigurd, those that come before the hiatus of the great manuscript, and have been gathered together in the oxford edition under the title of the _old play of the wolsungs_. they touch briefly on all the chief points of the story of the niblung hoard, from the capture and ransom of andvari to the winning of the warrior maiden sigrdrifa by sigurd. all these last-mentioned dialogue poems, in spite of their lyric or elegiac measure, are like the narrative poems in their dependence upon traditional, mythic, or heroic stories, from which they choose their themes. they are not like the lyrical heroic poems of _widsith_ and _deor_ in anglo-saxon literature, which survey a large tract of heroic legend from a point of vantage. something of this sort is done by some of the norse dialogue poems, _vafþrúðnismál_, etc., but in the poems of frey and gerd, of svipdag and menglad, and of the niblung treasure, though this reflective and comparative method occasionally makes itself evident, the interest is that of the story. they have a story to represent, just as much as the narrative poems, though they are debarred from the use of narrative. * * * * * it must be confessed that there is an easily detected ambiguity in the use of the term epic in application to the poems, whether german, english, or northern, here reviewed. that they are heroic poems cannot be questioned, but that they are epic in any save the most general sense of the term is not quite clear. they may be epic in character, in a general way, but how many of them have a claim to the title in its eminent and special sense? most of them are short poems; most of them seem to be wanting in the breadth of treatment, in the amplitude of substance, that are proper to epic poetry. _beowulf_, it may be admitted, is epic in the sense that distinguishes between the longer narrative poem and the shorter ballad. the fragments of _waldere_ are the fragments of a poem that is not cramped for room, and that moves easily and with sufficient eloquence in the representation of action. the narrative of the _maldon_ poem is not pinched nor meagre in its proportions. hardly any of the other poems, however, can be compared with these in this respect. these are the most liberal in scale of all the old teutonic poems; the largest epic works of which we know anything directly. these are the fullest in composition, the least abstract or elliptical; and they still want something of the scale of the _iliad_. the poem of _maldon_, for instance, corresponds not to the _iliad_, but to the action of a single book, such as the twelfth, with which it has been already compared. if the story of the english _waldere_, when complete, was not more elaborate than the extant latin _waltharius_, it must have come far short of the proportions of homer. it is a story for a single recitation, like the story of finnesburh in _beowulf_. the poem of _beowulf_ may have more in it than the story of walter and hildegund, but this advantage would seem to be gained at the expense of the unity of the poem. it is lengthened out by a sequel, by the addition of a new adventure which requires the poet to make a new start. in the poem of _hildebrand_ there is a single tragedy contained in a single scene. it is briefly rendered, in a style evidently more primitive, less expansive and eloquent, than the style of _beowulf_ or _waldere_. even if it had been given in a fuller form, the story would still have been essentially a short one; it could not well have been longer than the poem of _sohrab and rustum_, where the theme is almost the same, while the scale is that of the classical epic. if the old english epic poetry falls short of the homeric magnitude, it almost equally exceeds the scale of the northern heroic poems. if _beowulf_ and _waldere_ seem inadequate in size, the defect will not be made good out of the northern lays of _helgi_ or _sigfred_. the northern poems are exceedingly varied in their plan and disposition, but none of them is long, and many of them are in the form of _dramatic lyric_, with no place for pure narrative at all; such are the poems of _frey's wooing_, of _svipdag and menglad_, and others, in which there is a definite plot worked out by means of lyric dialogue. none of them is of anything like the same scale as _beowulf_, which is a complex epic poem, or _byrhtnoth_, which is an episodic poem liberally dealt with and of considerable length. the teutonic poetry presents itself, at a first view, as the complement of homer. here are to be found many of the things that are wanting at the beginning of greek literary history. here are single epic lays, or clusters of them, in every form. here, in place of the two great poems, rounded and complete, there is the nebulous expanse of heroic tradition, the outline of an heroic cycle, together with a number of episodic poems taking their origin from one point or another of the cycle, according as the different parts of the story happen to catch the imagination of a poet. instead of the homeric scale of epic there are a number of brief epic tragedies, the plots of which are chosen from the multitude of stories current in tradition. among these shorter epic poems, if such they may be called, there are to be distinguished great varieties of procedure in regard to the amount of action represented in the poem. there is one class of poem that represents a single action with some detail; there is another that represents a long and complex story in a summary and allusive way. the first kind may be called _episodic_ in the sense that it takes up about the same quantity of story as might make an act in a play; or perhaps, with a little straining of the term, as much as might serve for one play in a trilogy. the second kind is not episodic; it does not seem fitted for a place in a larger composition. it is a kind of short and summary epic, taking as large a province of history as the _iliad_ or the _odyssey_. _hildebrand_, the _fight at finnesburh_, _waldere_, _byrhtnoth_, the _winning of the hammer_, _thor's fishing_, the _death of the niblungs_ (in any of the northern versions), the _death of ermanaric_, might all be fairly regarded as belonging to the first kind of story; while the _lay of weland_ and the _lay of brynhild_ cover a much larger extent of story, though not of actual space, than any of those. it is not quite easy to find a common measure for these and for the homeric poems. one can tell perhaps from mr. arnold's poem of _sohrab and rustum_ how much is wanting to the _lay of hildebrand_, and on what scale the story of hildebrand might have been told if it had been told in the homeric instead of the archaic german manner. the story of walter of aquitaine in the latin hexameters of _waltharius_ takes up lines. although the author of this latin poem is something short of homer, "a little overparted" by the comparison, still his work is designed on the scale of classical epic, and gives approximately the right extent of the story in classical form. but while those stories are comparatively short, even in their most expanded forms, the story of weland and the story of helgi each contains as much as would suffice for the plot of an _odyssey_, or more. the _lay of brynhild_ is not an episodic poem of the vengeance and the passion of brynhild, though that is the principal theme. it begins in a summary manner with sigurd's coming to the house of the niblungs, the wedding of sigurd and gudrun, the wooing of brynhild for gunnar; all these earlier matters are taken up and touched on before the story comes to the searchings of heart when the kings are persuaded to kill sigurd. then the death of sigurd is told of, and the rest of the poem is filled with the tragedy of brynhild and gudrun; the future history of gudrun is spoken of prophetically by brynhild before she throws herself on the funeral pile. plainly this cannot be considered in the same sense "episodic" as the poem of thor's fishing for the midgarth snake. the poems of thor's fishing and the recovery of the hammer are distinctly fragments of a legendary cycle. the _lay of brynhild_ makes an attempt to complete the whole volsung story from beginning to end, while giving special importance to one particular incident of it,--the passion of brynhild after the death of sigurd. the poems of _attila_ and the _lay of the death of ermanaric_ are more restricted. it remains true that the great story of the niblung tragedy was never told at length in the poetical measure used for episodes of it, and for the summary form of the _lay of brynhild_. it should be remembered, however, that a poem of the scale of the _nibelungenlied_, taking up the whole matter, must go as far beyond the homeric limit as the _lay of brynhild_ falls short of it. from one point of view the shorter episodic poems are more homeric in their plots than either the summary epics which cover the whole ground, as the _lay of brynhild_ attempts to cover it, or the longer works in prose that begin at the beginning and go on to the end, like the _volsunga saga_. the _iliad_ and the _odyssey_ are themselves episodic poems; neither of them has the reach of the _nibelungenlied_. it should not be forgotten, either, that aristotle found the _iliad_ and the _odyssey_ rather long. the teutonic poems are not to be despised because they have a narrower orbit than the _iliad_. those among them that contain matter enough for a single tragedy, and there are few that have not as much as this in them, may be considered not to fall far short of the standard fixed by aristotle for the right amount of action to be contained in an heroic poem. they are too hurried, they are wanting in the classical breadth and ease of narrative; but at any rate they are comprehensible, they observe an epic unity. they do not, like certain of the endless french poetical histories, remind one of the picture of incomprehensible bulk in aristotle's _poetics_, the animal , stadia long. thus, though it is natural at first to imagine that in the old teutonic poetry one is possessed of such separate lays or ballads as might be the original materials of a larger epic, an epic of the homeric scale, this impression will hardly remain long after a closer criticism of the workmanship of the poems. very few of them correspond in the amount of their story to the episodes of the homeric poems. many of them contain in a short space the matter of stories more complicated, more tragical, than the story of achilles. most of them by their unity and self-consistency make it difficult to think of them as absorbed in a longer epic. this is the case not only with those that take in a whole history, like the _lay of brynhild_, but also with those whose plot is comparatively simple, like _hildebrand_ or _waldere_. it is possible to think of the story of walter and hildegund as forming part of a larger story of the fortunes of the huns. it has this subordinate place in the _thidreks saga_. but it is not easy to believe that in such a case it preserves its value. _thidreks saga_ is not an epic, though it is made by an agglutination of ballads. in like manner the tragedy of _hildebrand_ gains by its isolation from the stories of the other chiefs, theodoric and odoacer. the stories of walter and of hildebrand, like the story of hamlet the dane, are too strong in themselves to form part of a larger composition, without detriment to its unity and harmony. they might be brought in allusively and in a subordinate way, like the story of thebes and other stories in the _iliad_; but that is not the same thing as making an epic poem out of separate lays. so that on all grounds the first impression of the teutonic epic poetry has to be modified. if ever epic poetry was made by a conglomeration of ballads, it must have had other kinds of material than this. some of the poems are episodic; others are rather to be described as abridgments of epic than as separate epic scenes. but neither in the one case nor in the other is there to be found the kind of poetry that is required by the hypothesis of composite epic. there are short epics that might conceivably have served as the framework, or the ground-plan, of a more elaborate work, containing, like the _lay of helgi_ or the _lay of brynhild_, incidents enough and hints of character enough for a history fully worked out, as large as the homeric poems. if it should be asked why there is so little evidence of any teutonic attempt to weave together separate lays into an epic work, the answer might be, first, that the separate lays we know are too much separate and individual, too strong in themselves, to be satisfactorily cobbled into a more expansive fabric; and, secondly, that it has not yet been proved that epic poems can be made by process of cobbling. the need of a comprehensive epic of the niblungs was not imperative. neither was there any demand in athens, in the time of sophocles and euripides, for a comprehensive work--a _thebaid_, a _roman de thèbes_--to include the plots of all the tragedies of the house of cadmus. it was not a poet, but a prose journeyman, who did this sort of work in the north, and it was not till the old school of poetry had passed away that the composite prose history of the volsungs and niblungs, of sigmund and sinfiotli, sigurd, brynhild, gudrun, and atli, was put together out of the old poems. the old lays, northern and western, whatever their value, have all strong individual characters of their own, and do not easily submit to be regarded as merely the unused materials, waiting for an epic composer who never was born. iii epic and ballad poetry the ballads of a later age have many points of likeness to such poems as _hildebrand_, _finnesburh_, _maldon_, and the poems of the northern collection. the two orders of poetry are, however, not to be confounded. their affinity indeed is clear. but the older poems in alliterative verse have a character not possessed by the ballads which followed them, and which often repeated the same stories in the later middle ages. even the simplest of the older poems, which is the _lay of hildebrand_, is distinguished by evident signs of dignity from even the most ambitious of the rhyming ballads in any of the tongues. its rhetoric is of a different order. this is not a question of preferences, but of distinction of kinds. the claim of an epic or heroic rank for the older poems need not be forced into a denial of all the other excellences of the rhyming ballads. _ballad_, as the term is commonly used, implies a certain degree of simplicity, and an absence of high poetical ambition. ballads are for the market-place and the "blind crowder," or for the rustic chorus that sings the ballad burden. the wonderful poetical beauty of some of the popular ballads of scotland and denmark, not to speak of other lands, is a kind of beauty that is never attained by the great poetical artists; an unconscious grace. the ballads of the scottish border, from their first invention to the publication of the _border minstrelsy_, lie far away from the great streams of poetical inspiration. they have little or nothing to do with the triumphs of the poets; the "progress of poesy" leaves them untouched; they learn neither from milton nor from pope, but keep a life of their own that has its sources far remote in the past, in quite another tradition of art than that to which the great authors and their works belong. the teutonic epic poems, the northern poems at any rate, are ballads in respect of their management of the plots. the scale of them is not to be distinguished from the scale of a ballad: the ballads have the same way of indicating and alluding to things and events without direct narrative, without continuity, going rapidly from critical point to point, in their survey of the fable. but there is this great difference, that the style of the earlier epics is ambitious and self-conscious, an aristocratic and accomplished style. the ballads of _clerk saunders_ or _sir patrick spens_ tell about things that have been generally forgotten, in the great houses of the country, by the great people who have other things to think about, and, if they take to literature, other models of style. the lay of the fight at finnesburh, the lays of the death of attila, were in their time the poems of the king's or the earl's hall; they were at the height of literary accomplishment in their generation, and their style displays the consciousness of rank. the ballads never had anything like the honour that was given to the older lays. the difference between epic and ballad style comes out most obviously when, as frequently has happened, in denmark, iceland, and the faroes, the poems of the old school have been translated from their epic verse into the "eights and sixes" or some other favourite measure of the common ballads. this has been the case, for instance, with the poem of thor's hammer, and the poem of the journey of svipdag in search of menglad. in other cases, as in that of the return of helgi from the dead, it is less certain, though it is probable, that there is a direct relation between the two kinds of poetry, between the old northern poem of helgi and the danish ballad of sir aage which has the same story to tell; but a comparison of the two styles, in a case like this, is none the less possible and justifiable. the poems in the older form and diction, however remote they may be from modern fashions, assert themselves unmistakably to be of an aristocratic and not a popular tradition. the ballads have many things in common with the other poems, but they have lost the grand style, and the pride and solemnity of language. one thing they have retained almost invariably. ballad poetry may be trusted to preserve the sense of the tragic situation. if some ballads are less strong than others in their rendering of a traditional story, their failure is not peculiar to that kind of composition. not every ballad-singer, and not every tragic poet, has the same success in the development of his fable. as a rule, however, it holds good that the ballads are sound in their conception of a story; if some are constitutionally weak or unshapely, and others have suffered from the infirmity of reciters and transcribers, these accidents are not to be counted against the class of poetry to which they belong. yet, however well the ballads may give the story, they cannot give it with the power of epic; and that this power belongs to the older kind of verse, the verse of the _lay of brynhild_, may be proved with all the demonstration that this kind of argument allows. it is open to any one to say that the grand style is less attractive than the charm of the ballad burdens, that the airy music of the ballads is more appealing and more mysterious than all the eloquence of heroic poetry; but that does not touch the question. the rhetoric of the older poems merely claims to be acknowledged for what it is worth. the danish ballad of _ungen sveidal_, "child sveidal,"[ ] does not spoil the ancient story which had been given in the older language and older verse of _svipdag and menglad_. but there are different ways of describing how the adventurer comes to the dark tower to rescue the unknown maiden. the ballad uses the common ballad forms, the common easy rhymes and assonances:-- out they cast their anchor all on the white sea sand, and who was that but the child sveidal was first upon the land? his heart is sore with deadly pain for her that he never saw, his name is the child sveidal; so the story goes. [footnote : grundtvig, _danmarks gamle folkeviser_, no. . see above, p. .] this sort of story need not be despised, and it is peculiarly valuable when it appears in the middle of one of the least refreshing seasons of literature, like this ballad in the age of the lutheran reformation in denmark. in such an age and among theological tracts and controversies, the simple ballad measures may bring relief from oppression and desolation; and call for thanks to the danish ladies by whose care this ballad and so many others were written down. but gratitude need not conceal the truth, that the style of the ballad is unlike the style of an heroic poem. the older poem from which _child sveidal_ is derived may have left many poetical opportunities unemployed; it comes short in many things, and makes up for them by mythological irrelevances. but it is composed in a style of which it is impossible to mistake the gravity; it has all the advantage of established forms that have been tested and are able to bear the weight of the poetical matter. there is a vast difference between the simplicity of the ballad and the stately measure and rhetorical pomp of the original:-- svipdag is my name; sunbright was my father's name; the winds have driven me far, along cold ways; no one can gainsay the word of fate, though it be spoken to his own destruction. the difference is as great as the difference between the ballad of the _marriage of gawayne_ and the same story as told in the _canterbury tales_; or the difference between homer's way of describing the recovery of lifted cattle and the ballad of _jamie telfer of the fair dodheid_. it happens fortunately that one of the danish ballads, _sivard og brynild_, which tells of the death of sigurd (_danmarks gamle folkeviser_, no. ), is one of the best of the ballads, in all the virtues of that style, so that a comparison with the _lay of brynhild_, one of the best poems of the old collection, is not unfair to either of them. the ballad of _sivard_, like the _lay of brynhild_, includes much more than an episode; it is a complete tragic poem, indicating all the chief points of the story. the tragic idea is different from that of any of the other versions of the volsung story, but quite as distinct and strong as any. sivard (_o the king's sons of denmark!_) sivard has a horse that is fleet, and he has stolen brynild from the mountain of glass, all by the light of day. from the mountain of glass he has stolen proud brynild, and given her to hagen, his brother-in-arms. brynild and signild went to the river shore to wash their silken gowns. "signild, my sister, where got you the golden rings on your hand?"--"the gold rings on my hand i got from sivard, my own true love; they are his pledge of troth: and you are given to hagen." when brynild heard this she went into the upper room and lay there sick: there she lay sick and hagen came to her. "tell me, maiden brynild, my own true love, what is there in the world to heal you; tell me, and i will bring it, though it cost all the world's red gold."--"nothing in the world you can bring me, unless you bring me, into my hands, the head of sivard."--"and how shall i bring to your hands the head of sivard? there is not the sword in all the world that will bite upon him: no sword but his own, and that i cannot get."--"go to his room, and bid him lend you his sword, for his honour, and say, 'i have vowed an adventure for the sake of my true love.' when first he hands you over his sword, i pray you remember me, in the lord god's name." it is hagen that has swept his mantle round him, and goes into the upper room to sivard. "here you sit, sivard, my foster-brother; will you lend me your good sword for your honour? for i have vowed a vow for the sake of my love."--"and if i lend you my good sword adelbring, you will never come in battle where it will fail you. my good sword adelbring you may have, indeed, but keep you well from the tears of blood that are under the hilt, keep you from the tears of blood that are so red.[ ] if they run down upon your fingers, it will be your death." hagen got the sword, and it was his own sworn brother he slew there in the room. he took up the bloody head under his cloak of furs and brought it to proud brynild. "here you have the head for which you sought; for the sake of you i have slain my brother to my undoing."--"take away the head and let me not see it; nor will i pledge you my troth to make you glad."--"never will i pledge troth to you, and nought is the gladness; for the sake of you i have slain my brother; sorrow is on me, sore and great." it was hagen drew his sword and took the proud brynild and hewed her asunder. he set the sword against a stone, and the point was deadly in the king's son's heart. he set the sword in the black earth, and the point was death in the king's son's heart. ill was the day that maiden was born. for her were spilt the lives of two king's sons. (_o the king's sons of denmark!_) [footnote : compare the warning of angantyr to hervor when he gives her the sword tyrfing--"keep the sword sheathed, the slayer of hialmar; touch not the edges, there is venom upon them"--and the magic sword skofnung in _kormaks saga_.] this is a consistent tragic story, and it is well told. it has the peculiar virtue of the ballad, to make things impressive by the sudden manner in which they are spoken of and passed by; in this abrupt mode of narrative the ballads, as has been noted already, are not much different from the earlier poems. the _lay of brynhild_ is not much more diffuse than the ballad of _sivard_ in what relates to the slaying of the hero. both are alike distinct from the method of homer; compared with homer both the lays and the ballads are hurried in their action, over-emphatic, cramped in a narrow space. but when the style and temper are considered, apart from the incidents of the story, then it will appear that the lay belongs to a totally different order of literature from the ballad. the ballad tells of things dimly discerned by the poet; king's sons and daughters are no more to him than they are to the story-tellers of the market-place--forms of a shadowy grandeur, different from ordinary people, swayed by strange motives, not irrationally, nor altogether in a way beyond the calculation of simple audiences, yet in ways for which there is no adequate mode of explanation known to the reciter. the ballad keeps instinctively a right outline for its tragic story, but to develop the characters is beyond its power. in the epic _lay of brynhild_, on the other hand, the poet is concerned with passions which he feels himself able to comprehend and to set forth dramatically; so that, while the story of the poem is not very much larger in scale than that of the ballad, the dramatic speeches are greatly elaborated. brynhild in the lay is not a mere tragic symbol, as in the ballad, but a tragic character. the ballad has the seed of tragedy in it, but in the lay the seed has sprung up in the dramatic eloquence of brynhild's utterances before her death. the ballad is tragical, but in an abstract manner. the plot of the slighted woman and her vengeance, with the remorse of hagen, is all true, and not exaggerated in motive. but while the motives are appreciated, it is not in the power of the poet to develop the exposition of them, to make them dramatically characteristic, as well as right in their general nature. it is just this dramatic ideal which is the ambition and inspiration of the other poet; the character of brynhild has taken possession of his imagination, and requires to be expressed in characteristic speech. a whole poetical world is open to the poet of brynhild, and to the other poets of the northern heroic cycle. they have taken the first day's journey into the empire of homer and shakespeare; the forms of poetry that they employ are varied and developed by them so as to express as fully as possible the poetical conception of different individual characters. it is not easy to leave them without the impression that their poetry was capable of infinitely greater progress in this direction; that some at least of the poets of the north were "bearers of the torch" in their generation, not less than the poets of provence or france who came after them and led the imagination of christendom into another way. that is, it is possible to think of the poets of sigurd and brynhild as holding among the northern nations of the tenth or eleventh century the place that is held in every generation by some set of authors who, for the time, are at the head of intellectual and literary adventure, who hold authority, from odin or the muses, to teach their contemporaries one particular kind of song, till the time comes when their vogue is exhausted, and they are succeeded by other masters and other schools. this commission has been held by various kinds of author since the beginning of history, and manifold are the lessons that have been recommended to the world by their authority; now epic, now courtly and idealist lyric, romantic drama, pedantic tragedy, funeral orations, analytical novels. they are not all amusing, and not all their prices are more than the rate of an old song. but they all have a value as trophies, as monuments of what was most important in their time, of the things in which the generations, wise and foolish, have put their trust and their whole soul. the ballads have not this kind of importance; the ballad poets are remote from the lists where the great champions overthrow one another, where poet takes the crown from poet. the ballads, by their very nature, are secluded and apart from the great literary enterprises; it is the beauty of them that they are exempt from the proclamations and the arguments, the shouting and the tumult, the dust and heat, that accompany the great literary triumphs and make epochs for the historians, as in the day of _cléopatre_, or the day of _hernani_. the ballad has no weight of responsibility upon it; it does not carry the intellectual light of its century; its authors are easily satisfied. in the various examples of the teutonic alliterative poetry there is recognisable the effort and anxiety of poets who are not content with old forms, who have a poetical vocation to go on and find out new forms, who are on the search for the "one grace above the rest," by which all the chief poets are led. the remains of this poetry are so many experiments, which, in whatever respects they may have failed, yet show the work and energy of authors who are proud of their art, as well as the dignity of men who are familiar with greatness and great actions: in both which respects they differ from the ballad poets. the spell of the popular story, the popular ballad, is not quite the same as theirs. theirs is more commanding; they are nearer to the strenuous life of the world than are the simple people who remember, over their fires of peat, the ancient stories of the wanderings of kings' sons. they have outgrown the stage of life for which the fables and old wives' tales are all-sufficient; they have begun to make a difference between fable and characters; they have entered on a way by which the highest poetical victories are attainable. the poetry of the old lays of the volsungs, as compared with popular ballads and tales, is "weighty and philosophical"--full of the results of reflection on character. nor have they with all this lost the inexplicable magic of popular poetry, as the poems of helgi and sigrun, and of the daughter of angantyr, and others, may easily prove. iv the style of the poems the style of the poems, in what concerns their verse and diction, is not less distinctly noble than their spirit and temper. the alliterative verse, wherever it is found, declares itself as belonging to an elaborate poetical tradition. the alliterative line is rhetorically capable of a great amount of emphasis; it lends itself as readily as the "drumming decasyllabon" of the elizabethan style to pompous declamation. parallelism of phrases, the favourite rhetorical device, especially with the old english poets, is incompatible with tenuity of style; while the weight of the verse, as a rule, prevents the richness of phrasing from becoming too extravagant and frivolous.[ ] [footnote : examples in appendix, note a.] the style of alliterative verse is not monotonous. without reckoning the forms that deviate from the common epic measure, such as the northern lyrical staves, there may be found in it as many varieties of style as in english blank verse from the days of _gorboduc_ onward. in its oldest common form it may be supposed that the verse was not distinctly epic or lyric; lyric rather than epic, lyric with such amount of epic as is proper for psalms of triumph, or for the praise of a king, the kind of verse that might be used for any sort of _carmina_, such as for marking authorship and ownership on a sword or a horn, for epitaphs or spells, or for vituperative epigrams. in england and the continent the verse was early adapted for continuous history. the lyrical and gnomic usages were not abandoned. the poems of _widsith_ and _deor's lament_ show how the allusive and lyrical manner of referring to heroic legend was kept up in england. the general tendency, however, seems to have favoured a different kind of poetry. the common form of old english verse is fitted for narrative. the ideal of the poets is one that would have the sense "variously drawn out from one verse to another." when the verse is lyrical in tone, as in the _dream of the rood_, or the _wanderer_, the lyrical passion is commonly that of mourning or regret, and the expression is elegiac and diffuse, not abrupt or varied. the verse, whether narrative or elegiac, runs in rhythmical periods; the sense is not "concluded in the couplet." the lines are mortised into one another; by preference, the sentences begin in the middle of a line. the parallelism of the old poetry, and its wealth of paraphrase, encourage deliberation in the sentences, though they are often interrupted by a short sentence, generally introduced to point a moral. the old norse poetry, with many likenesses to the old english, had a different taste in rhetorical syntax. instead of the long-drawn phrases of the english poetry, and an arrangement of sentences by which the metrical limits of the line were generally disguised, the norse alliterative poetry adopted a mode of speech that allowed the line to ring out clearly, and gave full force to the natural emphasis of the rhythm. these two opposite rhetorical tendencies are illustrated also by the several variations upon the common rhythm that found favour in one region and the other. where an english or a german alliterative poet wishes to vary from the common metre, he uses the lengthened line, an expansion of the simple line, which, from its volume, is less suitable for pointed expression, and more capable of pathos or solemnity, than the ordinary form of verse. the long line of the saxon and english poets is not used in the norse poetry; there the favourite verse, where the ordinary narrative line is discarded, is in the form of gnomic couplets, in which, as in the classical elegiac measure, a full line is succeeded by a truncated or broken rhythm, and with the same effect of clinching the meaning of the first line as is commonly given by the greek or latin pentameter. of this favourite northern measure there are only one or two casual and sporadic instances in english poetry; in the short dramatic lyric of the _exeter book_, interpreted so ingeniously by mr. bradley and mr. gollancz, and in the gnomic verses of the same collection. this difference of taste goes very far to explain the difference between english and norse epic; to appreciate the difference of style is to understand the history of the early poetry. it was natural that the more equable form of the english and the continental german narrative poetry should prove itself fit for extended and continuous epic narrative; it was inevitable that the norse intolerance of tame expression, and of everything unimpassioned or unemphatic, should prevent the growth of any of the larger and slower kinds of poetry. the triumphs of alliterative poetry in the first or english kind are the long swelling passages of tragic monologue, of which the greatest is in the saxon _genesis_,--the speech of satan after the fall from heaven. the best of the northern poetry is all but lyrical; the poem of the sibyl, the poems of sigrun, gudrun, hervor. the nature of the two forms of poetry is revealed in their respective manners of going wrong. the decline of the old english poetry is shown by an increase of diffuseness and insipidity. the old norse poetry was attacked by an evil of a different sort, the malady of false wit and over-decoration. the english poetry, when it loses strength and self-control, is prone to monotonous lamentation; the norse poetry is tempted to overload itself with conceits. in the one there is excess of sentiment, in the other the contrary vice of frigidity, and a premeditated and ostentatious use of figurative expressions. the poem of _beowulf_ has known the insidious approach and temptation of diffuse poetic melancholy. the northern poems are corrupted by the vanity of metaphor. to evade the right term for everything has been the aim of many poetic schools; it has seldom been attained more effectually than in the poetry of the norwegian tongue. periphrastic epithets are part of the original and common stock of the teutonic poetry. they form a large part of the vocabulary of common phrases which bear witness to the affinity existing among the remains of this poetry in all the dialects.[ ] [footnote : compare the index to sievers's edition of the _hêliand_ for illustrations of this community of poetical diction in old saxon, english, norse, and high german; and j. grimm, _andreas und elene_ ( ), pp. xxv.-xliv.] but this common device was differently applied in the end, by the two literatures, english and icelandic, in which the old forms of verse held their ground longest against the rhyming forms. the tendency in england was to make use of the well-worn epithets, to ply the _gradus_: the duller kind of anglo-saxon poetry is put together as latin verses are made in school,--an old-fashioned metaphor is all the more esteemed for its age. the poets, and presumably their hearers, are best content with familiar phrases. in iceland, on the other hand, there was an impatience of the old vocabulary, and a curiosity and search for new figures, that in the complexity and absurdity of its results is not approached by any school of "false wit" in the whole range of literature. already in the older forms of northern poetry it is plain that there is a tendency to lyrical emphasis which is unfavourable to the chances of long narrative in verse. very early, also, there are symptoms of the familiar literary plague, the corruption of metaphor. both these tendencies have for their result the new school of poetry peculiar to the north and the courts of the northern kings and earls,--the court poetry, or poetry of the scalds, which in its rise and progress involved the failure of true epic. the german and english epic failed by exhaustion in the competition with latin and romance literature, though not without something to boast of before it went under. the northern epic failed, because of the premature development of lyrical forms, first of all within itself, and then in the independent and rival modes of the scaldic poetry. the scaldic poetry, though later in kind than the poems of _codex regius_, is at least as old as the tenth century;[ ] the latest of the epic poems, _atlamál_ (the greenland poem of attila), and others, show marks of the influence of court poetry, and are considerably later in date than the earliest of the scalds. [footnote : see _bidrag til den ældste skaldedigtnings historie_, by dr. sophus bugge ( ).] the court poetry is lyric, not epic. the aim of the court poets was not the narrative or the dramatic presentation of the greater heroic legends; it was the elaborate decoration of commonplace themes, such as the praise of a king, by every possible artifice of rhyme and alliteration, of hard and exact construction of verse, and, above all, of far-sought metaphorical allusions. in this kind of work, in the praise of kings alive or dead, the poet was compelled to betake himself to mythology and mythical history, like the learned poets of other nations with their mythology of olympus. in the mythology of asgard were contained the stores of precious names and epithets by means of which the poems might be made to glitter and blaze.[ ] it was for the sake of poets like these that snorri wrote his _edda_, and explained the mythical references available for the modern poetry of his time, though fortunately his spirit and talent were not limited to this didactic end, nor to the pedantries and deadly brilliance of fashionable verse. by the time of snorri the older kind of poetry had become very much what chaucer was to the elizabethan sonneteers, or spenser to the contemporaries of pope. it was regarded with some amount of honour, and some condescension, but it had ceased to be the right kind of poetry for a "courtly maker." [footnote : compare _c.p.b._, ii. , excursus on the figures and metaphors of old northern poetry.] the northern poetry appears to have run through some of the same stages as the poetry of greece, though with insufficient results in most of them. the epic poetry is incomplete, with all its nobility. the best things of the old poetry are dramatic--lyrical monologues, like the song of the sibyl, and gudrun's story to theodoric, or dialogues like those of helgi and sigrun, hervor and angantyr. before any adequate large rendering had been accorded to those tragic histories, the northern poetry, in its impatience of length, had discovered the idyllic mode of expression and the dramatic monologue, in which there was no excuse for weakness and tameness, and, on the contrary, great temptation to excess in emphatic and figurative language. instead of taking a larger scene and a more complex and longer story, the poets seem to have been drawn more and more to cut short the story and to intensify the lyrical passion of their dialogue or monologue. almost as if they had known the horror of infinite flatness that is all about the literature of the middle ages, as if there had fallen upon them, in that aleïan plain, the shadow of the enormous beast out of aristotle's _poetics_, they chose to renounce all superfluity, and throw away the makeshift wedges and supports by which an epic is held up. in this way they did great things, and _volospá_ (the _sibyl's prophecy_) is their reward. to write out in full the story of the volsungs and niblungs was left to the prose compilers of the _volsunga saga_, and to the austrian poet of the _nibelungenlied_. the _volospá_ is as far removed from the courtly odes and their manner and ingenuity as the _marriage hymn_ of catullus from the _coma berenices_. the _volospá_, however, has this in common with the mechanical odes, that equally with these it stands apart from epic, that equally with these it fuses epic material into an alien form. the sublimity of this great poem of the _doom_ is not like the majesty or strength of epic. the voice is not the voice of a teller of stories. and it is here, not in true epic verse, that the northern poetry attains its height. it is no ignoble form of poetry that is represented by the _sibyl's song_ and the _lament of gudrun_. but it was not enough for the ambition of the poets. they preferred the composition of correct and elaborate poems in honour of great men, with much expenditure of mythology and without passion;[ ] one of the forms of poetry which may be truly said to leave nothing to be desired, the most artificial and mechanical poetry in the world, except possibly the closely-related kinds in the traditional elaborate verse of ireland or of wales. [footnote : these may be found in the second volume of the _corpus poeticum boreale_.] it was still possible to use this modern and difficult rhetoric, occasionally, for subjects like those of the freer epic; to choose a subject from heroic tradition and render it in the fashionable style. the _death-song of ragnar lodbrok_[ ] is the chief of those secondary dramatic idylls. it is marked off by difference of verse, for one thing, from the _hamðismál_ and the _atlakviða_; and, besides this, it has the characteristic of imitative and conventional heroic literature--the unpersuasive and unconvincing force of the heroic romance, the rhetoric of almanzor. the end of the poem is fine, but it does not ring quite true:-- the gods will welcome me; there is nothing to bewail in death. i am ready to go; they are calling me home, the maidens whom odin has sent to call me. with gladness will i drink the ale, set high among the gods. the hours of life are gone over; laughing will i die. [footnote : _c.p.b._, ii. .] it is not like the end of the sons of gudrun; it is not of the same kind as the last words of sorli, which are simpler, and infinitely more imaginative and true:-- we have fought; if we die to-day, if we die to-morrow, there is little to choose. no man may speak when once the fates have spoken (_hamðismál_, s.f.). it is natural that the _song of ragnar lodbrok_ should be appreciated by modern authors. it is one of the documents responsible for the conventional valkyria and valhalla of the romantic school, and for other stage properties, no longer new. the poem itself is in spirit rather more nearly related to the work of tegnér or oehlenschläger than to the _volospá_. it is a secondary and literary version, a "romantic" version of ideas and images belonging to a past time, and studied by an antiquarian poet with an eye for historical subjects.[ ] [footnote : translated in percy's _runic poetry_ ( ), p. , and often since.] the progress of epic was not at an end in the rise of the new court poetry that sounded sweeter in the ears of mortals than the old poems of _sigurd_ and _brynhild_. the conceits and the hard correctness of the scalds did not satisfy all the curiosity or the imaginative appetite of their patrons. there still remained a desire for epic, or at least for a larger and freer kind of historical discourse. this was satisfied by the prose histories of the great men of iceland, of the kings of norway and the lords of the isles; histories the nearest to true epic of all that have ever been spoken without verse. that the chief of all the masters of this art should have been snorri sturluson, the exponent and practitioner of the mystery of the court poets, is among the pleasantest of historical paradoxes. the development of the court poetry to all extremes of "false wit," and of glaring pretence and artificiality of style, makes the contrast all the more vivid between its brocaded stiffness and the ease and freedom of the sagas. but even apart from the court poetry, it is clear that there was little chance for any development of the northern heroic poetry into an homeric fulness of detail. in the norse poetry, as in greek, the primitive forms of heroic dirges or hymns give place to narrative poetry; and that again is succeeded by a new kind of lyric, in which the ancient themes of the _lament_ and the _song of praise_ are adorned with the new ideas and the new diction of poets who have come to study novelty, and have entered, though with far other arms and accoutrements, on the same course as the greek lyric authors of dithyrambs and panegyrical odes. in this progress of poetry from the unknown older songs, like those of which tacitus speaks, to the epic form as it is preserved in the "elder edda," and from the epic form to the lyrical form of the scalds, the second stage is incomplete; the epic form is uncertain and half-developed. the rise of the court poetry is the most obvious explanation of this failure. the court poetry, with all its faults, is a completed form which had its day of glory, and even rather more than its share of good fortune. it is the characteristic and successful kind of poetry in iceland and norway, just as other kinds of elaborate lyric were cultivated, to the depreciation of epic, in provence and in italy. it was to the court poet that the prizes were given; the epic form was put out of favour, generations before the fragments of it were gathered together and preserved by the collector from whose books they have descended to the extant manuscripts and the editions of the "elder edda." but at the same time it may be represented that the court poetry was as much effect as cause of the depreciation of epic. the lyrical strain declared itself in the northern epic poetry too strongly for any such epic work as either _beowulf_ or the _hêliand_. the bent was given too early, and there was no recovery possible. the court poetry, in its rhetorical brilliance and its allusive phrases, as well as in the hardness and correctness of its verse, is carrying out to completion certain tastes and principles whose influence is manifest throughout the other orders of old northern poetry; and there is no need to go to the court poetry to explain the difference between the history of northern and of english alliterative verse, though it is by means of the court poetry that this difference may be brought into the strongest light. the contrast between the english liking for continuous discourse and the norse liking for abrupt emphasis is already to be discerned in the oldest literary documents of the two nations. v the progress of epic various renderings of the same story due ( ) to accidents of tradition and impersonal causes: ( ) to calculation and selection of motives by the poets, and intentional modification of traditional matter. _beowulf_, as the poem stands, is quite a different sort of thing from the poems in the copenhagen manuscript. it is given out by its scribes in all the glory of a large poem, handsomely furnished with a prelude, a conclusion, and divisions into several books. it has the look of a substantial epic poem. it was evidently regarded as something considerable, as a work of eminent virtue and respectability. the northern poems, treasured and highly valued as they evidently were, belong to a different fashion. in the _beowulf_ of the existing manuscript the fluctuation and variation of the older epic tradition has been controlled by editors who have done their best to establish a text of the poem. the book has an appearance of authority. there is little of this in the icelandic manuscript. the northern poems have evidently been taken as they were found. imperfections of tradition, which in _beowulf_ would have been glossed over by an editorial process, are here left staring at the reader. the english poem pretends to be a literary work of importance--a book, in short; while the icelandic verses are plainly gathered from all quarters, and in such a condition as to defy the best intentions of the editor, who did his best to understand what he heard, but had no consistent policy of improvement or alteration, to correct the accidental errors and discrepancies of the oral communications. further, and apart from the accidents of this particular book, there is in the poems, even when they are best preserved, a character of fluctuation and uncertainty, belonging to an older and less literary fashion of poetry than that of _beowulf_. _beowulf_ has been regarded by some as a composite epic poem made out of older and shorter poems. _codex regius_ shows that this hypothesis is dealing with an undoubted _vera causa_ when it talks of short lays on heroic subjects, and of the variations of treatment to be found in different lays on one and the same theme, and of the possibilities of contamination. thus, in considering the story of beowulf's descent under water, and the difficulties and contradictions of that story as it stands, ten brink has been led to suppose that the present text is made up of two independent versions, run together by an editor in a hazardous way without regard to the differences in points of detail, which still remain to the annoyance of the careful reader. there is no great risk in the assumption that there were different versions of the fight with grendel's mother, which may have been carelessly put together into one version in spite of their contradictions. in the _codex regius_ there are three different versions of the death of the niblungs, the _atlakviða_, _atlamál_, and the _lament of oddrun_. the _lament of oddrun_ is vitally different from the other two poems, and these differ from one another, with regard to the motive of atli's feud with gunnar. it is possible for the human mind to imagine an editor, a literary man, capable of blending the poems in order to make a larger book. this would be something like the process which ten brink has suspected in the composition of this part of _beowulf_. it is one thing, however, to detect the possibility of such misdemeanours; and quite another thing to suppose that it is by methods such as these that the bulk of the larger epic is swollen beyond the size of common lays or ballads. it is impossible, at any rate, by any reduction or analysis of _beowulf_, to get rid of its stateliness of narrative; it would be impossible by any fusion or aggregation of the eddic lays to get rid of their essential brevity. no accumulation of lays can alter the style from its trick of detached and abrupt suggestions to the slower and more equable mode. that there was a growth of epic among the teutonic nations is what is proved by all the documents. this growth was of the same general kind as the progress of any of the great forms of literature--the drama, the novel. successive generations of men, speaking the same or similar forms of language, made poetical experiments in a common subject-manner, trying different ways of putting things, and changing their forms of poetry according to local and personal variations of taste; so that the same story might be told over and over again, in different times, with different circumstances. in one region the taste might be all for compression, for increase of the tension, for suppression of the tamer intervals in the story. in another it might run to greater length and ease, and favour a gradual explication of the plot. the "elder edda" shows that contamination was possible. it shows that there might be frequent independent variations on the same theme, and that, apart from any editorial work, these versions might occasionally be shuffled and jumbled by mere accidents of recollection. thus there is nothing contrary to the evidence in the theory that a redactor of _beowulf_ may have had before him different versions of different parts of the poem, corresponding to one another, more or less, as _atlamál_ corresponds to the _atlakviða_. this hypothesis, however, does not account for the difference in form between the english and the northern poems. no handling of the _atlamál_ or the _atlakviða_ could produce anything like the appearance of _beowulf_. the contaminating editor may be useful as an hypothesis in certain particular cases. but the heroic poetry got on very well without him, generally speaking. it grew by a free and natural growth into a variety of forms, through the ambitions and experiments of poets. variety is evident in the poems that lie outside the northern group; _finnesburh_ is of a different order from _waldere_. it is in the northern collection, however, that the variety is most evident. there the independent versions of the same story are brought together, side by side. the experiments of the old school are ranged there; and the fact that experiments were made, that the old school was not satisfied with its conventions, is perhaps the most legitimate inference, and one of the most significant, to be made by a reader of the poems. variations on similar themes are found in all popular poetry; here again the poems of the _edda_ present themselves as akin to ballads. here again they are distinguished from ballads by their greater degree of ambition and self-consciousness. for it will not do to dismiss the northern poems on the volsung story as a mere set of popular variations on common themes. the more carefully they are examined, the less will be the part assigned to chance and imperfect recollection in producing the variety of the poems. the variation, where there are different presentations of the same subject, is not produced by accident or the casual and faulty repetition of a conventional type of poem, but by a poetical ambition for new forms. _codex regius_ is an imperfect monument of a time of poetical energy in which old forms were displaced by new, and old subjects refashioned by successive poets. as in the athenian or the english drama the story of oedipus or of lear might be taken up by one playwright after another, so in the north the northern stories were made to pass through changes in the minds of different poets. the analogy to the greek and the english drama need not be forced. without any straining of comparisons, it may be argued that the relation of the _atlamál_ and _atlakviða_ is like the relation of euripides to aeschylus, and not so much like the variations of ballad tradition, in this respect, that the _atlamál_ is a careful, deliberate, and somewhat conceited attempt to do better in a new way what has been done before by an older poet. the idylls of the heroines, brynhild, gudrun, oddrun, are not random and unskilled variations; they are considerate and studied poems, expressing new conceptions and imaginations. it is true that this poetry is still, in many respects, in the condition of popular poetry and popular traditional stories. the difference of plot in some versions of the same subject appears to be due to the ordinary causes that produce the variants of popular tales,--defective memory, accidental loss of one point in the story, and change of emphasis in another. to causes such as these, to the common impersonal accidents of tradition, may perhaps be referred one of the strangest of all the alterations in the bearing of a story--the variation of plot in the tradition of the niblungs. in the "elder edda" the death of the niblungs is laid to the charge of attila; their sister gudrun does her best to save them; when she fails in this, she takes vengeance for them on her husband. in the german tradition, as in the version known to saxo in the _nibelungenlied_, in the danish ballad of _grimild's revenge_ (which is borrowed from the german), the lines are laid quite differently. there it is their sister who brings about the death of the kings; it is the wife of sigfred, of sigfred whom they have killed, that exacts vengeance from her brothers gunther and hagene. attila is here put aside. gudrun's slaughter of her children is unrecorded; there is no motive for it when all her anger is turned against her brothers. this shifting of the centre of a story is not easy to explain. but, whatever the explanation may be, it seems probable that it lies somewhere within the range of popular tradition, that the change is due to some of the common causes of the transformation of stories, and not to a definite and calculated poetical modification. the tragical complications are so many in the story of the niblungs that there could not fail to be variations in the traditional interpretation of motives, even without the assistance of the poets and their new readings of character. in some of the literary documents there may be found two kinds of variation from an original form of story,--variation due to those popular and indefinite causes, the variation of failing memory, on the one hand; and on the other, variation due to the ambition or conceit of an author with ideas of his own. a comparison of the _atlakviða_, the _atlamál_, and the _lamentation of oddrun_ may at first suggest that we have here to deal with just such variants as are common wherever stories are handed on by oral tradition. further consideration will more and more reduce the part allotted to oral maltreatment, and increase the part of intentional and artistic modification, in the variations of story to be found in these poems. all three poems are agreed in their ignorance of the variation which makes the wife of sigfred into the avenger of his death. in all three it is attila who brings about the death of the brothers of gudrun. it seems to have been a constant part of the traditional story, as known to the authors of these three poems, that attila, when he had the brothers of gudrun in his power, gave order to cut out the heart of hogni, and thereafter to throw gunnar into the serpents' den. the _atlakviða_ presents an intelligible explanation of this; the other two poems leave this part of the action rather vague. in the _atlakviða_ the motive of attila's original hatred is left at first unexplained, but comes out in the circumstances of the death of the niblungs. when the burgundian kings are seized and bound, they are called upon to buy themselves off with gold. it is understood in gunnar's reply, that the gold of the niblung treasure is what is sought for. he asks that the heart of hogni may be brought to him. they bring him, instead, the heart of hialli, which gunnar detects at once as the heart of a coward. then at last the heart of hogni is cut out and brought to gunnar; and then he defies the huns, and keeps his secret. now is the hoard of the niblungs all in my keeping alone, for hogni is dead: there was doubt while we two lived, but now there is doubt no more. rhine shall bear rule over the gold of jealousy, the eager river over the niblung's heritage; the goodly rings shall gleam in the whirling water, they shall not pass to the children of the huns. gunnar was thrown among the snakes, and there he harped upon his harp before his death came on him. the end of gunnar is not told explicitly; the story goes on to the vengeance of gudrun. in the _oddrúnargrátr_ there is another motive for attila's enmity to gunnar: not the gold of the niblungs, but the love that was between gunnar and oddrun (oddrun was the sister of attila and brynhild). the death of brynhild is alluded to, but that is not the chief motive. the gold of the niblungs is not mentioned. still, however, the death of hogni precedes the death of gunnar,--"they cut out the heart of hogni, and his brother they set in the serpents' close." gunnar played upon his harp among the serpents, and for a long time escaped them; but the old serpent came out at last and crawled to his heart. it is implied that the sound of his music is a charm for the serpents; but another motive is given by oddrun, as she tells the story: gunnar played on his harp for oddrun, to be heard by her, so that she could come to help him. but she came too late. it might be inferred from this poem that the original story of the death of hogni has been imperfectly recollected by the poet who touches lightly on it and gives no explanation here. it is fairer to suppose that it was passed over because it was irrelevant. the poet had chosen for his idyll the love of gunnar and oddrun, a part of the story which is elsewhere referred to among these poems, namely in the _long lay of brynhild_ (l. ). by his choice of this, and his rendering of it in dramatic monologue, he debarred himself from any emphatic use of the motive for hogni's death. it cannot be inferred from his explanation of gunnar's harp-playing that the common explanation was unknown to him. on the contrary, it is implied here, just as much as in _atlakviða_, that the serpents are kept from him by the music, until the old sleepless one gives him his death. but the poet, while he keeps this incident of the traditional version, is not particularly interested in it, except as it affords him a new occasion to return to his main theme of the love story. gunnar's music is a message to oddrun. this is an imaginative and dramatic adaptation of old material, not a mere lapse of memory, not a mere loss of the traditional bearings of the story. the third of these poems, the _atlamál_, is in some respects the most remarkable of them all. in its plot it has more than the others, at the first reading, the appearance of a faulty recollection; for, while it makes a good deal of play with the circumstances of the death of hogni, it misses, or appears to miss, the point of the story; the motive of gunnar, which is evident and satisfactory in the _atlakviða_, is here suppressed or dropped. the gold of the niblungs is not in the story at all; the motive of attila appears to be anger at the death of his sister brynhild, gunnar's wife, but his motive is not much dwelt on. it is as if the author had forgotten the run of events, like a blundering minstrel. on the other hand, the poem in its style is further from all the manners of popular poetry, more affected and rhetorical, than any of the other pieces in the book. it is written in the _málaháttr_, a variety of the common epic measure, with a monotonous cadence; the sort of measure that commends itself to an ambitious and rhetorical poet with a fancy for correctness and regularity. the poem has its origin in an admiration for the character of gudrun, and a desire to bring out more fully than in the older poems the tragic thoughts and passion of the heroine. gudrun's anxiety for her brothers' safety, and her warning message to them not to come to the court of the huns, had been part of the old story. in the _atlakviða_ she sends them a token, a ring with a wolf's hair twisted round it, which is noticed by hogni but not accepted by gunnar. in the _atlamál_ something more is made of this; her message here is written in runes, and these are falsified on the way by attila's messenger, so that the warning is at first unread. but the confusion of the runes is detected by the wife of hogni, and so the story opens with suspense and forebodings of the doom. the death of hogni and gunnar is explained in a new way, and always with the passion of gudrun as the chief theme. in this story the fight of the niblungs and the huns is begun outside the doors of the hall. gudrun hears the alarm and rushes out with a welcome to her brothers,--"that was their last greeting,"--and a cry of lamentation over their neglect of her runes. then she tries to make peace, and when she fails in that, takes up a sword and fights for her brothers. it is out of rage and spite against gudrun, and in order to tame her spirit, that attila has the heart of hogni cut out of him, and sends gunnar to the serpents. all this change in the story is the result of meditation and not of forgetfulness. right or wrong, the poet has devised his story in his own way, and his motives are easily discovered. he felt that the vengeance of gudrun required to be more carefully and fully explained. her traditional character was not quite consistent with the horrors of her revenge. in the _atlamál_ the character of gudrun is so conceived as to explain her revenge,--the killing of her children follows close upon her fury in the battle, and the cruelty of attila is here a direct challenge to gudrun, not, as in the _atlakviða_, a mere incident in attila's search for the niblung treasure. the cruelty of the death of hogni in the _atlakviða_ is purely a matter of business; it is not of attila's choosing, and apparently he favours the attempt to save hogni by the sacrifice of hialli the feeble man. in the _atlamál_ it is to save hogni from attila that hialli the cook is chased into a corner and held under the knife. this comic interlude is one of the liveliest passages of the poem. it serves to increase the strength of hogni. hogni begs them to let the creature go,--"why should we have to put up with his squalling?" it may be observed that in this way the poet gets out of a difficulty. it is not in his design to have the coward's heart offered to gunnar; he has dropped that part of the story entirely. gunnar is not asked to give up the treasure, and has no reason to protect his secret by asking for the death of his brother; and there would be no point in keeping the incident for the benefit of attila. that gunnar should first detect the imposture, and should then recognise the heart of his brother, is a fine piece of heroic imagination of a primitive kind. it would have been wholly inept and spiritless to transfer this from gunnar to attila. the poet of _atlamál_ shows that he understands what he is about. the more his work is scrutinised, the more evident becomes the sobriety of his judgment. his dexterity in the disposing of his incidents is proved in every particular. while a first reading of the poem and a first comparison with the story of _atlakviða_ may suggest the blundering and irresponsible ways of popular reciters, a very little attention will serve to bring out the difference and to justify this poet. he is not an improviser; his temptations are of another sort. he is the poet of a second generation, one of those who make up by energy of intelligence for their want of original and spontaneous imagination. it is not that he is cold or dull; but there is something wanting in the translation of his thoughts into speech. his metres are hammered out; the precision of his verse is out of keeping with the fury of his tragic purport. the faults are the faults of overstudy, the faults of correctness and maturity. the significance of the _atlamál_ is considerable in the history of the northern poetry. it may stand for the furthest mark in one particular direction; the epic poetry of the north never got further than this. if _beowulf_ or _waldere_ may perhaps represent the highest accomplishment of epic in old english verse, the _atlamál_ has, at least, as good a claim in the other language. the _atlamál_ is not the finest of the old poems. that place belongs, without any question, to the _volospá_, the sibyl's song of the judgment; and among the others there are many that surpass the _atlamál_ in beauty. but the _atlamál_ is complete; it is a work of some compass, diligently planned and elaborated. further, although it has many of the marks of the new rhetoric, these do not change its character as a narrative poem. it is a narrative poem, not a poem of lyrical allusions, not an heroic ode. it is at once the largest and the most harmonious in construction of all the poems. it proves that the change of the northern poetry, from narrative to the courtly lyric, was a change not made without fair opportunity to the older school to show what it was worth. the variety of the three poems of attila, ending in the careful rhetoric of the _atlamál_, is proof sufficient of the labour bestowed by different poets in their use of the epic inheritance. great part of the history of the north is misread, unless account is taken of the artistic study, the invention, the ingenuity, that went to the making of those poems. this variety is not the confusion of barbarous tradition, or the shifts and experiments of improvisers. the prosody and the rhetorical furniture of the poems might prevent that misinterpretation. it might be prevented also by an observation of the way the matter is dealt with, even apart from the details of the language and the style. the proof from these two quarters, from the matter and from the style, is not easily impugned. so the first impression is discredited, and so it appears that the "elder edda," for all its appearance of disorder, haste, and hazard, really contains a number of specimens of art, not merely a heap of casual and rudimentary variants. the poems of the icelandic manuscript assert themselves as individual and separate works. they are not the mere makings of an epic, the mere materials ready to the hand of an editor. it still remains true that they are defective, but it is true also that they are the work of artists, and of a number of artists with different aims and ideals. the earliest of them is long past the stage of popular improvisation, and the latest has the qualities of a school that has learned more art than is good for it. the defect of the northern epic is that it allowed itself to be too soon restricted in its scope. it became too minute, too emphatic, too intolerant of the comfortable dilutions, the level intervals, between the critical moments.[ ] it was too much affected by the vanities of the rival scaldic poetry; it was overcome by rhetoric. but it cannot be said that it went out tamely. [footnote : there is a natural affinity to gray's poetry in the icelandic poetry that he translated--compressed, emphatic, incapable of laxity.] vi _beowulf_ the poem of _beowulf_ has been sorely tried; critics have long been at work on the body of it, to discover how it is made. it gives many openings for theories of agglutination and adulteration. many things in it are plainly incongruous. the pedigree of grendel is not authentic; the christian sentiments and morals are not in keeping with the heroic or the mythical substance of the poem; the conduct of the narrative is not always clear or easy to follow. these difficulties and contradictions have to be explained; the composition of the poem has to be analysed; what is old has to be separated from what is new and adventitious; and the various senses and degrees of "old" and "new" have to be determined, in the criticism of the poem. with all this, however, the poem continues to possess at least an apparent and external unity. it is an extant book, whatever the history of its composition may have been; the book of the adventures of beowulf, written out fair by two scribes in the tenth century; an epic poem, with a prologue at the beginning, and a judgment pronounced on the life of the hero at the end; a single book, considered as such by its transcribers, and making a claim to be so considered. before any process of disintegration is begun, this claim should be taken into account; the poem deserves to be appreciated as it stands. whatever may be the secrets of its authorship, it exists as a single continuous narrative poem; and whatever its faults may be, it holds a position by itself, and a place of some honour, as the one extant poem of considerable length in the group to which it belongs. it has a meaning and value apart from the questions of its origin and its mode of production. its present value as a poem is not affected by proofs or arguments regarding the way in which it may have been patched or edited. the patchwork theory has no power to make new faults in the poem; it can only point out what faults exist, and draw inferences from them. it does not take away from any dignity the book may possess in its present form, that it has been subjected to the same kind of examination as the _iliad_. the poem may be reviewed as it stands, in order to find out what sort of thing passed for heroic poetry with the english at the time the present copy of the poem was written. however the result was obtained, _beowulf_ is, at any rate, the specimen by which the teutonic epic poetry must be judged. it is the largest monument extant. there is nothing beyond it, in that kind, in respect of size and completeness. if the old teutonic epic is judged to have failed, it must be because _beowulf_ is a failure. taking the most cursory view of the story of _beowulf_, it is easy to recognise that the unity of the plot is not like the unity of the _iliad_ or the _odyssey_. one is inclined at first to reckon _beowulf_ along with those epics of which aristotle speaks, the _heracleids_ and _theseids_, the authors of which "imagined that because heracles was one person the story of his life could not fail to have unity."[ ] [footnote : _poet._ a.] it is impossible to reduce the poem of _beowulf_ to the scale of aristotle's _odyssey_ without revealing the faults of structure in the english poem:-- a man in want of work goes abroad to the house of a certain king troubled by harpies, and having accomplished the purification of the house returns home with honour. long afterwards, having become king in his own country, he kills a dragon, but is at the same time choked by the venom of it. his people lament for him and build his tomb. aristotle made a summary of the homeric poem, because he wished to show how simple its construction really was, apart from the episodes. it is impossible, by any process of reduction and simplification, to get rid of the duality in _beowulf_. it has many episodes, quite consistent with a general unity of action, but there is something more than episodes, there is a sequel. it is as if to the _odyssey_ there had been added some later books telling in full of the old age of odysseus, far from the sea, and his death at the hands of his son telegonus. the adventure with the dragon is separate from the earlier adventures. it is only connected with them because the same person is involved in both. it is plain from aristotle's words that the _iliad_ and the _odyssey_ were in this, as in all respects, above and beyond the other greek epics known to aristotle. homer had not to wait for _beowulf_ to serve as a foil to his excellence. that was provided in the other epic poems of greece, in the cycle of troy, in the epic stories of theseus and heracles. it seems probable that the poem of _beowulf_ may be at least as well knit as the _little iliad_, the greek cyclic poem of which aristotle names the principal incidents, contrasting its variety with the simplicity of the _iliad_ and _odyssey_.[ ] [footnote : [greek: toigaroun ek men iliados kai odysseias mia tragôidia poieitai hekateras ê duo monai, ek de kypriôn pollai kai tês mikras iliados pleon oktô, hoion hoplôn krisis, philoktêtês, neoptolemos, eurypylos, ptôcheia, lakainai, iliou persis, kai apoplous kai sinôn kai trôiades] ( b).] indeed it is clear that the plan of _beowulf_ might easily have been much worse, that is, more lax and diffuse, than it is. this meagre amount of praise will be allowed by the most grudging critics, if they will only think of the masses of french epic, and imagine the extent to which a french company of poets might have prolonged the narrative of the hero's life--the _enfances_, the _chevalerie_--before reaching the _death of beowulf_. at line in _beowulf_ comes the long interval of time, the fifty years between the adventure at heorot and the fight between beowulf and the dragon. two thousand lines are given to the first story, a thousand to the _death of beowulf_. two thousand lines are occupied with the narrative of beowulf's expedition, his voyage to denmark, his fight with grendel and grendel's mother, his return to the land of the gauts and his report of the whole matter to king hygelac. in this part of the poem, taken by itself, there is no defect of unity. the action is one, with different parts all easily and naturally included between the first voyage and the return. it is amplified and complicated with details, but none of these introduce any new main interests. _beowulf_ is not like the _heracleids_ and _theseids_. it transgresses the limits of the homeric unity, by adding a sequel; but for all that it is not a mere string of adventures, like the bad epic in horace's _art of poetry_, or the innocent plays described by sir philip sidney and cervantes. a third of the whole poem is detached, a separate adventure. the first two-thirds taken by themselves form a complete poem, with a single action; while, in the orthodox epic manner, various allusions and explanations are introduced regarding the past history of the personages involved, and the history of other people famous in tradition. the adventure at heorot, taken by itself, would pass the scrutiny of aristotle or horace, as far as concerns the lines of its composition. there is variety in it, but the variety is kept in order and not allowed to interfere or compete with the main story. the past history is disclosed, and the subordinate novels are interpolated, as in the _odyssey_, in the course of an evening's conversation in hall, or in some other interval in the action. in the introduction of accessory matter, standing in different degrees of relevance to the main plot, the practice of _beowulf_ is not essentially different from that of classical epic. in the _iliad_ we are allowed to catch something of the story of the old time before agamemnon,--the war of thebes, lycurgus, jason, heracles,--and even of things less widely notable, less of a concern to the world than the voyage of argo, such as, for instance, the business of nestor in his youth. in _beowulf_, in a similar way, the inexhaustible world outside the story is partly represented by means of allusions and digressions. the tragedy of finnesburh is sung by the harper, and his song is reported at some length, not merely referred to in passing. the stories of thrytho, of heremod, of sigemund the wælsing and fitela his son (sigmund and sinfiotli), are introduced like the stories of lycurgus or of jason in homer. they are illustrations of the action, taken from other cycles. the fortunes of the danish and gautish kings, the fall of hygelac, the feuds with sweden, these matters come into closer relation with the story. they are not so much illustrations taken in from without, as points of attachment between the history of _beowulf_ and the untold history all round it, the history of the persons concerned, along with beowulf himself, in the vicissitudes of the danish and gautish kingdoms. in the fragments of _waldere_, also, there are allusions to other stories. in _waldere_ there has been lost a poem much longer and fuller than the _lay of hildebrand_, or any of the poems of the "elder edda"--a poem more like _beowulf_ than any of those now extant. the references to weland, to widia weland's son, to hama and theodoric, are of the same sort as the references in _beowulf_ to the story of froda and ingeld, or the references in the _iliad_ to the adventures of tydeus. in the episodic passages of _beowulf_ there are, curiously, the same degrees of relevance as in the _iliad_ and _odyssey_. some of them are necessary to the proper fulness of the story, though not essential parts of the plot. such are the references to beowulf's swimming-match; and such, in the _odyssey_, is the tale told to alcinous. the allusions to the wars of hygelac have the same value as the references in the _iliad_ and the _odyssey_ to such portions of the tale of troy, and of the return of the greek lords, as are not immediately connected with the anger of achilles, or the return of odysseus. the tale of _finnesburh_ in _beowulf_ is purely an interlude, as much as the ballad of _ares and aphrodite_ in the _odyssey_. many of the references to other legends in the _iliad_ are illustrative and comparative, like the passages about heremod or thrytho in _beowulf_. "ares suffered when otus and ephialtes kept him in a brazen vat, hera suffered and hades suffered, and were shot with the arrows of the son of amphitryon" (_il._ v. ). the long parenthetical story of heracles in a speech of agamemnon (_il._ xx. ) has the same irrelevance of association, and has incurred the same critical suspicions, as the contrast of hygd and thrytho, a fairly long passage out of a wholly different story, introduced in _beowulf_ on the very slightest of suggestions. thus in _beowulf_ and in the homeric poems there are episodes that are strictly relevant and consistent, filling up the epic plan, opening out the perspective of the story; also episodes that without being strictly relevant are rightly proportioned and subordinated, like the interlude of finnesburh, decoration added to the structure, but not overloading it, nor interfering with the design; and, thirdly, episodes that seem to be irrelevant, and may possibly be interpolations. all these kinds have the effect of increasing the mass as well as the variety of the work, and they give to _beowulf_ the character of a poem which, in dealing with one action out of an heroic cycle, is able, by the way, to hint at and partially represent a great number of other stories. it is not in the episodes alone that _beowulf_ has an advantage over the shorter and more summary poems. the frequent episodes are only part of the general liberality of the narrative. the narrative is far more cramped than in _homer_; but when compared with the short method of the northern poems, not to speak of the ballads, it comes out as itself homeric by contrast. it succeeds in representing pretty fully and continuously, not by mere allusions and implications, certain portions of heroic life and action. the principal actions in _beowulf_ are curiously trivial, taken by themselves. all around them are the rumours of great heroic and tragic events, and the scene and the personages are heroic and magnificent. but the plot in itself has no very great poetical value; as compared with the tragic themes of the niblung legend, with the tale of finnesburh, or even with the historical seriousness of the _maldon_ poem, it lacks weight. the largest of the extant poems of this school has the least important subject-matter; while things essentially and in the abstract more important, like the tragedy of froda and ingeld, are thrust away into the corners of the poem. in the killing of a monster like grendel, or in the killing of a dragon, there is nothing particularly interesting; no complication to make a fit subject for epic. _beowulf_ is defective from the first in respect of plot. the story of grendel and his mother is one that has been told in myriads of ways; there is nothing commoner, except dragons. the killing of dragons and other monsters is the regular occupation of the heroes of old wives' tales; and it is difficult to give individuality or epic dignity to commonplaces of this sort. this, however, is accomplished in the poem of _beowulf_. nothing can make the story of grendel dramatic like the story of waldere or of finnesburh. but the poet has, at any rate, in connexion with this simple theme, given a rendering, consistent, adequate, and well-proportioned, of certain aspects of life and certain representative characters in an heroic age. the characters in _beowulf_ are not much more than types; not much more clearly individual than the persons of a comedy of terence. in the shorter northern poems there are the characters of brynhild and gudrun; there is nothing in _beowulf_ to compare with them, although in _beowulf_ the personages are consistent with themselves, and intelligible. hrothgar is the generous king whose qualities were in northern history transferred to his nephew hrothulf (hrolf kraki), the type of peaceful strength, a man of war living quietly in the intervals of war. beowulf is like him in magnanimity, but his character is less uniform. he is not one of the more cruel adventurers, like starkad in the myth, or some of the men of the icelandic sagas. but he is an adventurer with something strange and not altogether safe in his disposition. his youth was like that of the lubberly younger sons in the fairy stories. "they said that he was slack." though he does not swagger like a berserk, nor "gab" like the paladins of charlemagne, he is ready on provocation to boast of what he has done. the pathetic sentiment of his farewell to hrothgar is possibly to be ascribed, in the details of its rhetoric, to the common affection of anglo-saxon poetry for the elegiac mood; but the softer passages are not out of keeping with the wilder moments of _beowulf_, and they add greatly to the interest of his character. he is more variable, more dramatic, than the king and queen of the danes, or any of the secondary personages. wealhtheo, the queen, represents the poetical idea of a noble lady. there is nothing complex or strongly dramatic in her character. hunferth, the envious man, brought in as a foil to beowulf, is not caricatured or exaggerated. his sourness is that of a critic and a politician, disinclined to accept newcomers on their own valuation. he is not a figure of envy in a moral allegory. in the latter part of the poem it is impossible to find in the character of wiglaf more than the general and abstract qualities of the "loyal servitor." yet all those abstract and typical characters are introduced in such a way as to complete and fill up the picture. the general impression is one of variety and complexity, though the elements of it are simple enough. with a plot like that of _beowulf_ it might seem that there was danger of a lapse from the more serious kind of heroic composition into a more trivial kind. certainly there is nothing in the plain story to give much help to the author; nothing in grendel to fascinate or tempt a poet with a story made to his hand. the plot of _beowulf_ is not more serious than that of a thousand easy-going romances of chivalry, and of fairy tales beyond all number. the strength of what may be called an epic tradition is shown in the superiority of _beowulf_ to the temptations of cheap romantic commonplace. beowulf, the hero, is, after all, something different from the giant-killer of popular stories, the dragon-slayer of the romantic schools. it is the virtue and the triumph of the poet of _beowulf_ that when all is done the characters of the poem remain distinct in the memory, that the thoughts and sentiments of the poem are remembered as significant, in a way that is not the way of the common romance. although the incidents that take up the principal part of the scene of _beowulf_ are among the commonest in popular stories, it is impossible to mistake the poem for one of the ordinary tales of terror and wonder. the essential part of the poem is the drama of characters; though the plot happens to be such that the characters are never made to undergo a tragic ordeal like that of so many of the other teutonic stories. it is not incorrect to say of the poem of _beowulf_ that the main story is really less important to the imagination than the accessories by which the characters are defined and distinguished. it is the defect of the poem this should be so. there is a constitutional weakness in it. although the two stories of _beowulf_ are both commonplace, there is a difference between the story of grendel and the story of the dragon. the story of the dragon is more of a commonplace than the other. almost every one of any distinction, and many quite ordinary people in certain periods of history have killed dragons; from hercules and bellerophon to gawain, who, on different occasions, narrowly escaped the fate of beowulf; from harald hardrada (who killed two at least) to more of more hall who killed the dragon of wantley. the latter part of _beowulf_ is a tissue of commonplaces of every kind: the dragon and its treasure; the devastation of the land; the hero against the dragon; the defection of his companions; the loyalty of one of them; the fight with the dragon; the dragon killed, and the hero dying from the flame and the venom of it; these are commonplaces of the story, and in addition to these there are commonplaces of sentiment, the old theme of this transitory life that "fareth as a fantasy," the lament for the glory passed away; and the equally common theme of loyalty and treason in contrast. everything is commonplace, while everything is also magnificent in its way, and set forth in the right epic style, with elegiac passages here and there. everything is commonplace except the allusions to matters of historical tradition, such as the death of ongentheow, the death of hygelac. with these exceptions, there is nothing in the latter part of _beowulf_ that might not have been taken at almost any time from the common stock of fables and appropriate sentiments, familiar to every maker or hearer of poetry from the days of the english conquest of britain, and long before that. it is not to be denied that the commonplaces here are handled with some discretion; though commonplace, they are not mean or dull.[ ] [footnote : it has been shown recently by dr. edward sievers that beowulf's dragon corresponds in many points to the dragon killed by frotho, father of haldanus, in saxo, book ii. the dragon is not wholly commonplace, but has some particular distinctive traits. see _berichte der königl. sächs. gesellschaft der wissenschaften_, juli .] the story of grendel and his mother is also common, but not as common as the dragon. the function of this story is considerably different from the other, and the class to which it belongs is differently distributed in literature. both are stories of the killing of monsters, both belong naturally to legends of heroes like theseus or hercules. but for literature there is this difference between them, that dragons belong more appropriately to the more fantastic kinds of narrative, while stories of the deliverance of a house from a pestilent goblin are much more capable of sober treatment and verisimilitude. dragons are more easily distinguished and set aside as fabulous monsters than is the family of grendel. thus the story of grendel is much better fitted than the dragon story for a composition like _beowulf_, which includes a considerable amount of the detail of common experience and ordinary life. dragons are easily scared from the neighbourhood of sober experience; they have to be looked for in the mountains and caverns of romance or fable. whereas grendel remains a possibility in the middle of common life, long after the last dragon has been disposed of. the people who tell fairy stories like the _well of the world's end_, the _knight of the red shield_, the _castle east o' the sun and west o' the moon_, have no belief, have neither belief nor disbelief, in the adventures of them. but the same people have other stories of which they take a different view, stories of wonderful things more near to their own experience. many a man to whom the _well of the world's end_ is an idea, a fancy, has in his mind a story like that of grendel which he believes, which makes him afraid. the bogle that comes to a house at night and throttles the goodman is a creature more hardy than the dragon, and more persevering. stories like that of beowulf and grendel are to be found along with other popular stories in collections; but they are to be distinguished from them. there are popular heroes of tradition to this day who are called to do for lonely houses the service done by beowulf for the house of hrothgar. peer gynt (not ibsen's peer gynt, who is sophisticated, but the original peter) is a lonely deer-stalker on the fells, who is asked by his neighbour to come and keep his house for him, which is infested with trolls. peer gynt clears them out,[ ] and goes back to his deer-stalking. the story is plainly one that touches the facts of life more nearly than stories of _shortshanks_ or the _blue belt_. the trolls are a possibility. [footnote : asbjörnsen, _norske huldre-eventyr og folkesagn_. _at renske huset_ is the phrase--"to cleanse the house." cf. _heorot is gefælsod_, "heorot is cleansed," in _beowulf_.] the story of uistean mor mac ghille phadrig is another of the same sort.[ ] it is not, like the _battle of the birds_ or _conal gulban_, a thing of pure fantasy. it is a story that may pass for true when the others have lost everything but their pure imaginative value as stories. here, again, in the west highlands, the champion is called upon like beowulf and peer gynt to save his neighbours from a warlock. and it is matter of history that bishop gudmund arason of hólar in iceland had to suppress a creature with a seal's head, selkolla, that played the game of grendel.[ ] [footnote : j.f. campbell, _tales of the west highlands_, ii. p. . the reference to this story in _catriona_ (p. ) will be remembered.] [footnote : _biskupa sögur_, i. p. .] there are people, no doubt, for whom peer gynt and the trolls, uistean mor and the warlock, even selkolla that bishop gudmund killed, are as impossible as the dragon in the end of the poem of _beowulf_. but it is certain that stories like those of grendel are commonly believed in many places where dragons are extinct. the story of beowulf and grendel is not wildly fantastic or improbable; it agrees with the conditions of real life, as they have been commonly understood at all times except those of peculiar enlightenment and rationalism. it is not to be compared with the phaeacian stories of the adventures of odysseus. those stories in the _odyssey_ are plainly and intentionally in a different order of imagination from the story of the killing of the suitors. they are pure romance, and if any hearer of the _odyssey_ in ancient times was led to go in search of the island of calypso, he might come back with the same confession as the seeker for the wonders of broceliande,--_fol i alai_. but there are other wonderful things in the _iliad_ and the _odyssey_ which are equally improbable to the modern rationalist and sceptic; yet by no means of the same kind of wonder as calypso or the sirens. probably few of the earliest hearers of the _odyssey_ thought of the sirens or of calypso as anywhere near them, while many of them must have had their grandmothers' testimony for things like the portents before the death of the suitors. grendel in the poem of _beowulf_ is in the same order of existence as these portents. if they are superstitions, they are among the most persistent; and they are superstitions, rather than creatures of romance. the fight with grendel is not of the same kind of adventure as sigurd at the hedge of flame, or svipdag at the enchanted castle. and the episode of grendel's mother is further from matter of fact than the story of grendel himself. the description of the desolate water is justly recognised as one of the masterpieces of the old english poetry; it deserves all that has been said of it as a passage of romance in the middle of epic. beowulf's descent under the water, his fight with the warlock's mother, the darkness of that "sea dingle," the light of the mysterious sword, all this, if less admirably worked out than the first description of the dolorous mere, is quite as far from heorot and the report of the table-talk of hrothgar, beowulf, and hunferth. it is also a different sort of thing from the fight with grendel. there is more of supernatural incident, more romantic ornament, less of that concentration in the struggle which makes the fight with grendel almost as good in its way as its icelandic counterpart, the wrestling of grettir and glam. the story of _beowulf_, which in the fight with grendel has analogies with the plainer kind of goblin story, rather alters its tone in the fight with grendel's mother. there are parallels in _grettis saga_, and elsewhere, to encounters like this, with a hag or ogress under water; stories of this sort have been found no less credible than stories of haunting warlocks like grendel. but this second story is not told in the same way as the first. it has more of the fashion and temper of mythical fable or romance, and less of matter of fact. more particularly, the old sword, the sword of light, in the possession of grendel's dam in her house under the water, makes one think of other legends of mysterious swords, like that of helgi, and the "glaives of light" that are in the keeping of divers "gyre carlines" in the _west highland tales_. further, the whole scheme is a common one in popular stories, especially in celtic stories of giants; after the giant is killed his mother comes to avenge him. nevertheless, the controlling power in the story of _beowulf_ is not that of any kind of romance or fantastic invention; neither the original fantasy of popular stories nor the literary embellishments of romantic schools of poetry. there are things in _beowulf_ that may be compared to things in the fairy tales; and, again, there are passages of high value for their use of the motive of pure awe and mystery. but the poem is made what it is by the power with which the characters are kept in right relation to their circumstances. the hero is not lost or carried away in his adventures. the introduction, the arrival in heorot, and the conclusion, the return of beowulf to his own country, are quite unlike the manner of pure romance; and these are the parts of the work by which it is most accurately to be judged. the adventure of grendel is put in its right proportion when it is related by beowulf to hygelac. the repetition of the story, in a shorter form, and in the mouth of the hero himself, gives strength and body to a theme that was in danger of appearing trivial and fantastic. the popular story-teller has done his work when he has told the adventures of the giant-killer; the epic poet has failed, if he has done no more than this. the character and personage of beowulf must be brought out and impressed on the audience; it is the poet's hero that they are bound to admire. he appeals to them, not directly, but with unmistakable force and emphasis, to say that they have beheld ("as may unworthiness define") the nature of the hero, and to give him their praises. the beauty and the strength of the poem of _beowulf_, as of all true epic, depend mainly upon its comprehensive power, its inclusion of various aspects, its faculty of changing the mood of the story. the fight with grendel is an adventure of one sort, grim, unrelieved, touching close upon the springs of mortal terror, the recollection or the apprehension of real adversaries possibly to be met with in the darkness. the fight with grendel's mother touches on other motives; the terror is further away from human habitations, and it is accompanied with a charm and a beauty, the beauty of the gorgon, such as is absent from the first adventure. it would have loosened the tension and broken the unity of the scene, if any such irrelevances had been admitted into the story of the fight with grendel. the fight with grendel's mother is fought under other conditions; the stress is not the same; the hero goes out to conquer, he is beset by no such apprehension as in the case of the night attack. the poet is at this point free to make use of a new set of motives, and here it is rather the scene than the action that is made vivid to the mind. but after this excursion the story comes back to its heroic beginning; and the conversation of beowulf with his hosts in denmark, and the report that he gives to his kin in gautland, are enough to reduce to its right episodic dimensions the fantasy of the adventure under the sea. in the latter part of the poem there is still another distribution of interest. the conversation of the personages is still to be found occasionally carried on in the steady tones of people who have lives of their own, and belong to a world where the tunes are not all in one key. at the same time, it cannot be denied that the story of the _death of beowulf_ is inclined to monotony. the epic variety and independence are obliterated by the too obviously pathetic intention. the character of this part of the poem is that of a late school of heroic poetry attempting, and with some success, to extract the spirit of an older kind of poetry, and to represent in one scene an heroic ideal or example, with emphasis and with concentration of all the available matter. but while the end of the poem may lose in some things by comparison with the stronger earlier parts, it is not so wholly lost in the charms of pathetic meditation as to forget the martial tone and the more resolute air altogether. there was a danger that beowulf should be transformed into a sort of amadis, a mirror of the earlier chivalry; with a loyal servitor attending upon his death, and uttering the rhetorical panegyric of an abstract ideal. but this danger is avoided, at least in part. beowulf is still, in his death, a sharer in the fortunes of the northern houses; he keeps his history. the fight with the dragon is shot through with reminiscences of the gautish wars: wiglaf speaks his sorrow for the champion of the gauts; the virtues of beowulf are not those of a fictitious paragon king, but of a man who would be missed in the day when the enemies of the gauts should come upon them. the epic keeps its hold upon what went before, and on what is to come. its construction is solid, not flat. it is exposed to the attractions of all kinds of subordinate and partial literature,--the fairy story, the conventional romance, the pathetic legend,--and it escapes them all by taking them all up as moments, as episodes and points of view, governed by the conception, or the comprehension, of some of the possibilities of human character in a certain form of society. it does not impose any one view on the reader; it gives what it is the proper task of the higher kind of fiction to give--the play of life in different moods and under different aspects. chapter iii the icelandic sagas i iceland and the heroic age the epic poetry of the germans came to an end in different ways and at different seasons among the several nations of that stock. in england and the continent it had to compete with the new romantic subjects and new forms of verse. in germany the rhyming measures prevailed very early, but the themes of german tradition were not surrendered at the same time. the rhyming verse of germany, foreign in its origin, continued to be applied for centuries in the rendering of german myths and heroic stories, sometimes in a style with more or less pretence to courtliness, as in the _nibelungenlied_ and _kudrun_; sometimes in open parade of the travelling minstrel's "public manners" and simple appetites. england had exactly the opposite fortune in regard to verse and subject-matter. in england the alliterative verse survived the changes of inflexion and pronunciation for more than five hundred years after _maldon_, and uttered its last words in a poem written like the _song of byrhtnoth_ on a contemporary battle,--the poem of _scottish field_.[ ] [footnote : ed. robson, chetham society, , from the lyme ms.; ed. furnivall and hales, _percy folio manuscript_, .] there was girding forth of guns, with many great stones; archers uttered out their arrows and eagerly they shotten; they proched us with spears and put many over; that the blood outbrast at their broken harness. there was swinging out of swords, and swapping of heads, we blanked them with bills through all their bright armour, that all the dale dinned of the derf strokes. but while this poem of flodden corresponds in its subject to the poem of _maldon_, there is no such likeness between any other late alliterative poem and the older poems of the older language. the alliterative verse is applied in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries to every kind of subject except those of germanic tradition. england, however, has the advantage over germany, that while germany lost the old verse, england did not lose the english heroic subjects, though, as it happens, the story of king horn and the story of havelock the dane are not told in the verse that was used for king arthur and gawain, for the tale of troy and the wars of alexander. the recent discovery of a fragment of the _song of wade_ is an admonition to be cautious in making the extant works of middle english literature into a standard for all that has ceased to exist. but no new discovery, even of a middle english alliterative poem of beowulf or of walter of aquitaine, would alter the fact that the alliterative measure of english poetry in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, like the ancient themes of the german rhyming poems, is a survival in an age when the chief honours go to other kinds of poetry. the author of _piers plowman_ is a notable writer, and so are the poets of _gawain_, and of the _mort arthure_, and of the _destruction of troy_; but chaucer and not langland is the poetical master of that age. the poems of the _nibelungen_ and of _kudrun_ are rightly honoured, but it was to the author of _parzival_, and to the courtly lyrics of walther von der vogelweide, that the higher rank was given in the age of the hohenstaufen, and the common fame is justified by history, so often as history chooses to have any concern with such things. in the lands of the old northern speech the old heroic poetry was displaced by the new court poetry of the scalds. the heroic subjects were not, however, allowed to pass out of memory. the new poetry could not do without them, and required, and obtained, its heroic dictionary in the _edda_. the old subjects hold their own, or something of their own, with every change of fashion. they were made into prose stories, when prose was in favour; they were the subjects of _rímur_, rhyming icelandic romances, when that form came later into vogue.[ ] in denmark they were paraphrased, many of them, by saxo in his _history_; many of them became the subjects of ballads, in denmark, norway, sweden, and the faroes. [footnote : see below, p. .] in this way some of the inheritance of the old german world was saved in different countries and languages, for the most part in ballads and chapbooks, apart from the main roads of literature. but these heirlooms were not the whole stock of the heroic age. after the failure and decline of the old poetry there remained an unexhausted piece of ground; and the great imaginative triumph of the teutonic heroic age was won in iceland with the creation of a new epic tradition, a new form applied to new subjects. iceland did something more than merely preserve the forms of an antiquated life whose day was over. it was something more than an island of refuge for muddled and blundering souls that had found the career of the great world too much for them. the ideas of an old-fashioned society migrated to iceland, but they did not remain there unmodified. the paradox of the history of iceland is that the unsuccessful old ideas were there maintained by a community of people who were intensely self-conscious and exceptionally clear in mind. their political ideas were too primitive for the common life of medieval christendom. the material life of iceland in the middle ages was barbarous when compared with the life of london or paris, not to speak of provence or italy, in the same centuries. at the same time, the modes of thought in iceland, as is proved by its historical literature, were distinguished by their freedom from extravagances,--from the extravagance of medieval enthusiasm as well as from the superstitions of barbarism. the life of an heroic age--that is, of an older stage of civilisation than the common european medieval form--was interpreted and represented by the men of that age themselves with a clearness of understanding that appears to be quite unaffected by the common medieval fallacies and "idolisms." this clear self-consciousness is the distinction of icelandic civilisation and literature. it is not vanity or conceit. it does not make the icelandic writers anxious about their own fame or merits. it is simply clear intelligence, applied under a dry light to subjects that in themselves are primitive, such as never before or since have been represented in the same way. the life is their own life; the record is that of a dispassionate observer. while the life represented in the sagas is more primitive, less civilised, than the life of the great southern nations in the middle ages, the record of that life is by a still greater interval in advance of all the common modes of narrative then known to the more fortunate or more luxurious parts of europe. the conventional form of the saga has none of the common medieval restrictions of view. it is accepted at once by modern readers without deduction or apology on the score of antique fashion, because it is in essentials the form with which modern readers are acquainted in modern story-telling; and more especially because the language is unaffected and idiomatic, not "quaint" in any way, and because the conversations are like the talk of living people. the sagas are stories of characters who speak for themselves, and who are interesting on their own merits. there are good and bad sagas, and the good ones are not all equally good throughout. the mistakes and misuses of the inferior parts of the literature do not, however, detract from the sufficiency of the common form, as represented at its best. the invention of the common form of the saga is an achievement which deserves to be judged by the best in its kind. that kind was not exempt, any more than the elizabethan drama or the modern novel, from the impertinences and superfluities of trivial authors. further, there were certain conditions and circumstances about its origin that sometimes hindered in one way, while they gave help in another. the saga is a compromise between opposite temptations, and the compromise is not always equitable. ii matter and form it is no small part of the force of the sagas, and at the same time a difficulty and an embarrassment, that they have so much of reality behind them. the element of history in them, and their close relation to the lives of those for whom they were made, have given them a substance and solidity beyond anything else in the imaginative stories of the middle ages. it may be that this advantage is gained rather unfairly. the art of the sagas, which is so modern in many things, and so different from the medieval conventions in its selection of matter and its development of the plot, is largely indebted to circumstances outside of art. in its rudiments it was always held close to the real and material interests of the people; it was not like some other arts which in their beginning are fanciful, or dependent on myth or legend for their subject-matter, as in the medieval schools of painting or sculpture generally, or in the medieval drama. its imaginative methods were formed through essays in the representation of actual life; its first artists were impelled by historical motives, and by personal and local interests. the art of the sagas was from the first "immersed in matter"; it had from the first all the advantage that is given by interests stronger and more substantial than those of mere literature; and, conversely, all the hindrance that such irrelevant interests provide, when "mere literature" attempts to disengage itself and govern its own course. the local history, the pedigrees of notable families, are felt as a hindrance, in a greater or less degree, by all readers of the sagas; as a preliminary obstacle to clear comprehension. the sagas differ in value, according to their use and arrangement of these matters, in relation to a central or imaginative conception of the main story and the characters engaged in it. the best sagas are not always those that give the least of their space to historical matters, to the genealogies and family memoirs. from these the original life of the sagas is drawn, and when it is cut off from these the saga withers into a conventional and insipid romance. some of the best sagas are among those which make most of the history and, like _njála_ and _laxdæla_, act out their tragedies in a commanding way that carries along with it the whole crowd of minor personages, yet so that their minor and particular existences do not interfere with the story, but help it and give it substantiality. the tragedy of _njal_, or of the _lovers of gudrun_, may be read and judged, if one chooses, in abstraction from the common background of icelandic history, and in forgetfulness of its bearing upon the common fortunes of the people of the land; but these sagas are not rightly understood if they are taken only and exclusively in isolation. the tragedies gain a very distinct additional quality from the recurrence of personages familiar to the reader from other sagas. the relation of the sagas to actual past events, and to the whole range of icelandic family tradition, was the initial difficulty in forming an adequate method of story-telling; the particulars were too many, and also too real. but the reality of them was, at the same time, the initial impulse of the sagas; and the best of the sagas have found a way of saving the particulars of the family and local histories, without injury to the imaginative and poetical order of their narratives. the sagas, with all the differences between them, have common features, but among these is not to be reckoned an equal consideration for the unity of action. the original matter of the oral traditions of iceland, out of which the written sagas were formed, was naturally very much made up of separate anecdotes, loosely strung together by associations with a district or a family. some of the stories, no doubt, must have had by nature a greater unity and completeness than the rest:--history in the rough has very often the outlines of tragedy in it; it presents its authors with dramatic contrasts ready made (richard ii. and bolingbroke, lewis xi. and charles the bold, elizabeth and mary queen of scots); it provides real heroes. but there are many interesting things which are not well proportioned, and which have no respect for the unities; the hero is worth talking about whether his story is symmetrical or not. the simplest form of heroic narrative is that which puts together a number of adventures, such as may easily be detached and repeated separately, adventures like that of david and goliath, wallace with his fishing-rod, or bruce in the robbers' house. many of the sagas are mere loose strings of adventures, of short stories, or idylls, which may easily be detached and remembered out of connexion with the rest of the series. in the case of many of these it is almost indifferent at what point they may be introduced in the saga; they merely add some particulars without advancing the plot, if there be any plot. there are all varieties of texture in the sagas, from the extreme laxity of those that look like mere collections of the anecdotes of a countryside (_eyrbyggja_), to the definite structure of those in which all the particulars contribute to the main action (_hrafnkels saga_, _bandamanna_, _gísla saga_). the loose assemblage of stories current in iceland before the sagas were composed in writing must, of course, have been capable of all kinds of variation. the written sagas gave a check to oral variations and rearrangements; but many of them in extant alternative versions keep the traces of the original story-teller's freedom of selection, while all the sagas together in a body acknowledge themselves practically as a selection from traditional report. each one, the most complete as well as the most disorderly, is taken out of a mass of traditional knowledge relating to certain recognisable persons, of whom any one may be chosen for a time as the centre of interest, and any one may become a subordinate character in some one else's adventures. one saga plays into the others, and introduces people incidentally who may be the heroes of other stories. as a result of this selective practice of the sagas, it sometimes happens that an important or an interesting part of the record may be dropped by one saga and picked up casually by another. thus in the written sagas, one of the best stories of the two foster-brothers (or rather "brothers by oath," _fratres jurati_) thorgeir and thormod the poet, is preserved not by their own proper history, _fóstbræðra saga_, but in the story of grettir the strong; how they and grettir lived a winter through in the same house without quarrelling, and how their courage was estimated by their host.[ ] [footnote : "is it true, thorgils, that you have entertained those three men this winter, that are held to be the most regardless and overbearing, and all of them outlaws, and you have handled them so that none has hurt another?" yes, it was true, said thorgils. skapti said: "that is something for a man to be proud of; but what do you think of the three, and how are they each of them in courage?" thorgils said: "they are all three bold men to the full; yet two of them, i think, may tell what fear is like. it is not in the same way with both; for thormod fears god, and grettir is so afraid of the dark that after dark he would never stir, if he had his own way; but i do not know that thorgeir, my kinsman, is afraid of anything."--"you have read them well," says skapti; and so their talk ended (_grettis saga_, c. ).] this solidarity and interconnexion of the sagas needs no explanation. it could not be otherwise in a country like iceland; a community of neighbours (in spite of distances and difficulties of travelling) where there was nothing much to think about or to know except other people's affairs. the effect in the written sagas is to give them something like the system of the _comédie humaine_. there are new characters in each, but the old characters reappear. sometimes there are discrepancies; the characters are not always treated from the same point of view. on the whole, however, there is agreement. the character of gudmund the great, for example, is well drawn, with zest, and some irony, in his own saga (_ljósvetninga_); he is the prosperous man, the "rich glutton," fond of praise and of influence, but not as sound as he looks, and not invulnerable. his many appearances in other sagas all go to strengthen this impression of the full-blown great man and his ambiguous greatness. so also snorri the priest, whose rise and progress are related in _eyrbyggja_, appears in many other sagas, and is recognised whenever he appears with the same certainty and the same sort of interest as attaches to the name of rastignac, when that politician is introduced in stories not properly his own. each separate mention of snorri the priest finds its place along with all the rest; he is never unequal to himself. it is in the short story, the episodic chapter, that the art of icelandic narrative first defines itself. this is the original unity; it is here, in a limited, easily comprehensible subject-matter, that the lines are first clearly drawn. the sagas that are least regular and connected are made up of definite and well-shaped single blocks. many of the sagas are much improved by being taken to pieces and regarded, not as continuous histories, but as collections of separate short stories. _eyrbyggja_, _vatnsdæla_, and _ljósvetninga_ are collections of this sort--"tales of the hall." there is a sort of unity in each of them, but the place of snorri in _eyrbyggja_, of ingimund in _vatnsdæla_, and of gudmund the great in the history of the house of ljósavatn, is not that of a tragic or epic hero who compels the episodes to take their right subordinate rank in a larger story. these sagas break up into separate chapters, losing thereby none of the minor interests of story-telling, but doing without the greater tragic or heroic interest of the fables that have one predominant motive. of more coherent forms of construction there are several different examples among the sagas. in each of these cases it is the tragic conception, the tragic idea, of the kind long familiar to the teutonic nations, that governs the separate passages of the traditional history. tragic situations are to be found all through the icelandic literature, only they are not always enough to make a tragedy. there is nemesis in the end of gudmund the great, when his murdered enemy haunts him; but this is not enough to make his saga an organic thing. the tragic problem of alboin recurs, as was pointed out by the editors of _corpus poeticum boreale_, in the prelude to _vatnsdæla saga_; but it stands by itself as one of the separate chapters in that history, which contains the plots of other tragedies also, without adopting any one of them as its single and overruling motive. these are instances of the way in which tragic imagination, or at any rate the knowledge and partial appreciation of tragic plots, may come short of fulfilment, and may be employed in a comparatively futile and wasteful form of literature. in the greater works, where the idea is fully realised, there is no one formal type. the icelandic sagas have different forms of success in the greater works, as well as different degrees of approximation to success in the more desultory and miscellaneous histories. _njála_, which is the greatest of all the sagas, does not make its effect by any reduction of the weight or number of its details. it carries an even greater burden of particulars than _eyrbyggja_; it has taken up into itself the whole history of the south country of iceland in the heroic age. the unity of _njála_ is certainly not the unity of a restricted or emaciated heroic play. yet with all its complexity it belongs to quite a different order of work from _eyrbyggja_. it falls into three divisions, each of these a story by itself, with all three combining to form one story, apart from which they are incomplete. the first, the story of gunnar, which is a tragedy by itself, is a necessary part of the whole composition; for it is also the story of the wisdom of njal and the dignity of bergthora, without which the second part would be insipid, and the great act of the burning of njal's house would lose its depth and significance. the third part is the payment of a debt to njal, bergthora, and skarphedinn, for whom vengeance is required; but it is also due even more to flosi their adversary. the essence of the tragic situation lies in this, that the good man is in the wrong, and his adversary in the right. the third part is required to restore the balance, in order that the original wrong, skarphedinn's slaughter of the priest of whiteness, should not be thought to be avoided in the death of its author. _njála_ is a work of large scale and liberal design; the beauty of all which, in the story, is that it allows time for the characters to assert themselves and claim their own, as they could not do in a shorter story, where they would be whirled along by the plot. the vengeance and reconciliation in the third part of _njála_ are brought about by something more than a summary poetical justice of fines and punishments for misdeeds. it is a more leisurely, as well as a more poetical justice, that allows the characters to assert themselves for what they really are; the son of lambi "filthy still," and flosi the burner not less true in temper than njal himself. _njála_ and _laxdæla_ are examples of two different ways in which inconvenient or distracting particulars of history or tradition might be reduced to serve the ends of imagination and the heroic design. _njála_ keeps up, more or less, throughout, a continuous history of a number of people of importance, but always with a regard for the principal plot of the story. in _laxdæla_ there is, on the other hand, a gradual approach to the tragedy of kjartan, bolli, and gudrun; an historical prologue of the founding of laxdale, and the lives of kjartan's father and grandfather, before the chief part of the story begins. in _njála_ the main story opens as soon as njal appears; of prologue there is little more than is needed to prepare for the mischief of hallgerda, who is the cause of the strain between the two houses of lithend and bergthorsknoll, and thereby the touchstone of the generosity of njal. in _laxdæla_, although the prologue is not irrelevant, there is a long delay before the principal personages are brought together. there is no mistake about the story when once it begins, and no question about the unity of the interest; gudrun and fate may divide it between them, if it be divisible. it is purely the stronger quality of this part of the book, in comparison with the earlier, that saves _laxdæla_ from the defects of its construction; by the energy of the story of kjartan, the early story of laxdale is thrown back and left behind as a mere prelude, in spite of its length. the story of egil skallagrimsson, the longest of the biographical sagas, shows exactly the opposite proportions to those of _laxdæla_. the life of egil is prefaced by the history of his grandfather, father, and uncle, kveldulf, skallagrim (grim the bald), and thorolf. unhappily for the general effect of the book, the life of egil is told with less strength and coherence than the fate of his uncle. the most commanding and most tragic part of _egla_ is that which represents skallagrim and thorolf in their relations to the tyranny of harald the king; how thorolf's loyalty was ill paid, and how skallagrim his brother went in defiance to speak to king harald. this, though it is only a prelude to the story of egil, is one of the finest imaginative passages in the whole literature. the saga has here been able to express, in a dramatic and imaginative form, that conflict of principles between the new monarchy and the old liberty which led to the icelandic migration. the whole political situation, it might be said the whole early history of iceland and norway, is here summed up and personified in the conflict of will between the three characters. thorolf, harald the king, and skallagrim play the drama of the norwegian monarchy, and the founding of the icelandic commonwealth. after this compact and splendid piece of work the adventures of egil skallagrimsson appear rather ineffectual and erratic, in spite of some brilliant episodes. what was an author to do when his hero died in his bed, or survived all his feuds and enmities? or when a feud could not be wound up in one generation? _vápnfirðinga saga_ gives the history of two generations of feud, with a reconciliation at the end, thus obtaining a rounded unity, though at some cost of the personal interest in its transference from fathers to sons. _víga-glúms saga_ is a story which, with the best intentions in the world, could not attain to tragedy like that of gisli or of grettir, because every one knew that glum was a threatened man who lived long, and got through without any deadly injury. glum is well enough fitted for the part of a tragic hero. he has the slow growth, the unpromising youth, the silence and the dangerous laughter, such as are recorded in the lives of other notable personages in heroic literature:-- glum turned homeward; and a fit of laughing came on him. it took him in this way, that his face grew pale, and there ran tears from his eyes like hailstones: it was often so with him afterwards, when bloodshed was in his mind. but although there are several feuds in the story of glum or several incidents in a feud, somehow there is no tragedy. glum dies quietly, aged and sightless. there is a thread of romantic destiny in his story; he keeps his good luck till he parts with the gifts of his grandfather vigfus--the cloak, the spear, and the sword that vigfus had given him in norway. the prayer for glum's discomfiture, which one of his early adversaries had offered to frey, then takes effect, when the protecting luck has been given away. the fall of glum is, however, nothing incurable; the change in his fortune is merely that he has to give up the land which he had extorted from his adversary long before, and that he ceases to be the greatest man in eyjafirth, though continuing to be a man of importance still. his honour and his family are not hard hit, after all. the history of glum, with its biographical unity, its interest of character, and its want of tragedy, is a form of story midway between the closer knit texture of _gísla saga_ and the laxity of construction in the stories without a hero, or with more than one, such as _ljósvetninga_ or _vatnsdæla_. it is a biography with no strong crisis in it; it might have been extended indefinitely. and, in fact, the existing form of the story looks as if it were rather carelessly put together, or perhaps abridged from a fuller version. the story in _reykdæla_ of viga skuta, glum's son-in-law and enemy, contains a better and fuller account of their dealings than _glúma_, without any discrepancy, though the _reykdæla_ version alludes to divergencies of tradition in certain points. the curious thing is that the _reykdæla_ version supplies information about glum's character which supplements what is told more baldly in his own saga. both accounts agree about glum's good nature, which is practised on by skuta. glum is constant and trustworthy whenever he is appealed to for help. the _reykdæla_ version gives a pretty confirmation of this view of glum's character (c. ), where glum protects the old gaberlunzie man, with the result that the old man goes and praises his kindness, and so lets his enemies know of his movements, and spoils his game for that time. this episode is related to _glúma_, as the foster-brother episode of grettir (c. ), quoted above, is related to _fóstbræðra saga_. if _glúma_ is interesting and even fairly compact, in spite of its want of any great dramatic moment, on the other hand the tragic ending is not always enough to save a story from dissipation of interest. in the story of glum's antagonist, viga skuta, in the second part of _reykdæla saga_, there is no proportion or composition; his adventures follow one upon the other, without development, a series of hazards and escapes, till he is brought down at last. in the earlier part of the same saga (the story of vemund, skuta's cousin, and askel, skuta's father) there is more continuity in the chronicle of wrongs and revenges, and, if this story be taken by itself, more form and definite design. the two rivals are well marked out and opposed to one another, while the mischief-making vemund is well contrasted with his uncle askel, the just man and the peacemaker, who at the end is killed in one of his nephew's feuds, in the fight by the frozen river from which vemund escapes, while his enemy is drowned and his best friend gets a death wound. there are two sagas in which a biographical theme is treated in such a way that the story produces one single impressive and tragical effect, leaving the mind with a sense of definite and necessary movement towards a tragic conclusion,--the story of grettir the strong, and the story of gisli the outlaw. these stories have analogies to one another, though they are not cast in quite the same manner. in the life of grettir there are many detached episodes, giving room for theories of adulteration such as are only too inevitable and certain in regard to the imbecile continuation of the story after grettir's death and his brother's vengeance. the episodes in the main story are, however, not to be dismissed quite so easily as the unnecessary romance of the lady spes (_grettis saga_, cc. - ). while many of the episodes do little to advance the story, and some of them seem to have been borrowed from other sagas without sufficient reason (cc. - , from the _foster-brothers_), most of them serve to accentuate the character of grettir, or to deepen the sense of the mystery surrounding his life. the tragedy of grettir is one of those which depend on accident, interpreted by the author as fate. the hero is a doomed man, like gisli, who sees things clearly coming on, but is unable to get out of their way. in both _gisli_ and _grettir_ there is an accompaniment of mystery and fantasy--for gisli in the songs of the dream woman, for grettir in various touches unlike the common prose of the sagas. the hopelessness of his ill fortune is brought out in a sober way in his dealings with the chiefs who are unable to protect him, and in the cheerless courage of his relations with the foster-brothers, when the three are all together in the house of thorgils arason. it is illustrated in a quite different and more fantastic way in the scenes of his wanderings among the mountains, in the mysterious quiet of thorisdal, in his alliance with strange deliverers, outside of the common world and its society, in the curse of glam under the moonlight. this last is one of the few scenes in the sagas, though not the only one, when the effect depends on something more than the persons engaged in it. the moon with the clouds driving over counts for more than a mere indication of time or weather; it is essential to the story, and lends itself to the malignity of the adversary in casting the spell of fear upon grettir's mind. the solitude of drangey, in the concluding chapters of _grettis saga_, the cliffs, the sea and the storms are all much less exceptional; they are necessary parts of the action, more closely and organically related to the destiny of the hero. there, in the final scenes, although there is witchcraft practised against grettir, it is not that, but the common and natural qualities of the foolishness of the thrall and the heroism of grettir and his young brother on which the story turns. these are the humanities of drangey, a strong contrast, in the art of narrative, to the moonlight spell of glam. the notable thing is that the romantic and fantastic passages in grettir are not obscurations of the tragedy, not irrelevant, but rather an expression by the way, and in an exceptional mood, of the author's own view of the story and his conviction that it is all one coherent piece. this certainly is the effect of the romantic interludes in _gisli_, which is perhaps the most tragic of all the sagas, or at any rate the most self-conscious of its tragic aim. in the story of gisli there is an introduction and preparation, but there is no very great expense of historical preliminaries. the discrepancies here between the two extant redactions of the saga seem to show that introductory chapters of this sort were regarded as fair openings for invention and decoration by editors, who had wits enough to leave the essential part of the story very much to itself. here, when once the action has begun, it goes on to the end without a fault. the chief characters are presented at the beginning; gisli and thorkell his brother; thorgrim the priest and vestein, their two brothers-in-law. a speech foretelling their disunion is reported to gisli, and leads him to propose the oath of fellowship between the four; which proposal, meant to avert the omen, brings about its fulfilment. and so the story goes on logically and inevitably to the death of gisli, who slew thorgrim, and the passionate agony of thordis, thorgrim's wife and gisli's sister. _hrafnkels saga_ is a tragic idyll, complete and rounded. it is different in its design from _njála_ or _laxdæla_, from the stories of grettir and gisli. it is a short story, well concentrated. for mere symmetry of design it might compete with any of the greater icelandic works, not to speak of any modern fiction. hrafnkel, the proud man, did a cruel thing "for his oath's sake"; killed his shepherd einar for riding on freyfaxi, the horse that belonged to frey the god, and to hrafnkel his priest. to the father of einar he made offers of compensation which were not accepted. then the story, with much admirable detail (especially in the scenes at the althing), goes on to show how hrafnkel's pride was humbled by einar's cousin. all through, however, hrafnkel is represented as guilty of tragic terror, not of wickedness; he is punished more than is due, and in the end the balance is redressed, and his arrogant conqueror is made to accept hrafnkel's terms. it is a story clearly and symmetrically composed; it would be too neat, indeed, if it were not that it still leaves some accounts outstanding at the end: the original error is wasteful, and the life of an innocent man is sacrificed in the clearing of scores between hrafnkel and his adversary. the theory of a conglomerate epic may be applied to the icelandic sagas with some effect. it is plain on the face of them that they contain short stories from tradition which may correspond to the short lays of the epic theory, which do in fact resemble in many things certain of the lays of the "elder edda." many of the sagas, like _eyrbyggja_, _vatnsdæla_, _svarfdæla_, are ill compacted, and easily broken up into separate short passages. on the other hand, these broken and variegated sagas are wanting in dignity and impressiveness compared with some others, while those others have attained their dignity, not by choosing their episodic chapters merely, but by forcing their own original and commanding thought upon all their matter. this is the case, whether the form be that of the comprehensive, large, secure, and elaborate _njála_; of _laxdæla_, with its dilatory introduction changing to the eagerness and quickness of the story of gudrun; of _grettir_ and _gisli_, giving shape in their several ways to the traditional accumulation of a hero's adventures; or, not less remarkable, the precision of _hrafnkels saga_ and _bandamanna_,[ ] which appear to have discovered and fixed for themselves the canons of good imaginative narrative in short compass, and to have freed themselves, in a more summary way than _njála_, from the encumbrances of traditional history, and the distracting interests of the antiquarian and the genealogist. these two stories, with that of howard of icefirth[ ] and some others, might perhaps be taken as corresponding in icelandic prose to the short epic in verse, such as the _atlakviða_. they show, at any rate, that the difficulties of reluctant subject-matter and of the manifold deliverances of tradition were not able, in all cases, to get the better of that sense of form which was revealed in the older poetic designs. [footnote : see below, pp. _sqq._] [footnote : p. .] in their temper also, and in the quality of their heroic ideal, the sagas are the inheritors of the older heroic poetry. iii the heroic ideal in the material conditions of icelandic life in the "saga age" there was all the stuff that was required for heroic narrative. this was recognised by the story-tellers, and they made the most of it. it must be admitted that there is some monotony in the circumstances, but it may be contended that this is of no account in comparison with the results that are produced in the best sagas out of trivial occasions. "greatly to find quarrel in a straw" is the rule of their conduct. the tempers of the men are easily stirred; they have a general name[ ] for the trial of a man's patience, applied to anything that puts a strain on him, or encroaches on his honour. the trial may come from anything--horses, sheep, hay, women, merchandise. from these follow any number of secondary or retaliatory insults, trespasses, and manslaughters. anything almost is enough to set the play going. what the matter in dispute may be, is almost indifferent to the author of the story. its value depends on the persons; it is what they choose to make it. [footnote : _skapraun_, lit. _test of condition_.] the sagas differ from all other "heroic" literatures in the larger proportion that they give to the meannesses of reality. their historical character, and their attempts to preserve an accurate memory of the past, though often freely modified by imagination, yet oblige them to include a number of things, gross, common, and barbarous, because they are part of the story. the sagas differ one from another in this respect. the characters are not all raised to the height of gunnar, njal, skarphedinn, flosi, bolli, kjartan, gisli. in many of the sagas, and in many scenes, the characters are dull and ungainly. at the same time their perversity, the naughtiness, for example, of vemund in _reykdæla_, or of thorolf the crank old man in _eyrbyggja_, belongs to the same world as the lives of the more heroic personages. the sagas take an interest in misconduct, when there is nothing better to be had, and the heroic age is frequently represented by them rather according to the rules of modern unheroic story-telling than of bossu _on the epic poem_. the inequitable persons (_újafnaðarmenn_) in the sagas are not all of them as lordly as agamemnon. for many readers this is an advantage; if the sagas are thereby made inferior to homer, they are all the closer to modern stories of "common life." the people of iceland seem always to have been "at the auld work of the marches again," like dandie dinmont and jock o' dawstoncleugh, and many of their grievances and wrongs might with little change have been turned into subjects for crabbe or mr. hardy. it requires no great stretch of fancy to see crabbe at work on the story of thorolf bægifot and his neighbour in _eyrbyggja_; the old thorolf, "curst with age," driven frantic by his homely neighbour's greater skill in the weather, and taking it out in a vicious trespass on his neighbour's hay; the neighbour's recourse to thorolf's more considerate son arnkell; arnkell's payment of the damage, and summary method of putting accounts square again by seizure of his father's oxen; with the consequences of all this, which perhaps are somewhat too violent to be translated literally into the modern language of suffolk or wessex. episodes of this type are common in the sagas, and it is to them in a great measure that the sagas owe their distinction from the common run of medieval narrative. but no appreciation of this "common life" in the sagas can be just, if it ignores the essentially "heroic" nature of the moral laws under which the icelandic narratives are conducted. whether with good results or bad, is another question; but there can be no doubt that the sagas were composed under the direction of an heroic ideal, identical in most respects with that of the older heroic poetry. this ideal view is revealed in different ways, as the sagas have different ways of bringing their characters before the audience. in the best passages, of course, which are the most dramatic, the presuppositions and private opinions of the author are not immediately disclosed in the speeches of the characters. but the sagas are not without their chorus; the general judgment of people about their leaders is often expressed; and although the action of the sagas is generally sufficient to make its own impression and explain itself, the author's reading of his characters is frequently added. from the action and the commentary together, the heroic ideal comes out clearly, and it is plain that its effect on the sagas was not merely an implicit and unconscious influence. it had risen into the consciousness of the authors of the sagas; it was not far from definite expression in abstract terms. in this lay the danger. an ideal, defined or described in set terms, is an ideal without any responsibility and without any privilege. it may be picked up and traded on by any fool or hypocrite. undefined and undivulged, it belongs only to those who have some original strength of imagination or will, and with them it cannot go wrong. but a definite ideal, and the terms of its definition, may belong to any one and be turned to any use. so the ideal of petrarch was formulated and abused by the petrarchists. the formula of amadis of gaul is derived from generations of older unformulated heroes, and implies the exhaustion of the heroic strain, in that line of descent. the sagas have not come as far as that, but the latter days, that have seen amadis, and the mechanical repetitions of amadis, may find in the sagas some resemblances and anticipations of the formal hero, though not yet enough to be dangerous. in all sound heroic literature there are passages that bring up the shadow of the sceptic,--passages of noble sentiment, whose phrases are capable of being imitated, whose ideas may make the fortune of imitators and pretenders. in the teutonic epic poetry, as in homer, there are many noble speeches of this sort, speeches of lofty rhetoric, about which the spirit of depreciation prompts a suspicion that perhaps they may be less weighty and more conventional than we think. false heroics are easy, and unhappily they have borrowed so much of the true, that the truth itself is sometimes put out of countenance by the likeness. in the english and the icelandic heroic poetry there is some ground for thinking that the process of decline and the evolution of the false heroic went to some length before it was stopped. the older poems laid emphasis on certain qualities, and made them an example and an edification. "so ought a man to do," is a phrase common to the english and the northern schools of epic. the point of honour comes to be only too well understood--too well, that is, for the work of the imagination. possibly the latter part of _beowulf_ is more abstract than it ought to be; at any rate, there are many of the secondary anglo-saxon poems which, like the old saxon _hêliand_, show an excessive use of the poetic formulas of courage and loyalty. the icelandic poetry had also its spurious heroic phrases, by which something is taken away from the force of their more authentic originals. in the sagas, as in the _iliad_, in the _song of maldon_, in the _death of ermanaric_, there is a rhetorical element by which the ideas of absolute courage are expressed. unhappily it is not always easy to be sure whether the phrases are of the first or the second growth; in most cases, the better opinion perhaps will be that they belong to a time not wholly unsophisticated, yet not in the stage of secondary and abstract heroic romance. the rhetoric of the sagas, like the rhetoric of the "poetic edda," was taken too seriously and too greedily by the first modern discoverers of the old northern literature. it is not, any more than the rhetoric of homer, the immediate expression of the real life of an heroic age; for the good reason that it is literature, and literature just on the autumnal verge, and plainly capable of decay. the best of the sagas were just in time to escape that touch of over-reflexion and self-consciousness which checks the dramatic life and turns it into matter of edification or sentiment. the best of them also give many indications to show how near they were to over-elaboration and refinement. kjartan, for example, in _laxdæla_ is represented in a way that sometimes brings him dangerously near the ideal hero. the story (like many of the other sagas) plays about between the two extremes, of strong imagination applied dramatically to the subject-matter, on the one hand, and abstract ethical reflexion on the other. in the scene of kjartan's encounter with olaf tryggvason in norway[ ] there is a typical example of the two kinds of operation. the scene and the dialogue are fully adequate to the author's intention, about which there can be no mistake. what he wishes to express is there expressed, in the most lively way, with the least possible encumbrance of explanation or chorus: the pride of kjartan, his respect for his unknown antagonist in the swimming-match, his anxiety to keep clear of any submission to the king, with the king's reciprocal sense of the icelander's magnanimity; no stroke in all this is other than right. while also it may be perceived that the author has brought into his story an ingredient of rhetoric. in this place it has its use and its effect; and, nevertheless, it is recognisable as the dangerous essence of all that is most different from sound narrative or drama. [footnote : translated in appendix, note b.] then said the king, "it is well seen that kjartan is used to put more trust in his own might than in the help of thor and odin." this rings as true as the noble echo of it in the modern version of the _lovers of gudrun_:-- if neither christ nor odin help, why then still at the worst we are the sons of men. no amount of hacking work can take away the eloquence of this phrasing. yet it is beyond question, that these phrases, like that speech of sarpedon which has been borrowed by many a hero since, are of a different stuff from pure drama, or any pure imaginative work. by taking thought, they may be more nearly imitated than is possible in the case of any strong dramatic scene. the words of the king about kjartan are like the words that are used to earl hakon, by sigmund of the faroes;[ ] they are on their way to become, or they have already become, an ethical commonplace. in the place where they are used, in the debate between kjartan and king olaf, they have received the strong life of the individual persons between whom they pass, just as an actor may give life and character to any words that are put in his mouth. yet elsewhere the phrase may occur as a commonplace formula--_hann trúði á mátt sinn ok megin_ (he trusted in his own might and main)--applied generally to those northern pagans who were known to be _securi adversus deos_ at the time of the first preaching of christendom in the north. [footnote : "tell me what faith you are of," said the earl. "i believe in my own strength," said sigmund (_færeyinga saga_).] all is well, however, so long as this heroic ideal is kept in its right relation, as one element in a complex work, not permitted to walk about by itself as a personage. this right subordination is observed in the sagas, whereby both the heroic characters are kept out of extravagance (for neither gunnar, kari, nor kjartan is an abstract creature), and the less noble or the more complex characters are rightly estimated. the sagas, which in many things are ironical or reticent, do not conceal their standard of measurement or value, in relation to which characters and actions are to be appraised. they do not, on the other hand, allow this ideal to usurp upon the rights of individual characters. they are imaginative, dealing in actions and characters; they are not ethical or sentimental treatises, or mirrors of chivalry. iv tragic imagination in their definite tragical situations and problems, the sagas are akin to the older poetry of the teutonic race. the tragical cases of the earlier heroic age are found repeated, with variations, in the sagas. some of the chief of these resemblances have been found and discussed by the editors of _corpus poeticum boreale_. also in many places where there is no need to look for any close resemblance in detail, there is to be seen the same mode of comprehending the tragical stress and contradiction as is manifested in the remains of the poetry. as in the older germanic stories, so in the sagas, the plot is often more than mere contest or adventure. as in _finnesburh_ and _waldere_, so in _gísla saga_ and _njála_ and many other icelandic stories, the action turns upon a debate between opposite motives of loyalty, friendship, kindred. gisli kills his sister's husband; it is his sister who begins the pursuit of gisli, his sister who, after gisli's death, tries to avenge him. njal has to stand by his sons, who have killed his friend. gunnlaug and hrafn, kjartan and bolli, are friends estranged by "fate and their own transgression," like walter and hagena. the sagas, being prose and having an historical tradition to take care of, are unable to reach the same intensity of passion as some of the heroic poems, the poems of _helgi_ and of _sigurd_. they are all the more epic, perhaps, on that account; more equable in their course, with this compensation for their quieter manner, that they have more room and more variety than the passionate heroic poems. these histories have also, as a rule, to do without the fantasies of such poetry as _hervor and angantyr_, or _helgi and sigrun_. the vision of the queens of the air, the return of helgi from the dead, the chantings of hervor "between the worlds," are too much for the plain texture of the sagas. though, as has already been seen in _grettir_ and _gisli_, this element of fantastic beauty is not wholly absent; the less substantial graces of mythical romance, "fainter and flightier" than those of epic, are sometimes to be found even in the historical prose; the historical tragedies have their accompaniment of mystery. more particularly, the story of the _death of thidrandi whom the goddesses slew_, is a prose counterpart to the poetry of sigrun and hervor.[ ] [footnote : it is summarised in dasent's _njal_, i. p. xx., and translated in sephton's _olaf tryggvason_ ( ), pp. - .] there are many other incidents in the sagas which have the look of romance about them. but of a number of these the distinction holds good that has been already put forward in the case of _beowulf_: they are not such wonders as lie outside the bounds of common experience, according to the estimate of those for whom the stories were told. besides some wonderful passages that still retain the visionary and fantastic charm of myth and mythical romance, there are others in which the wonders are more gross and nearer to common life. such is the story of the hauntings at froda, in _eyrbyggja_; the drowned man and his companions coming home night after night and sitting in their wet clothes till daybreak; such is the ghastly story of the funeral of víga-styrr in _heiðarvíga saga_. things of that sort are no exceptions to common experience, according to the icelandic judgment, and do not stand out from the history as something different in kind; they do not belong to the same order as the dream-poetry of gisli or the vision of thidrandi. the self-denial of the icelandic authors in regard to myth and pure romance has secured for them, in exchange, everything that is essential to strong dramatic stories, independent of mythological or romantic attractions. some of the sagas are a reduction of heroic fable to the temper and conditions of modern prose. _laxdæla_ is an heroic epic, rewritten as a prose history under the conditions of actual life, and without the help of any supernatural "machinery." it is a modern prose version of the niblung tragedy, with the personages chosen from the life of iceland in the heroic age, and from the icelandic family traditions. it is not the only work that has reduced the niblung story to terms of matter of fact. the story of sigurd and brynhild has been presented as a drama by ibsen in his _warriors in helgeland_, with the names changed, with new circumstances, and with nothing remaining of the mythical and legendary lights that play about the fortunes of sigurd in the northern poems. the play relies on the characters, without the mysteries of odin and the valkyria. an experiment of the same sort had been made long before. in _laxdæla_, kjartan stands for sigurd: gudrun daughter of osvifr, wife of bolli, is in the place of brynhild wife of gunnar, driving her husband to avenge her on her old lover. that the authors of the sagas were conscious at least in some cases of their relation to the poems is proved by affinities in the details of their language. in _gísla saga_, thordis, sister of gisli, has to endure the same sorrow as the wife of sigurd in the poems; her husband, like sigurd, is killed by her brother. one of the verses put in the mouth of gisli in the story contrasts her with gudrun, daughter of giuki, who killed her husband (attila) to avenge her brothers; whereas thordis was waking up the pursuers of her brother gisli to avenge her husband. with this verse in his head, it is impossible that the writer of the saga can have overlooked the resemblance which is no less striking than the contrast between the two cases. the relation of the sagas to the older poetry may be expressed in this way, perhaps, that they are the last stage in a progress from the earliest mythical imagination, and the earliest dirges and encomiums of the great men of a tribe, to a consistent and orderly form of narrative literature, attained by the direction of a critical faculty which kept out absurdities, without impairing the dramatic energy of the story. the sagas are the great victory of the humanities in the north, at the end of a long process of education. the northern nations, like others, had to come to an understanding with themselves about their inherited myths, their traditional literary forms. one age after another helped in different ways to modify their beliefs, to change their literary taste. practically, they had to find out what they were to think of the gods; poetically, what they were to put into their songs and stories. with problems of this sort, when a beginning has once been made, anything is possible, and there is no one kind of success. every nation that has ever come to anything has had to go to school in this way. none has ever been successful right through; while, on the other hand, success does not mean the attainment of any definite end. there is a success for every stage in the progress, and one nation or literature differs from another, not by reason of an ultimate victory or defeat, but in the number of prizes taken by the way. as far as can be made out, the people of the northern tongue got the better of the western teutons, in making far more than they out of the store of primeval fancies about the gods and the worlds, and in giving to their heroic poems both an intenser passion of expression and a more mysterious grace and charm. the western teutons in their heroic poetry seem, on the other hand, to have been steadier and less flighty. they took earlier to the line of reasonable and dignified narrative, reducing the lyrical element, perhaps increasing the gnomic or reflective proportions of their work. so they succeeded in their own way, with whatever success belongs to _beowulf_, _waldere_, _byrhtnoth_, not to speak of the new essays they made with themes taken from the church, in the poems of _andreas_, _judith_, and all the rest. meanwhile the northerners were having their own difficulties and getting over them, or out of them. they knew far more about the gods, and made poems about them. they had no patience, so that they could not dilute and expand their stories in the western way. they saw no good in the leisurely methods; they must have everything emphatic, everything full of poetical meaning; hence no large poetry, but a number of short poems with no slackness in them. with these they had good reason to be content, as a good day's work in their day. but whatever advantage the fiery northern poems may have over the slower verse of the anglo-saxons, they do not correspond to the same intellectual wants, and they leave out something which seems to have been attained in the western poetry. the north had still to find out what could be done with simpler materials, and without the magical light of the companions of sigrun. the icelandic prose histories are the solution of this new problem, a problem which the english had already tried and solved in their own manner in the quieter passages of their epic poetry, and, above all, in the severity of the poem of _maldon_. the sagas are partly indebted to a spirit of negative criticism and restraint; a tendency not purely literary, corresponding, at any rate, to a similar tendency in practical life. the energy, the passion, the lamentation of the northern poetry, the love of all the wonders of mythology, went along with practical and intellectual clearness of vision in matters that required cool judgment. the ironical correction of sentiment, the tone of the _advocatus diaboli_, is habitual with many of the icelandic writers, and many of their heroes. "to see things as they really are," so that no incantation could transform them, was one of the gifts of an icelandic hero,[ ] and appears to have been shared by his countrymen when they set themselves to compose the sagas. [footnote : _harðar saga_, c. xi.] the tone of the sagas is generally kept as near as may be to that of the recital of true history. nothing is allowed any preponderance over the story and the speeches in it. it is the kind of story furthest removed from the common pathetic fallacies of the middle ages. the rationalist mind has cleared away all the sentimental and most of the superstitious encumbrances and hindrances of strong narrative. the history of the early northern rationalism and its practical results is part of the general history of religion and politics. in some respects it may have been premature; in many cases it seems (as might be expected) to have gone along with hardness and sterility of mind, and to have left an inheritance of vacuity behind it. the curious and elaborate hardness of the icelandic court poetry may possibly be a sign of this same temper; in another way, the prevalent coolness of northern piety, even before the reformation, is scarcely to be dissociated from the coolness of the last days of heathendom. the spirited acuteness of snorri the priest and his contemporaries was succeeded by a moderate and unenthusiastic fashion of religion, for the most part equally remote from the extravagances and the glories of the medieval church. but with these things the sagas have little to do; where they are in relation to this common rationalist habit of mind, it is all to their good. the sagas are not injured by any scepticism or coolness in the minds of their authors. the positive habit of mind in the icelanders is enough to secure them against a good deal of the conventional dulness of the middle ages. it made them dissatisfied with anything that seemed wanting in vividness or immediate force; it led them to select, in their histories, such things as were interesting in themselves, and to present them definitely, without any drawling commonplaces, or any makeshift rhetorical substitutes for accurate vision and clear record. it did not hinder, but it directed and concentrated the imagination. the self-repression in the sagas is bracing. it gives greater clearness, greater resonance; it does not cut out or renounce anything that is really worth keeping. if not the greatest charm of the sagas, at any rate that which is perhaps most generally appreciated by modern readers is their economy of phrasing in the critical passages, the brevity with which the incidents and speeches are conveyed, the restriction of all commentary to the least available compass. single phrases in the great scenes of the sagas are full-charged with meaning to a degree hardly surpassed in any literature, certainly not in the literatures of medieval europe. half a dozen words will carry all the force of the tragedy of the sagas, or render all the suspense and terror of their adventurous moments, with an effect that is like nothing so much as the effect of some of the short repressed phrases of shakespeare in _hamlet_ or _king lear_. the effect is attained not by study of the central phrase so much as by the right arrangement and selection of the antecedents; that is, by right proportion in the narrative. it is in this way that the killing of gunnar's dog, in the attack on lithend, is made the occasion for one of the great strokes of narrative. the words of gunnar, when he is roused by the dog's howl--"sore art thou handled, sam, my fosterling, and maybe it is meant that there is not to be long between thy death and mine!"--are a perfect dramatic indication of everything the author wishes to express--the coolness of gunnar, and his contempt for his enemies, as well as his pity for his dog. they set everything in tune for the story of gunnar's death which follows. it is in this way that the adventures of the sagas are raised above the common form of mere reported "fightings and flockings," the common tedious story of raids and reprisals. this is one of the kinds of drama to be found in the sagas, and not exclusively in the best of them. one of the conditions of this manner of composition and this device of phrasing is that the author shall be able to keep himself out of the story, and let things make their own impression. this is the result of the icelandic habit of restraint. the intellectual coolness of the sagas is a pride that keeps them from pathetic effusions; it does not impede the dramatic passion, it merely gives a lesson to the sensibilities and sympathies, to keep them out of the way when they are not wanted. this is one notable difference of temper and rhetoric between the sagas and the old english poems. one of the great beauties of the old english poetry is its understanding of the moods of lamentation--the mood of ossian it might be called, without much error in the name. the transience and uncertainty of the world, the memory of past good fortune, and of things lost,--with themes like these the anglo-saxon poets make some of their finest verse; and while this fashion of meditation may seem perhaps to have come too readily, it is not the worst poets who fall in with it. in the icelandic poetry the notes of lamentation are not wanting, and it cannot be said that the northern elegies are less sweet or less thrilling in their grief than those of england in the kindred forms of verse. it is enough to think of _gudrun's lament_ in the "elder edda," or of _sonatorrek_, egil skallagrimsson's elegy on the death of his two sons. it was not any congenital dulness or want of sense that made the sagas generally averse to elegy. no mere writer of sagas was made of stronger temper than egil, and none of them need have been ashamed of lamentation after egil had lamented. but they saw that it would not do, that the fabric of the saga was not made for excessive decoration of any kind, and least of all for parenthesis of elegy. the english heroic poetry is more relenting. _beowulf_ is invaded by pathos in a way that often brings the old english verse very nearly to the tone of the great lament for lancelot at the end of the _morte d'arthur_; which, no doubt, is justification enough for any lapse from the pure heroic. in the sagas the sense of all the vanity of human wishes is expressed in a different way: the lament is turned into dramatic action; the author's sympathy is not shown in direct effusions, but in his rendering of the drama.[ ] the best instance of this is the story of howard of icefirth. [footnote : the pathos of asdis, grettir's mother, comes nearest to the tone of the old english laments, or of the northern elegiac poetry, and may be taken as a contrast to the demeanour of bjargey in _hávarðar saga_, and an exception to the general rule of the sagas in this respect.] howard's son olaf, a high-spirited and generous young man, comes under the spite of a domineering gentleman, all the more because he does some good offices of his own free will for this tyrannical person. olaf is attacked and killed by the bully and his friends; then the story goes on to tell of the vengeance of his father and mother. the grief of the old man is described as a matter of fact; he was lame and feeble, and took to his bed for a long time after his son's death. then he roused himself, and he and his wife went to look for help, and finally were able to bring down their enemy. in all this there is no reflexion or commentary by the author. the pathos is turned into narrative; it is conveyed by means of the form of the story, the relation of the incidents to one another. the passion of the old people turns into resolute action, and is revealed in the perseverance of bjargey, olaf's mother, tracking out her enemy and coming to her kinsmen to ask for help. she rows her boat round her enemy's ship and finds out his plans; then she goes to her brothers' houses, one after another, and "borrows" avengers for her son. the repression and irony of the icelandic character are shown in the style of her address to her brothers. "i have come to borrow your nets," she says to one, and "i have come to borrow your turf-spade," to another; all which is interpreted aright by the brothers, who see what her meaning is. then she goes home to her husband; and here comes in, not merely irony, but an intentional rebuke to sentiment. her husband is lying helpless and moaning, and she asks him whether he has slept. to which he answers in a stave of the usual form in the sagas, the purport of which is that he has never known sleep since the death of olaf his son. "'verily that is a great lie,' says she, 'that thou hast never slept once these three years. but now it is high time to be up and play the man, if thou wilt have revenge for olaf thy son; because never in thy days will he be avenged, if it be not this day.' and when he heard his wife's reproof he sprang out of bed on to the floor, and sang this other stave,"--of which the substance is still lamentation, but greatly modified in its effect by the action with which it is accompanied. howard seems to throw off his age and feebleness as time goes on, and the height of his passion is marked by a note of his cheerfulness and gladness after he has killed his enemy. this is different from the method of _beowulf_, where the grief of a father for his son is rendered in an elegy, with some beauty and some irrelevance, as if the charm of melancholy were too much for the story-teller. the hardness of the sagas is sometimes carried too far for the taste of some readers, and there is room for some misgiving that in places the sagas have been affected by the contrary vice from that of effusive pathos, namely, by a pretence of courage and endurance. in some of the northern poetry, as in _ragnar's death-song_,[ ] there may be detected the same kind of insincere and exaggerated heroism as in the modern romantic imitations of old northern sentiment, now fortunately less common than in the great days of the northern romantic movement at the beginning of this century. the old northern poetry seems to have become at one stage too self-conscious of the literary effect of magnanimity, too quick to seize all the literary profit that was to be made out of the conventional viking. the viking of the modern romantic poets has been the affliction of many in the last hundred years; none of his patrons seem to have guessed that he had been discovered, and possibly had begun to be a bore, at a time when the historical "viking age" had scarcely come to its close. there is little in the icelandic sagas to show any affinity with his forced and ostentatious bravery; but it may be suspected that here and there the sagas have made some use of the theatrical viking, and have thrown their lights too strongly on their death scenes. some of the most impressive passages of the sagas are those in which a man receives a death-wound with a quaint remark, and dies forthwith, like atli in the story of grettir, who was thrust through as he stood at his door, and said, "those broad spears are in fashion now," as he went down. this scene is one of the best of its kind; there is no fault to be found with it. but there are possibly too many scenes and speeches of the same sort; enough to raise the suspicion that the situation and the form of phrase were becoming a conventional device, like some of the "machines" in the secondary sagas, and in the too-much-edited parts of the better ones. this suspicion is not one that need be scouted or choked off. the worser parts and baser parts of the literature are to be detected by any means and all means. it is well in criticism, however, to supplement this amputating practice by some regard for the valid substances that have no need of it, and in this present case to look away from the scenes where there is suspicion of journey work and mechanical processes to the masterpieces that set the standard; more especially to the story of the burning of njal, which more than any other is full of the peculiar strength and quality of the sagas. [footnote : _vide supra_, p. , and _infra_, p. .] the beauty of _njála_, and especially of the chapters about njal's death, is the result of a harmony between two extremes of sentiment, each of which by itself was dangerous, and both of which have here been brought to terms with each other and with the whole design of the work. the ugliness of skarphedinn's demeanour might have turned out to be as excessive as the brutalities of _svarfdæla_ or _ljósvetninga saga_; the gentleness of njal has some affinities with the gentleness of the martyrs. some few passages have distinctly the homiletic or legendary tone about them:-- then flosi and his men made a great pile before each of the doors, and then the women-folk who were inside began to weep and to wail. njal spoke to them, and said: "keep up your hearts, nor utter shrieks, for this is but a passing storm, and it will be long before you have another such; and put your faith in god, and believe that he is so merciful that he will not let us burn both in this world and the next." such words of comfort had he for them all, and others still more strong (c. , dasent's translation). it is easy to see in what school the style of this was learned, and of this other passage, about njal after his death:-- then hjallti said, "i shall speak what i say with all freedom of speech. the body of bergthora looks as it was likely she would look, and still fair; but njal's body and visage seem to me so bright that i have never seen any dead man's body so bright as this" (c. ). at the other extreme are the heathenish manners of skarphedinn, who, in the scene at the althing, uses all the bad language of the old "flytings" in the heroic poetry,[ ] who "grins" at the attempts to make peace, who might easily, by a little exaggeration and change of emphasis, have been turned into one of the types of the false heroic. [footnote : pp. , , above.] something like this has happened to egil, in another saga, through want of balance, want of comprehensive imagination in the author. in _njála_, where no element is left to itself, the picture is complete and full of variety. the prevailing tone is neither that of the homily nor that of the robustious viking; it is the tone of a narrative that has command of itself and its subject, and can play securely with everything that comes within its scope. in the death of njal the author's imagination has found room for everything,--for the severity and the nobility of the old northern life, for the gentleness of the new religion, for the irony in which the temper of skarphedinn is made to complement and illustrate the temper of njal. then flosi went to the door and called out to njal, and said he would speak with him and bergthora. now njal does so, and flosi said: "i will offer thee, master njal, leave to go out, for it is unworthy that thou shouldst burn indoors." "i will not go out," said njal, "for i am an old man, and little fitted to avenge my sons, but i will not live in shame." then flosi said to bergthora: "come thou out, housewife, for i will for no sake burn thee indoors." "i was given away to njal young," said bergthora, "and i have promised him this, that we should both share the same fate." after that they both went back into the house. "what counsel shall we now take?" said bergthora. "we will go to our bed," says njal, "and lay us down; i have long been eager for rest." then she said to the boy thord, kari's son: "thee will i take out, and thou shalt not burn in here." "thou hast promised me this, grandmother," says the boy, "that we should never part so long as i wished to be with thee; but methinks it is much better to die with thee and njal than to live after you." then she bore the boy to her bed, and njal spoke to his steward and said:-- "now shalt thou see where we lay us down, and how i lay us out, for i mean not to stir an inch hence, whether reek or burning smart me, and so thou wilt be able to guess where to look for our bones." he said he would do so. there had been an ox slaughtered, and the hide lay there. njal told the steward to spread the hide over them, and he did so. so there they lay down both of them in their bed, and put the boy between them. then they signed themselves and the boy with the cross, and gave over their souls into god's hand, and that was the last word that men heard them utter. then the steward took the hide and spread it over them, and went out afterwards. kettle of the mark caught hold of him and dragged him out; he asked carefully after his father-in-law njal, but the steward told him the whole truth. then kettle said:-- "great grief hath been sent on us, when we have had to share such ill-luck together." skarphedinn saw how his father laid him down and how he laid himself out, and then he said:-- "our father goes early to bed, and that is what was to be looked for, for he is an old man." the harmonies of _laxdæla_ are somewhat different from those of the history of njal, but here again the elements of grace and strength, of gentleness and terror, are combined in a variety of ways, and in such a way as to leave no preponderance to any one exclusively. sometimes the story may seem to fall into the exemplary vein of the "antique poet historicall"; sometimes the portrait of kjartan may look as if it were designed, like the portrait of amadis or tirant the white, "to fashion a gentleman or noble person in vertuous and gentle discipline." sometimes the story is involved in the ordinary business of icelandic life, and kjartan and bolli, the sigurd and gunnar of the tragedy, are seen engaged in common affairs, such as make the alloy of heroic narrative in the _odyssey_. the hero is put to the proof in this way, and made to adapt himself to various circumstances. sometimes the story touches on the barbarism and cruelty, which were part of the reality familiar to the whole of iceland in the age of the sturlungs, of which there is more in the authentic history of the sturlungs than in the freer and more imaginative story of kjartan. at one time the story uses the broad and fluent form of narrative, leaving scene after scene to speak for itself; at other times it allows itself to be condensed into a significant phrase. of these emphatic phrases there are two especially, both of them speeches of gudrun, and the one is the complement of the other: the one in the tone of irony, gudrun's comment on the death of kjartan, a repetition of brynhild's phrase on the death of sigurd;[ ] the other gudrun's confession to her son at the end of the whole matter. [footnote : then brynhild laughed till the walls rang again: "good luck to your hands and swords that have felled the goodly prince" (_brot sgkv._ ; cf. p. above).] gudrun meets her husband coming back, and says: "a good day's work and a notable; i have spun twelve ells of yarn, and you have slain kjartan olaf's son." bolli answers: "that mischance would abide with me, without thy speaking of it." said gudrun: "i reckon not that among mischances; it seemed to me thou hadst greater renown that winter kjartan was in norway, than when he came back to iceland and trampled thee under foot. but the last is best, that hrefna will not go laughing to bed this night." then said bolli in great wrath: "i know not whether she will look paler at this news than thou, and i doubt thou mightest have taken it no worse if we had been left lying where we fought, and kjartan had come to tell of it." gudrun saw that bolli was angry, and said: "nay, no need of words like these; for this work i thank thee; there is an earnest in it that thou wilt not thwart me after." this is one of the crises of the story, in which the meaning of gudrun is brought out in a short passage of dialogue, at the close of a section of narrative full of adventure and incident. in all that precedes, in the relations of gudrun to kjartan before and after her marriage with bolli, as after the marriage of kjartan and hrefna, the motives are generally left to be inferred from the events and actions. here it was time that gudrun should speak her mind, or at least the half of her mind. her speech at the end of her life is equally required, and the two speeches are the complement of one another. bolli her son comes to see her and sits with her. the story tells that one day bolli came to helgafell; for gudrun was always glad when he came to see her. bolli sat long with his mother, and there was much talk between them. at last bolli said: "mother, will you tell me one thing? it has been in my mind to ask you, who was the man you loved best?" gudrun answers: "thorkell was a great man and a lordly; and no man was goodlier than bolli, nor of gentler breeding; thord ingwin's son was the most discreet of them all, a wise man in the law. of thorvald i make no reckoning." then says bolli: "all this is clear, all the condition of your husbands as you have told; but it has not yet been told whom you loved best. you must not keep it secret from me longer." gudrun answers: "you put me hard to it, my son; but if i am to tell any one, i will rather tell you than another." bolli besought her again to tell him. then said gudrun: "i did the worst to him, the man that i loved the most." "now may we believe," says bolli, "that there is no more to say." he said that she had done right in telling him what he asked. gudrun became an old woman, and it is said that she lost her sight. she died at helgafell, and there she rests. this is one of the passages which it is easy to quote, and also dangerous. the confession of gudrun loses incalculably when detached from the whole story, as also her earlier answer fails, by itself, to represent the meaning and the art of the saga. they are the two keys that the author has given; neither is of any use by itself, and both together are of service only in relation to the whole story and all its fabric of incident and situation and changing views of life. v comedy the poetical justice of tragedy is observed, and rightly observed, in many of the sagas and in the greater plots. fate and retribution preside over the stories of njal and his sons, and the _lovers of gudrun_. the story of gisli works itself out in accordance with the original forebodings, yet without any illicit process in the logic of acts and motives, or any intervention of the mysterious powers who accompany the life of gisli in his dreams. even in less consistent stories the same ideas have a part; the story of gudmund the mighty, which is a series of separate chapters, is brought to an end in the nemesis for gudmund's injustice to thorkell hake. but the sagas claim exemption from the laws of tragedy, when poetical justice threatens to become tyrannical. partly by the nature of their origin, no doubt, and their initial dependence on historical recollections of actual events,[ ] they are driven to include a number of things that might disappoint a well-educated gallery of spectators; the drama is not always worked out, or it may be that the meaning of a chapter or episode lies precisely in the disappointment of conventional expectations. [footnote : _vide supra_, p. (the want of tragedy in _víga-glúms saga_).] there is only one comedy, or at most two, among the sagas--the story of the confederates (_bandamanna saga_) with an afterpiece, the short story of alecap (_olkofra Þáttr_). the composition of the sagas, however, admits all sorts of comic passages and undignified characters, and it also quietly unravels many complications that seem to be working up for a tragic ending. the dissipation of the storm before it breaks is, indeed, so common an event that it almost becomes itself a convention of narrative in the sagas, by opposition to the common devices of the feud and vengeance. there is a good instance of this paradoxical conclusion in _arons saga_ (c. ), an authentic biography, apparently narrating an actual event. the third chapter of _glúma_ gives another instance of threatened trouble passing away. ivar, a norwegian with a strong hatred of icelanders, seems likely to quarrel with eyolf, glum's father, but being a gentleman is won over by eyolf's bearing. this is a part of the saga where one need not expect to meet with any authentic historical tradition. the story of eyolf in norway is probably mere literature, and shows the working of the common principles of the saga, as applied by an author of fiction. the sojourn of grettir with the two foster-brothers is another instance of a dangerous situation going off without result. the whole action of _vápnfirðinga saga_ is wound up in a reconciliation, which is a sufficient close; but, on the other hand, the story of glum ends in a mere exhaustion of the rivalries, a drawn game. one of the later more authentic histories, the story of thorgils and haflidi, dealing with the matters of the twelfth century and not with the days of gunnar, njal, and snorri the priest, is a story of rivalry passing away, and may help to show how the composers of the sagas were influenced by their knowledge and observation of things near their own time in their treatment of matters of tradition. even more striking than this evasion of the conventional plot of the blood-feud, is the freedom and variety in respect of the minor characters, particularly shown in the way they are made to perplex the simple-minded spectator. to say that all the characters in the sagas escape from the limitations of mere typical humours might be to say too much; but it is obvious that simple types are little in favour, and that the icelandic authors had all of them some conception of the ticklish and dangerous variability of human dispositions, and knew that hardly any one was to be trusted to come up to his looks, for good or evil. popular imagination has everywhere got at something of this sort in its views of the lubberly younger brother, the ash-raker and idler who carries off the princess. many of the heroes of the sagas are noted to have been slow in their growth and unpromising, like glum, but there are many more cases of change of disposition in the sagas than can be summed up under this old formula. there are stories of the quiet man roused to action, like thorarin in _eyrbyggja_, where it is plain that the quietness was strength from the first. a different kind of courage is shown by atli, the poor-spirited prosperous man in _hávarðar saga_, who went into hiding to escape being dragged into the family troubles, but took heart and played the man later on. one of the most effective pieces of comedy in the sagas is the description of his ill-temper when he is found out, and his gradual improvement. he comes from his den half-frozen, with his teeth chattering, and nothing but bad words for his wife and her inconvenient brother who wants his help. his wife puts him to bed, and he comes to think better of himself and the world; the change of his mind being represented in the unobtrusive manner which the sagas employ in their larger scenes. one of the most humorous and effective contradictions of the popular judgment is that episode in _njála_, where kari has to trust to the talkative person whose wife has a low opinion of him. it begins like farce: any one can see that bjorn has all the manners of the swaggering captain; his wife is a shrew and does not take him at his own valuation. the comedy of bjorn is that he proves to be something different both from his own bjorn and his wife's bjorn. he is the idealist of his own heroism, and believes in himself as a hero. his wife knows better; but the beauty of it all is that his wife is wrong. his courage, it is true, is not quite certain, but he stands his ground; there is a small particle of a hero in him, enough to save him. his backing of kari in the fight is what many have longed to see, who have found little comfort in the discomfiture of bobadil and parolles, and who will stand to it that the chronicler has done less than justice to sir john falstaff both at gadshill and shrewsbury. never before bjorn of _njála_ was there seen on any theatre the person of the comfortable optimist, with a soul apparently damned from the first to a comic exposure and disgrace, but escaping this because his soul has just enough virtue to keep him steady. the ordeal of bjorn contains more of the comic spirit than all the host of stage cowards from pyrgopolinices to bob acres, precisely because it introduces something more than the simple humour, an essence more spiritual and capricious. further, the partnership of kari and bjorn, and kari's appreciation of his idealist companion, go a long way to save kari from a too exclusive and limited devotion to the purpose of vengeance. there is much to be said on behalf of this bjorn. his relations with kari prevent the hero of the latter part of the book from turning into a mere hero. the humorous character of the squire brings out something new in the character of the knight, a humorous response; all which goes to increase the variety of the story, and to widen the difference between this story and all the monotonous and abstract stories of chivalrous adventures. the sagas have comedy in them, comic incidents and characters, because they have no notion of the dignity of abstract and limited heroics; because they cannot understand the life of iceland otherwise than in full, with all its elements together. the one intentionally comic history, _bandamanna saga_, "the confederates," which is exceptional in tone and plot, is a piece of work in which what may be called the form or spirit or idea of the heroic saga is brought fully within one's comprehension by means of contrast and parody. _bandamanna saga_ is a complete work, successful in every detail; as an artistic piece of composition it will stand comparison with any of the sagas. but it is comedy, not tragedy; it is a mock-heroic, following the lines of the heroic model, consistently and steadily, and serving as a touchstone for the vanity of the heroic age. it is worth study, for comedy is later and therefore it would seem more difficult than tragedy, and this is the first reasonable and modern comedy in the history of modern europe. further, the method of narrative, and everything in it except the irony, belong to all the sagas in common; there is nothing particularly new or exceptional in the style or the arrangement of the scenes; it is not so much a parody or a mock-heroic, as an heroic work inspired with comic irony. it is not a new kind of saga, it is the old saga itself put to the ordeal by the comic muse, and proving its temper under the severest of all strains. this is the story of the confederates.--there was a man named ufeig who lived in midfirth, a free-handed man, not rich, who had a son named odd. the father and son disagreed, and odd, the son, went off to make his own fortune, and made it, without taking any further notice of his father. the two men are contrasted; ufeig being an unsuccessful man and a humorist, too generous and too careless to get on in the world, while odd, his son, is born to be a prosperous man. the main plot of the story is the reconciliation of the respectable son and the prodigal father, which is brought about in the most perfect and admirable manner. odd got into trouble. he had a lawsuit against uspak, a violent person whom he had formerly trusted, who had presumed too much, had been disgraced, and finally had killed the best friend of odd in one of the ways usual in such business in the sagas. in the course of the lawsuit a slight difficulty arose--one of odd's jurymen died, and another had to be called in his place. this was informal, but no one at first made anything of it; till it occurred to a certain great man that odd was becoming too strong and prosperous, and that it was time to put him down. whereupon he went about and talked to another great man, and half persuaded him that this view was the right one; and then felt himself strong enough to step in and break down the prosecution by raising the point about the formation of the jury. odd went out of the court without a word as soon as the challenge was made. while he was thinking it over, and not making much of it, there appeared an old, bent, ragged man, with a flapping hat and a pikestaff; this was ufeig, his father, to whom he had never spoken since he left his house. ufeig now is the principal personage in the story. he asks his son about the case and pretends to be surprised at his failure. "impossible! it is not like a gentleman to try to take in an old man like me; how could you be beaten?" finally, after odd had been made to go over all the several points of his humiliation, he is reduced to trust the whole thing to his father, who goes away with the comforting remark that odd, by leaving the court when he did, before the case was finished, had made one good move in the game, though he did not know it. ufeig gets a purse full of money from his son; goes back to the court, where (as the case is not yet closed) he makes an eloquent speech on the iniquity of such a plea as has been raised. "to let a man-slayer escape, gentlemen! where are your oaths that you swore? will you prefer a paltry legal quibble to the plain open justice of the case?" and so on, impressively and emotionally, in the name of equity, while all the time (equity + _x_) he plays with the purse under his cloak, and gets the eyes of the judges fixed upon it. late in the day, odd is brought back to hear the close of the case, and uspak is outlawed. then the jealousy of the great men comes to a head, and a compact is formed among eight of them to make an end of odd's brand-new prosperity. these eight are the confederates from whom the saga is named, and the story is the story of ufeig's ingenuity and malice as applied to these noble pillars of society. to tell it rightly would be to repeat the saga. the skill with which the humorist plays upon the strongest motives, and gets the conspirators to betray one another, is not less beautifully represented than the spite which the humorist provokes among the subjects of his experiments. the details are finished to the utmost; most curiously and subtly in some of the indications of character and disposition in the eight persons of quality. the details, however, are only the last perfection of a work which is organic from the beginning. ufeig, the humorist, is the servant and deputy of the comic muse, and there can be no doubt of the validity of his credentials, or of the soundness of his procedure. he is the ironical critic and censor of the heroic age; his touch is infallible, as unerring as that of figaro, in bringing out and making ridiculous the meanness of the nobility. the decline and fall of the noble houses is recorded in _sturlunga saga_; the essence of that history is preserved in the comedy of the _banded men_. but, however the material of the heroic age may be handled in this comedy, the form of heroic narrative comes out unscathed. there is nothing for the comic spirit to fix upon in the form of the sagas. the icelandic heroes may be vulnerable, but comedy cannot take advantage of them except by using the general form of heroic narrative in iceland, a form which proves itself equally capable of tragedy and comedy. and as the more serious icelandic histories are comprehensive and varied, so also is this comic history. it is not an artificial comedy, nor a comedy of humours, nor a purely satirical comedy. it is no more exclusive or abstract in its contents than _njála_; its strict observance of limit and order is not the same thing as monotony; its unity of action is consistent with diversities of motive. along with, and inseparable from, the satirical criticism of the great world, as represented by the eight discomfited noble confederates, there is the even more satisfactory plot of the nemesis of respectability in the case of odd; while the successful malice and craft of ufeig are inseparable from the humanity, the constancy, and the imaginative strength, which make him come out to help his prosaic son, and enable him, the bent and thriftless old man, to see all round the frontiers of his son's well-defined and uninteresting character. also the variety of the saga appears in the variety of incident, and that although the story is a short one. as the solemn histories admit of comic passages, so conversely this comic history touches upon the tragic. the death of vali, slain by uspak, is of a piece with the most heroic scenes in icelandic literature. vali the friend of odd goes along with him to get satisfaction out of uspak the mischief-maker. vali is all for peace; he is killed through his good nature, and before his death forgives and helps his assailant. and when with the spring the days of summons came on, odd rode out with twenty men, till he came near by the garth of svalastead. then said vali to odd: "now you shall stop here, and i will ride on and see uspak, and find out if he will agree to settle the case now without more ado." so they stopped, and vali went up to the house. there was no one outside; the doors were open and vali went in. it was dark within, and suddenly there leapt a man out of the side-room and struck between the shoulders of vali, so that he fell on the spot. said vali: "look out for yourself, poor wretch! for odd is coming, hard by, and means to have your life. send your wife to him; let her say that we have made it up; and you have agreed to everything, and that i have gone on about my own gear down the valley!" then said uspak: "this is an ill piece of work; this was meant for odd and not for you." this short heroic scene in the comedy has an effect corresponding to that of the comic humours in the icelandic tragedies; it redresses the balance, it qualifies and diversifies what would otherwise be monotonous. simple and clear in outline as the best of the short icelandic stories are, they are not satisfied unless they have introduced something, if only a suggestion, of worlds different from their own immediate interests, a touch to show where their proper story branches out into the history of other characters and fortunes. this same story of the confederates is wound up at the end, after the reconciliation of the father and son, by a return to the adventures of uspak and to the subordinate tragic element in the comedy. the poetical justice of the story leaves uspak, the slayer of vali, dead in a cave of the hills; discovered there, alone, by shepherds going their autumn rounds. vi the art of narrative the art of the sagas will bear to be tested in every way: not that every saga or every part of one is flawless, far from it; but they all have, though in different measure, the essentials of the fine art of story-telling. except analysis, it is hardly possible to require from a story anything which will not be found supplied in some form or other in the sagas. the best of them have that sort of unity which can hardly be described, except as a unity of life--the organic unity that is felt in every particular detail. it is absurd to take separately the details of a great work like _njála_, or of less magnificent but not less perfect achievements such as the story of hrafnkel. there is no story in the world that can surpass the _bandamanna saga_ in the liveliness with which each particular reveals itself as a moment in the whole story, inseparable from the whole, and yet in its own proper space appearing to resume and absorb the life of the whole. where the work is elaborated in this way, where every particular is organic, it is not possible to do much by way of illustration, or to exhibit piecemeal what only exists as a complete thing, and can only be understood as such. it is of some importance in the history of literature that the rank and general character of these icelandic works should be asserted and understood. it would be equally laborious and superfluous to follow each of them with an exposition of the value of each stroke in the work. there are difficulties enough in the language, and in the history, without any multiplication of commentaries on the obvious; and there is little in the art of the sagas that is of doubtful import, however great may be the lasting miracle that such things, of such excellence, should have been written there and then. there is one general quality or characteristic of the sagas which has not yet been noticed, one which admits of explanation and illustration, while it represents very well the prevailing mode of imagination in the sagas. the imaginative life of the sagas (in the best of them) is intensely strong at each critical point of the story, with the result that all abstract, makeshift explanations are driven out; the light is too strong for them, and the events are made to appear in the order of their appearance, with their meaning gradually coming out as the tale rolls on. no imagination has ever been so consistently intolerant of anything that might betray the author's knowledge before the author's chosen time. that everything should present itself first of all as appearance, before it becomes appearance with a meaning, is a common rule of all good story-telling; but no historians have followed this rule with so complete and sound an instinct as the authors of the sagas. no medieval writers, and few of the modern, have understood the point of view as well as the authors of the story of njal or of kjartan. the reserve of the narrator in the most exciting passages of the sagas is not dulness or want of sensibility; it is a consistent mode of procedure, to allow things to make their own impression; and the result is attained by following the order of impressions in the mind of one of the actors, or of a looker-on. "to see things as they are" is an equivocal formula, which may be claimed as their own privilege by many schools and many different degrees of intelligence. "to see things as they become," the rule of lessing's _laocoon_, has not found so many adherents, but it is more certain in meaning, and more pertinent to the art of narrative. it is a fair description of the aim of the icelandic authors and of their peculiar gift. the story for them is not a thing finished and done with; it is a series of pictures rising in the mind, succeeding, displacing, and correcting one another; all under the control of a steady imagination, which will not be hurried, and will not tell the bearing of things till the right time comes. the vivid effect of the saga, if it be studied at all closely, will be found to be due to this steadiness of imagination which gives first the blurred and inaccurate impression, the possibility of danger, the matter for surmises and suspicions, and then the clearing up. stated generally in this way, the rule is an elementary one, but it is followed in the sagas with a singular consistency and success, and with something more than a compulsory obedience. that both the narrators and their audience in that country had their whole lives filled with momentous problems in the interpretation of appearances may well be understood. to identify a band of riders in the distance, or a single man seen hurrying on the other side of the valley, was a problem which might be a matter of life or death any day; but so it has been in many places where there is nothing like the narrative art of iceland. the icelandic historian is like no other in putting into his work the thrill of suspense at something indistinctly seen going on in the distance--a crowd of men moving, not known whether friends or enemies. so it was in _thorgils saga_ (one of the later more authentic histories, of the sturlung cycle), when thorgils and his men came down to the althing, and bard and aron were sent on ahead to find out if the way was clear from the northern passes across the plain of the thing. bard and aron, as they came down past armannsfell, saw a number of horses and men on the plain below just where haflidi, the enemy, might have been expected to block the way. they left some of their band to wait behind while they themselves went on. from that point a chapter and more is taken up with the confused impression and report brought back by the scouts to the main body. they saw bard and aron ride on to the other people, and saw the others get up to meet them, carrying weapons; and then bard and aron went out of sight in the crowd, but the bearers of the report had no doubt that they were prisoners. and further, they thought they made out a well-known horse, dapplecheek, and a gold-mounted spear among the strangers, both of which had belonged to thorgils, and had been given away by him to one of his friends. from which it is inferred that his friend has been robbed of the horse and the spear. the use of all this, which turns out to be all made up of true eyesight and wrong judgment, is partly to bring out thorgils; for his decision, against the wish of his companions, is to ride on in any event, so that the author gets a chapter of courage out of the mistake. apart from that, there is something curiously spirited and attractive in the placing of the different views, with the near view last of all. in the play between them, between the apprehension of danger, the first report of an enemy in the way, the appearance of an indistinct crowd, the false inference, and the final truth of the matter, the saga is faithful to its vital principle of variety and comprehensiveness; no one appearance, not even the truest, must be allowed too much room to itself. this indirect description is really the most vivid of all narrative forms, because it gives the point of view that is wanting in an ordinary continuous history. it brings down the story-teller from his abstract and discursive freedom, and makes him limit himself to one thing at a time, with the greatest advantage to himself and all the rest of his story. in that way the important things of the story may be made to come with the stroke and flash of present reality, instead of being prosed away by the historian and his good grammar. there is a very remarkable instance of the use of this method in the book of kings. of jehoram, son of ahab, king of israel, it is told formally that "he wrought evil in the sight of the lord," with the qualification that his evil was not like that of ahab and jezebel. this is impressive in its formal and summary way. it is quite another mode of narrative, and it is one in which the spectator is introduced to vouch for the matter, that presents the king of israel, once for all, in a sublime and tragic protest against the sentence of the historian himself, among the horrors of the famine of samaria. so we boiled my son, and did eat him: and i said unto her on the next day, give thy son, that we may eat him; and she hath hid her son. and it came to pass, when the king heard the words of the woman, that he rent his clothes; and he passed by upon the wall, and the people looked, and, behold, he had sackcloth within upon his flesh. no more than this is told of the unavailing penance of jehoram the son of ahab. there is no preparation; all the tragedy lies in this notice of something casually seen, and left without a commentary, for any one to make his own story about, if he chooses. there is perhaps nothing anywhere in narrative quite so sudden as this. the northern writers, however, carry out consistently the same kind of principles, putting their facts or impressions forward in a right order and leaving them to take care of themselves; while in the presentation of events the spectator within the story has a good deal given him to do. naturally, where the author does not make use of analysis and where he trusts to the reader's intellect to interpret things aright, the "facts" must be fairly given; in a lucid order, with a progressive clearness, from the point of view of those who are engaged in the action. there is another and somewhat different function of the spectator in the sagas. in some cases, where there is no problem, where the action is straightforward, the spectator and his evidence are introduced merely to give breadth and freedom to the presentment, to get a foreground for the scene. this is effected best of all, as it happens, in a passage that called for nothing less than the best of the author's power and wit; namely, the chapter of the death of kjartan in _laxdæla_. and with this talk of gudrun, bolli was made to magnify his ill-will and his grievance against kjartan; and took his weapons and went along with the others. they were nine altogether; five sons of osvifr, that is to say, ospak and helgi, vandrad, torrad, and thorolf; bolli was the sixth, gunnlaug the seventh, sister's son of osvifr, a comely man; the other two were odd and stein, sons of thorhalla the talkative. they rode to svinadal and stopped at the gully called hafragil; there they tied their horses and sat down. bolli was silent all the day, and laid him down at the edge of the gully, above. kjartan and his companions had come south over the pass, and the dale was opening out, when kjartan said that it was time for thorkell and his brother to turn back. thorkell said they would ride with him to the foot of the dale. and when they were come south as far as the bothies called the north sheilings, kjartan said to the brothers that they were not to ride further. "thorolf, the thief, shall not have this to laugh at, that i was afraid to ride on my way without a host of men." thorkell whelp makes answer: "we will give in to you and ride no further; but sorry shall we be if we are not there and you are in want of men this day." then said kjartan: "bolli my kinsman will not try to have my life, and for the sons of osvifr, if they lie in wait for me, it remains to be seen which of us shall tell the tale afterwards, for all that there may be odds against me." after that the brothers and their men rode west again. now kjartan rides southward down the valley, he and the two others, an the swart and thorarinn. at hafratindr in svinadal lived a man called thorkell. there is no house there now. he had gone to look after his horses that day, and his shepherd along with him. they had a view of both companies; the sons of osvifr lying in wait, and kjartan's band of three coming down along the dale. then said the herd lad that they should go and meet kjartan; it would be great luck if they could clear away the mischief that was waiting for them. "hold your tongue," said thorkell; "does the fool think he can give life to a man when his doom is set? it is but little i grudge them their good pleasure, though they choose to hurt one another to their hearts' content. no! but you and i, we will get to a place where there will be no risk, where we can see all their meeting and have good sport out of their play. they all say that kjartan has more fighting in him than any man; maybe he will need it all, for you and i can see that the odds are something." and so it had to be as thorkell wished. the tragic encounter that follows, the last meeting of the two friends, kjartan throwing away his weapons when he sees bolli coming against him, bolli's repentance when he has killed his friend, when he sits with his knee under kjartan's head,--all this is told as well as may be; it is one of the finest passages in all the sagas. but even this passage has something to gain from the episode of the churl and his more generous servant who looked on at the fight. the scene opens out; the spaces of the valley are shown as they appear to a looker-on; the story, just before the critical moment, takes us aside from the two rival bands and gives us the relation between them, the gradually-increasing danger as the hero and his companions come down out of the distance and nearer to the ambush. in this piece of composition, also, there goes along with the pictorial vividness of the right point of view a further advantage to the narrative in the character of the spectator. two of the most notable peculiarities of the icelandic workmanship are thus brought together,--the habit of presenting actions and events as they happen, from the point of view of an immediate witness; and the habit of correcting the heroic ideal by the ironical suggestion of the other side. nothing is so deeply and essentially part of the nature of the icelandic story, as its inability to give a limited or abstract rendering of life. it is from this glorious incapacity that there are derived both the habit of looking at events as appearances, before they are interpreted, and the habit of checking heroics by means of unheroic details, or, as here, by a suggestion of the way it strikes a vulgar contemporary. without this average man and his commentary the story of the death of kjartan would lose much. there is first of all the comic value of the meanness and envy in the mind of the boor, his complacency at the quarrels and mutual destruction of the magnificent people. his intrusion on the scene, his judgment of the situation, is proof of the variety of the life from which the saga is drawn. more than that, there is here a rather cruel test of the heroics of _laxdæla_, of the story itself; the notable thing about this spectator and critic is that his boorish judgment is partly right, as the judgment of thersites is partly right--"too much blood and too little brains." he is vulgar common sense in the presence of heroism. in his own way a critic of the heroic ideals, his appearance in svinadal as a negative and depreciatory chorus in the tragedy of kjartan is a touch of something like the mood of _bandamanna saga_ in its criticism of the nobles and their rivalries; although the author of _laxdæla_ is careful not to let this dangerous spirit penetrate too far. it is only enough to increase the sense of the tragic vanity of human wishes in the life and death of kjartan olafsson. everything in the sagas tends to the same end; the preservation of the balance and completeness of the history, as far as it goes; the impartiality of the record. the different sides are not represented as fully as in _clarissa harlowe_ or _the ring and the book_, but they are allowed their chance, according to the rules, which are not those of analytical psychology. the icelandic imagination is content if the character is briefly indicated in a few dramatic speeches. the brevity and externality of the saga method might easily provoke from admirers of richardson a condemnation like that of dr. johnson on those who know the dial-plate only and not the works. the psychology of the sagas, however, brief and superficial as it may be, is yet of the sort that may be tested; the dials keep time, though the works are not exposed. it may be doubtful at any moment how skarphedinn will act, but when his history is in progress, and when it is finished, the reader knows that skarphedinn is rightly rendered, and furthermore that it is impossible to deal with him except as an individual character, impressing the mind through a variety of qualities and circumstances that are inexplicably consistent. it is impossible to take his character to pieces. the rendering is in one sense superficial, and open to the censures of the moralist--"from without inwards"--like the characters of scott. but as in this latter case, the superficiality and slightness of the work are deceptive. the character is given in a few strokes and without elaboration, but it is given inevitably and indescribably; the various appearances of skarphedinn, different at different times, are all consistent with one another in the unity of imagination, and have no need of psychological analysis to explain them. the characters in the best of the sagas grow upon the mind with each successive appearance, until they are known and recognised at a hint. in some cases it looks almost as if the author's dramatic imagination were stronger and more just than his deliberate moral opinions; as if his characters had taken the matter into their own hands, against his will. or is it art, and art of the subtlest order, which in kjartan olafsson, the glorious hero, still leaves something of lightness, of fickleness, as compared both with the intensity of the passion of gudrun and the dogged resolution of bolli? there is another saga in which a hero of the likeness of kjartan is contrasted with a dark, malevolent, not ignoble figure,--the story of the faroes, of sigmund brestisson and thrond of gata. there, at the end of the story, when thrond of gata has taken vengeance for the murder of his old enemy, it is not sigmund, the glorious champion of king olaf, who is most thought of, but thrond the dark old man, his opponent and avenger. the character of thrond is too strong to be suppressed, and breaks through the praise and blame of the chronicler, as, in another history, the character of saul asserts itself against the party of david. the charge of superficiality or externality falls away to nothing in the mind of any one who knows by what slight touches of imagination a character may be brought home to an audience, if the character is there to begin with. it is not by elaborate, continuous analysis, but by a gesture here and a sentence there, that characters are expressed. the sagas give the look of things and persons at the critical moments, getting as close as they can, by all devices, to the vividness of things as they appear, as they happen; brief and reserved in their phrasing, but the reverse of abstract or limited in their regard for the different modes and aspects of life, impartial in their acknowledgment of the claims of individual character, and unhesitating in their rejection of conventional ideals, of the conventional romantic hero as well as the conventional righteous man. the sagas are more solid and more philosophical than any romance or legend. vii epic and history in the close of the heroic literature of iceland a number of general causes are to be found at work. the period of the sagas comes to an end partly by a natural progress, culmination, and exhaustion of a definite form of literary activity, partly through external influences by which the decline is hastened. after the material of the early heroic traditions had been all used up, after the writers of the thirteenth century had given their present shapes to the stories of the tenth and the eleventh centuries, two courses were open, and both courses were taken. on the one hand the form of the saga was applied to historical matter near the writer's own time, or actually contemporary, on the other hand it was turned to pure fiction. the literature divides into history and romance. the authentic history, the sturlung cycle in particular, is the true heir and successor of the heroic saga. the romantic sagas are less intimately related to the histories of njal or gisli, though those also are representative of some part of the essence of the saga, and continue in a shadowy way something of its original life. the northern literatures in the thirteenth century were invaded from abroad by the same romantic forces as had put an end to the epic literature of france; translations of french romances became popular, and helped to change the popular taste in norway and iceland. at the same time the victory of romance was not entirely due to these foreigners; they found allies in the more fanciful parts of the native literature. the schools of northern prose romance, which took the place of the older sagas, were indebted almost as much to the older native literature as to tristram or perceval; they are the product of something that had all along been part, though hardly the most essential part, of the heroic sagas. the romantic story of frithiof and the others like it have disengaged from the complexity of the older sagas an element which contributes not a little, though by no means everything, to the charm of _njála_ and _laxdæla_. the historical work contained in the _sturlunga saga_ is a more comprehensive and thorough modification of the old form. instead of detaching one of the elements and using it in separation from the rest, as was done by the author of _frithiof_, for example, the historian of the sturlungs kept everything that he was not compelled to drop by the exigencies of his subject. the biographical and historical work belonging to the _sturlunga saga_ falls outside the order to which _njal_ and _gisli_ belong; it is epic, only in the sense that a history may be called epic. nevertheless it is true that this historical work shows, even better than the heroic sagas themselves, what the nature of the heroic literature really is. in dealing with a more stubborn and less profitable subject it brings out the virtues of the icelandic form of narrative. the relation of the saga to authentic history had always been close. the first attempt to give shape, in writing, to the traditions of the heroic age was made by ari thorgilsson (_ob._ ), especially in his _landnámabók_, a history exact and positive, a record in detail of all the first settlers of the island, with notes of the substance of the popular stories by which their fame was transmitted. this exact history, this positive work, precedes the freer and more imaginative stories, and supplies some of them with a good deal of their matter, which they work up in their own way. the fashion of writing, the example of a written form of narrative, was set by ari; though the example was not followed closely nor in all points by the writers of the sagas: his form is too strict for them. it was too strict for his greatest successor in historical writing in iceland. snorri sturluson is the author of _lives of the kings of norway_, apparently founded upon ari's _book of kings_, which has been lost as an independent work. snorri's _lives_ themselves are extant in a shape very far from authentic; one has to choose between the abridged and inconvenient shape of _heimskringla_, in which snorri's work appears to have been cut down and trimmed, and the looser form presented by such compilations as the longer saga of olaf tryggvason, where more of snorri appears to have been retained than in _heimskringla_, though it has to be extricated from all sorts of irrelevant additions and interpolations. but whatever problems may still remain unsolved, it is certain enough that snorri worked on his historical material with no intention of keeping to the positive lines of ari, and with the fullest intention of giving to his history of norway all the imaginative force of which he was capable. this was considerable, as is proved by the stories of the gods in his _edda_; and in the histories of olaf tryggvason and of saint olaf, kings of norway, he has given companions to the very noblest of the sagas dealing with the icelandic chiefs. between the more scientific work of ari and the more imaginative work of snorri comes, half-way, the _life of king sverre_ (_ob._ ), written at the king's own dictation by the abbot karl of thingeyri. ari collected the historical materials, both for iceland and norway, and put them together in the extant _landnámabók_ and the lost _kings' lives_. snorri sturluson treated the _kings' lives_ in the spirit of the greater icelandic sagas; his _lives_ belong to heroic literature, if there is any meaning in that name. the _life of sverre_ is not so glorious as the _life_ of either olaf. abbot karl had not the same interests or the same genius as snorri, and his range was determined, in most of the work, by the king himself. king sverre, though he could quote poetry to good effect when he liked, was mainly practical in his ideas. the sturlung history, which is the close of the heroic literature of iceland, has resemblances to the work of all three of the historians just named. it is like ari in its minuteness and accuracy; like _sverris saga_, it has a contemporary subject to treat of; and it shares with snorri his spirit of vivid narrative and his sympathy with the methods of the greater sagas of iceland. if authors were to be judged by the difficulty of their undertakings, then sturla, the writer of the sturlung history, would certainly come out as the greatest of them all. for he was limited by known facts as much, or even more than ari; while he has given to his record of factions, feuds, and anarchy almost as much spirit as snorri gave to his lives of the heroic kings, and more than abbot karl could give to the history of sverre and his political success. at the same time, however, the difficulty of sturla's work had been a good deal reduced in the gradual progress of icelandic literature. he had to represent modern history, the history of his own time, in the form and with the vividness of the imaginative sagas. in undertaking this he was helped by some examples of the same sort of thing, in sagas written before his time, and forming an intermediate stage between the group of which _njála_ is the head, and sturla's history of his own family. the biographies of icelanders in the twelfth century, like that of thorgils and haflidi quoted above, which form an introduction to the sturlung history, are something more authentic than the heroic sagas, but not much less spirited. it is difficult to draw a decided line anywhere between the different classes; or, except by the date of its subject, to mark off the story of the heroic age from the story of the rather less heroic age that followed it. there was apparently an accommodation of the saga form to modern subjects, effected through a number of experiments, with a result, complete and admirable, in sturla's history of the sturlung fortunes. it may be said, also, that something of the work was done ready to the author's hand; there was a natural fitness and correspondence between the icelandic reality, even when looked at closely by contemporary eyes in the broad daylight, and the icelandic form of representation. the statue was already part shapen in the block, and led the hand of the artist as he worked upon it. it is dangerous, no doubt, to say after the work has been done, after the artist has conquered his material and finished off his subject, that there was a natural affinity between the subject and the author's mind. in the case of iceland, however, this pre-existent harmony is capable of being proved. the conditions of life in iceland were, and still are, such as to exclude a number of the things that in other countries prevent the historian from writing epic. there were none of the large, abstract considerations and problems that turn the history into a dissertation on political forces, on monarchy, on democracy, on diplomacy; there were none of the large, vague multitudes of the people that impose themselves on the historian's attention, to the detriment of his individual characters. the public history of iceland lies all in the lives of private characters; it is the life of a municipality, very much spread out, it is true, but much more like the life of a country town or a group of country neighbours, than the society of a complex state of any kind that has ever existed in europe. private interests and the lives of individual men were what they had to think about and talk about; and just in so far as they were involved in gossip, they were debarred from the achievements of political history, and equally inclined to that sort of record in which individual lives are everything. if their histories were to have any life at all, it must be the life of the drama or the dramatic narrative, and not that of the philosophical history, or even of those medieval chronicles, which, however unphilosophical, are still obliged by the greatness of their subject to dwarf the individual actors in comparison with the greatness of kingdoms, church, and empire. of those great impersonalities there was little known in iceland; and if the story of iceland was not to be (what it afterwards became) a mere string of trivial annals, it must be by a deepening of the personal interest, by making the personages act and talk, and by following intently the various threads of their individual lives. so far the work was prepared for authors like sturla, who had to enliven the contemporary record of life in iceland; it was prepared to this extent, that any other kind of work was unpromising or even hopeless. the present life in sturla's time was, like the life of the heroic age, a perpetual conflict of private wills, with occasional and provisional reconciliations. the mode of narrative that was suitable for the heroic stories could hardly fail to be the proper mode for the contemporary factions of chiefs, heroic more or less, and so it was proved by sturla. _sturlunga saga_ contains some of the finest passages of narrative in the whole of icelandic literature. the biographical sagas, with which it is introduced or supported, are as good as all but the best of the heroic sagas, while they are not out of all comparison even with _njála_ or _gísla_, with _hrafnkels saga_ or _bandamanna_, in the qualities in which these excel. the story of thorgils and haflidi has already been referred to in illustration of the icelandic method of narrative at its best. it is a good story, well told, with the unities well preserved. the plot is one that is known to the heroic sagas--the growth of mischief and ill-will between two honourable gentlemen, out of the villainy of a worthless beast who gets them into his quarrels. haflidi has an ill-conditioned nephew whom, for his brother's sake, he is loth to cast off. thorgils takes up one of many cases in which this nephew is concerned, and so is brought into disagreement with haflidi. the end is reconciliation, effected by the intervention of bishop thorlak runolfsson and ketill the priest, aided by the good sense of the rivals at a point where the game may be handsomely drawn, with no dishonour to either side. the details are given with great liveliness. one of the best scenes is that which has already been referred to (p. ); another may be quoted of a rather different sort from an earlier year. in the year at the althing, thorgils was with difficulty dissuaded from breaking the peace as they stood, both parties, by the door of the thingvalla church on st. peter's day. thorgils' friend bodvar had to use both arguments and unction to make him respect the sanctity of the althing, of the church, and of the saint to whom the day belonged. afterwards thorgils said to his friend, "you are more pious than people think." bodvar answered: "i saw that we were penned between two bands of them at the church door, and that if it broke into a fight we should be cut to pieces. but for that i should not have cared though haflidi had been killed in spite of the peace of church and parliament." the intervention at the end is very well given, particularly ketill the priest's story of his own enemy. _sturlu saga_, the story of the founder of the great sturlung house, the father of the three great sturlung brothers, of whom snorri the historian was one, is longer and more important than the story of thorgils and haflidi. the plot is a simple one: the rivalry between sturla and einar, son of thorgils. the contest is more deadly and more complicated than that of thorgils himself against haflidi; that was mainly a case of the point of honour, and the opponents were both of them honourable men, while in this contest sturla is politic and unscrupulous, and his adversary "a ruffian by habit and repute." there is a considerable likeness between the characters of sturla and of snorri the priest, as that is presented in _eyrbyggja_ and elsewhere. a comparison of the rise of snorri, as told in _eyrbyggja_, with the life of sturla will bring out the unaltered persistence of the old ways and the old standards, while the advantage lies with the later subject in regard to concentration of interest. the _life of sturla_ is not so varied as _eyrbyggja_, but it is a more orderly piece of writing, and at the same time more lively, through the unity of its plot. nor are the details spoiled by any tameness. notable is the company of rogues maintained by einar; they and their ways are well described. there was geir the thief, son of thorgerda the liar; he was hanged by the priest helgi. there was vidcuth, son of stumpy lina (these gentry have no father's name to them); he was a short man and a nimble. the third was thorir the warlock, a little man from the north country. this introduction serves to bring on the story of a moonlight encounter with the robbers in snow; and in this sort of thing the history of sturla is as good as the best. it is worth while to look at the account of the last decisive match with einar--another snow piece. it may be discovered there that the closer adhesion to facts, and the nearer acquaintance with the persons, were no hindrance to the icelandic author who knew his business. it was not the multitude and confusion of real details that could prevent him from making a good thing out of his subject, if only his subject contained some opportunity for passion and conflict, which it generally did. in this scene of the midnight raid in which the position of the two rivals is decided, there is nothing at all heightened or exaggerated, yet the proportions are such, the relations of the incidents are given in such a way, as could not be bettered by any modern author dealing with a critical point in a drama of private life. the style is that of the best kind of subdued and sober narrative in which the excitement of the situations is not spent in rhetoric. it fell at hvamm in the winter nights (about hallowmass) of the year that a man passed through, an old retainer of sturla's; and sturla did not like his manner. as it turned out, this man went west to stadarhol, the house of sturla's enemy, and told einar all the state of sturla's house, how there were few men there. there was dancing at hvamm that night, and it was kept up late. the night was still, and every now and then some would look out and listen, but they could hear no one stirring. the night after that einar set out. he avoided hvamm, but came down on another steading, the house of sturla's son-in-law ingjald, and drove off the cows and sheep, without any alarm; it was not till the morning that one of the women got up and found the beasts gone. the news was brought at once to hvamm. sturla had risen at daybreak and was looking to his haystacks; it was north wind, and freezing. ingjald came up, and, "now he is coming to ask me to buy his wethers," says sturla; for sturla had warned him that he was in danger of being raided, and had tried to get ingjald to part with his sheep. ingjald told him of the robbery. sturla said nothing, but went in and took down his axe and shield. gudny his wife was wakened, and asked what the news was. "nothing so far; only einar has driven all ingjald's beasts." then gudny sprang up and shouted to the men: "up, lads! sturla is out, and his weapons with him, and ingjald's gear is gone!" then follows the pursuit over the snow, and the fight, in which ingjald is killed, and einar wounded and driven to beg for quarter. after which it was the common saying that einar's strength had gone over to sturla. it is a piece of clean and exact description, and particularly of the succession of scenes and moods in life. the revels go on through the calm night with an accompaniment of suspense and anxiety. there is no better note in any chronicle of the anxieties of a lawless time, and the steady flow of common pleasures in spite of the troubles; all the manners of an heroic or a lawless time are summed up in the account of the dance and its intermittent listening for the sound of enemies. sturla in the early light sees his son-in-law coming to him, and thinks he knows what his errand is,--the author here, as usual, putting the mistaken appearance first, and the true interpretation second. in the beginning of the pursuit there is the silence and the repression of a man in a rage, and the vehement call of his wife who knows what he is about, and finds words for his anger and his purpose. the weather of the whole story is just enough to play into the human life--the quiet night, the north wind, and the frosty, sunless morning. the snow is not all one surface; the drifts on the hill-sides, the hanging cornice over a gully, these have their place in the story, just enough to make the movements clear and intelligible. this is the way history was written when the themes were later by two centuries than those of the heroic sagas. there is not much difference, except in the "soothfastness"; the author is closer to his subject, his imagination is confronted with something very near reality, and is not helped, as in the older stories, by traditional imaginative modifications of his subject. it is the same kind of excellence that is found in the other subsidiary parts of _sturlunga_, hardly less than in the main body of that work. there is no reason for depressing these histories below the level of any but the strongest work in the heroic sagas. the history of bishop gudmund and the separate lives of his two friends, hrafn and aron, are not less vivid than the stories of the men of eyre or the men of vatzdal. the wanderings of aron round iceland are all but as thrilling as those of the outlaw gisli or grettir, whose adventures and difficulties are so like his own. it is not easy to specify any element in the one that is not in the other, while the handling of the more authentic stories is not weak or faltering in comparison with the others. no single incident in any of the sagas is much better in its way, and few are more humane than the scene in which eyjolf karsson gets aron to save himself, while he, eyjolf, goes back into danger.[ ] [footnote : translated in appendix, note c.] the _islendinga_ or _sturlunga saga_ of sturla thordarson, which is the greatest of the pure historical works, is in some things inferior to stories like those of the older sturla, or of hrafn and aron. there is no hero; perhaps least of all that hero, namely the nation itself, which gives something like unity to the shakespearean plays of the wars of the roses. historically there is much resemblance between the wars of the roses and the faction fights in iceland in which the old constitution went to pieces and the old spirit was exhausted. but the icelandic tragedy had no reconciliation at the end, and there was no national strength underneath the disorder, fit to be called out by a peacemaker or a "saviour of society" like henry vii. there was nothing but the family interests of the great houses, and the _sturlunga saga_ leaves it impossible to sympathise with either side in a contest that has no principles and no great reformer to distinguish it. the anarchy is worse than in the old days of the northern rovers; the men are more formal and more vain. yet the history of these tumults is not without its brightness of character. the generous and lawless bishop gudmund belongs to the story; so do his champions eyjolf, hrafn, and aron. the figure of snorri sturluson is there, though he is rather disappointing in his nephew's view of him. his enemy, gizur the earl, is a strong man, whose strength is felt in the course of the history; and there are others. the beauty of _sturlunga_ is that it gives a more detailed and more rational account than is to be found elsewhere in the world of the heroic age going to the bad, without a hero. the kind of thing represented may be found in countless other places, but not froissart has rendered it so fully or with such truth, nor the _paston letters_ with more intimate knowledge and experience. it is a history and not an epic; the title of epic which may be claimed for _njála_ and _laxdæla_, and even in a sense transferred to the later biographies, does not rightly belong to sturla's history of iceland. it is a record from year to year; it covers two generations; there is nothing in it but faction. but it is descended from the epic school; it has the gift of narrative and of vision. it represents, as no prosaic historian can, the suspense and the shock of events, the alarm in the night, the confusion of a house attacked, the encounter of enemies in the open, the demeanour of men going to their death. the scenes are epic at least, though the work as a whole is merely historical. there is a return in this to the original nature of the saga, in some respects. it was in the telling of adventures that the sagas began, separate adventures attaching to great names of the early days. the separate adventures of gisli were known and were told about before his history was brought into the form and unity which it now possesses, where the end is foreknown from the beginning. many of the heroic sagas have remained in what must be very like their old oral form--a string of episodes. _eyrbyggja_, _vatnsdæla_, _flóamanna_, _svarfdæla_, are of this sort. _sturlunga_, has not more unity than _eyrbyggja_, perhaps not as much, unless the rise of gizur may be reckoned to do for it what is done for the older story by the rise of snorri the priest. but while the scenes thus fall apart in _sturlunga_, they are more vivid than in any other icelandic book. in no other is the art of description so nearly perfect. the scenes of _sturlunga_ come into rivalry with the best of those in the heroic sagas. no one will ever be able to say, much less to convince any one else, whether the burning of njal's house or the burning of flugumyri is the better told or the more impressive. there is no comparison between the personages in the two stories. but in pure art of language and in the certainty of its effect the story of flugumyri is not less notable than the story of bergthorsknoll. it may be repeated here, to stand as the last words of the great icelandic school; the school which went out and had no successor till all its methods were invented again, independently, by the great novelists, after ages of fumbling and helpless experiments, after all the weariness of pedantic chronicles and the inflation of heroic romance. sturla had given his daughter ingibjorg in marriage to hall, son of gizur, and had come to the wedding at flugumyri, gizur's house at the foot of the hills of skagafjord, with steep slopes behind and the broad open valley in front, a place with no exceptional defences, no fortress. it was here, just after the bridal, and after the bride's father had gone away, that gizur's enemy, eyjolf, came upon him, as he had threatened openly in men's hearing. sturla, who had left the house just before, tells the story with the details that came to him from the eye-witnesses, with exact particular descriptions. but there is no drag in the story, and nothing mean in the style, whatever may have been the brutal reality. it is, once again, the great scene of epic poetry repeated, the defence of a man's life and of his own people against surrounding enemies; it is the drama of gunnar or of njal played out again at the very end of the northern heroic age, and the prose history is quick to recognise the claims upon it. this is the end of the wedding at flugumyri, in october of the year , as told by sturla:-- the burning of flugumyri eyjolf saw that the attack was beginning to flag, and grew afraid that the countryside might be raised upon them; so they brought up the fire. john of bakki had a tar-pin with him; they took the sheepskins from the frames that stood outside there, and tarred them and set them on fire. some took hay and stuffed it into the windows and put fire to it; and soon there was a great smoke in the house and a choking heat. gizur lay down in the hall by one of the rows of pillars, and kept his nose on the floor. groa his wife was near him. thorbjorn neb was lying there too, and he and gizur had their heads close together. thorbjorn could hear gizur praying to god in many ways and fervently, and thought he had never before heard praying like it. as for himself, he could not have opened his mouth for the smoke. after that gizur stood up and groa supported him, and he went to the south porch. he was much distressed by the smoke and heat, and thought to make his way out rather than be choked inside. gizur glad was standing at the door, talking to kolbein grön, and kolbein was offering him quarter, for there was a pact between them, that if ever it came to that, they should give quarter to one another, whichever of them had it in his power. gizur stood behind gizur glad, his namesake while they were talking, and got some coolness the while. gizur glad said to kolbein, "i will take quarter for myself, if i may bring out another man along with me." kolbein agreed to this at once, excepting only gizur and his sons. then ingibjorg, sturla's daughter, came to groa at the door; she was in her nightgown, and barefoot. she was then in her fourteenth year, and tall and comely to see. her silver belt had tangled round her feet as she came from her bedroom. there was on it a purse with many gold rings of hers in it; she had it there with her. groa was very glad to see her, and said that there should be one lot for both of them, whatever might befall. when gizur had got himself cooled a little, he gave up his thought of dashing out of the house. he was in linen clothes, with a mail-coat over them, and a steel cap on his head, and his sword _corselet-biter_ in his hand. groa was in her nightgown only. gizur went to groa and took two gold rings out of his girdle-pocket and put them into her hand, because he thought that she would live through it, but not he himself. one ring had belonged to bishop magnus his uncle, and the other to his father thorvald. "i wish my friends to have the good of these," he says, "if things go as i would have them." gizur saw that groa took their parting much to heart. then he felt his way through the house, and with him went gudmund the headstrong, his kinsman, who did not wish to lose sight of him. they came to the doors of the ladies' room; and gizur was going to make his way out there. then he heard outside the voices of men cursing and swearing, and turned back from there. now in the meantime groa and ingibjorg had gone to the door. groa asked for freedom for ingibjorg. kolbein heard that, her kinsman, and asked ingibjorg to come out to him. she would not, unless she got leave to take some one out along with her. kolbein said that was too much to ask. groa besought her to go. "i have to look after the lad thorlak, my sister's son," says she. thorlak was a boy of ten, the son of thorleif the noisy. he had jumped out of the house before this, and his linen clothes were all ablaze when he came down to the ground: he got safe to the church. some men say that thorstein genja pushed groa back into the fire; she was found in the porch afterwards. kolbein dashed into the fire for ingibjorg, and carried her out to the church. then the house began to blaze up. a little after, hall gizur's son [the bridegroom] came to the south door, and arni the bitter, his henchman, with him. they were both very hard put to it, and distressed by the heat. there was a board across the doorway, half-way up. hall did not stop to look, but jumped straight out over the hatch. he had a sword in one hand, and no weapon besides. einar thorgrimsson was posted near where he leapt out, and hewed at his head with a sword, and that was his death-wound. as he fell, another man cut at his right leg below the knee and slashed it nearly off. thorleif the monk from thverá, the brewer, had got out before, and was in the yard; he took a sheepskin and put it under hall when einar and the others went away; then he rolled all together, hall and the sheepskin, along to the church when they were not looking. hall was lightly clad, and the cold struck deep into his wounds. the monk was barefoot, and his feet were frostbitten, but he brought himself and hall to the church at last. arni leapt out straight after hall; he struck his foot on the hatch (he was turning old) and fell as he came out. they asked who that might be, coming in such a hurry. "arni the bitter is here," says he; "and i will not ask for quarter. i see one lying not far away makes me like it well enough if i travel the same road with him." then said kolbein: "is there no man here remembers snorri sturluson?"[ ] [footnote : arni beiskr (the bitter) in company with gizur murdered snorri sturluson the historian at his house of reykholt, nd september .] they both had a stroke at him, kolbein and ari ingimund's son, and more of them besides hewed at him, and he came by his death there. then the hall fell in, beginning from the north side into the loft above the hall. now all the buildings began to flare up, except that the guest-house did not burn, nor the ladies' room, nor the dairy. now to go back to gizur: he made his way through the house to the dairy, with gudmund, his kinsman, after him. gizur asked him to go away, and said that one man might find a way of escape, if fate would have it so, that would not do for two. then parson john haldorsson came up; and gizur asked them both to leave him. he took off his coat of mail and his morion, but kept his sword in his hand. parson john and gudmund made their way from the dairy to the south door, and got quarter. gizur went into the dairy and found a curd-tub standing on stocks; there he thrust the sword into the curds down over the hilts. he saw close by a vat sunk in the earth with whey in it, and the curd-tub stood over it and nearly hid the sunken vat altogether. there was room for gizur to get into it, and he sat down in the whey in his linen clothes and nothing else, and the whey came up to his breast. it was cold in the whey. he had not been long there when he heard voices, and their talk went thus, that three men were meant to have the hewing of him; each man his stroke, and no hurry about it, so as to see how he took it. the three appointed were hrani and kolbein and ari. and now they came into the dairy with a light, and searched about everywhere. they came to the vat that gizur was in, and thrust into it three or four times with spears. then there was a wrangle among them; some said there was something in the vat, and others said no. gizur kept his hand over his belly, moving gently, so that they might be as long as possible in finding out that there was anything there. he had grazes on his hands, and all down to his knees skin wounds, little and many. gizur said afterwards that before they came in he was shaking with cold, so that it rippled in the vat, but after they came in he did not shiver at all. they made two searches through the dairy, and the second time was like the first. after that they went out and made ready to ride away. those men that still had life in them were spared, to wit, gudmund falkason, thord the deacon, and olaf, who was afterwards called guest, whose life einar thorgrimsson had attempted before. by that time it was dawn. there is one passage in the story of flugumyri, before the scene of the burning, in which the narrative is heightened a little, as if the author were conscious that his subject was related to the matter of heroic poetry, or as if it had at once, like the battle of maldon, begun to be magnified by the popular memory into the likeness of heroic battles. it is in the description of the defence of the hall (_skáli_) at flugumyri, before the assailants were driven back and had to take to fire, as is told above. eyjolf and his companions made a hard assault on the hall. now was there battle joined, and sharp onset, for the defence was of the stoutest. they kept at it far into the night, and struck so hard (say the men who were there) that fire flew, as it seemed, when the weapons came together. thorstein gudmund's son said afterwards that he had never been where men made a braver stand; and all are agreed to praise the defence of flugumyri, both friends and enemies. the fire of the swords which is here referred to by the way, and with something like an apology for exaggeration, is in the poem of _finnesburh_ brought out with emphasis, as a proper part of the composition:-- swurdléoma stód, swylce eall finnesburh fýrenu wáere. the sword-light rose, as though all finnsburgh were aflame. it is characteristic of the icelandic work that it should frequently seem to reflect the incidents of epic poetry in a modified way. the sagas follow the outlines of heroic poetry, but they have to reduce the epic magnificence, or rather it would be truer to say that they present in plain language, and without extravagance, some of the favourite passages of experience that have been at different times selected and magnified by epic poets. thus the death of skarphedinn is like a prose rendering of the death of roland; instead of the last stroke of the hero in his agony, cleaving the rock with durendal, it is noted simply that skarphedinn had driven his axe into the beam before him, in the place where he was penned in, and there the axe was found when they came to look for him after the burning. the moderation of the language here does not conceal the intention of the writer that skarphedinn's last stroke is to be remembered. it is by touches such as these that the heroic nature of the sagas is revealed. in spite of the common details and the prose statement, it is impossible to mistake their essential character. they are something loftier than history, and their authors knew it. when history came to be written as it was written by sturla, it still retained this distinction. it is history governed by an heroic spirit; and while it is closely bound to the facts, it is at the same time controlled and directed by the forms of an imaginative literature that had grown up in greater freedom and at a greater distance from its historical matter. sturla uses, for contemporary history, a kind of narrative created and perfected for another purpose, namely for the imaginative reconstruction and representation of tradition, in the stories of njal, grettir, and gisli. there is no distortion or perversion in this choice and use of his instrument, any more than in fielding's adaptation of the method of _joseph andrews_ to the matter of the _voyage to lisbon_. in the first place, the imaginative form of narrative obliges the author to take his subject seriously and treat it with dignity; he cannot leave it crude and unformed. in the second place, there is a real affinity, in iceland, between the subject-matters of the true history and the heroic saga; the events are of the same kind, the personages are not unlike. the imaginative treatment of the stories of njal and gisli had been founded on real knowledge of life; in _sturlunga_ the history of real life is repaid for its loan. in sturla's book, the contemporary alarms and excursions, the midnight raids, the perils and escapes, the death of the strong man, the painful ending of the poor-spirited, all the shocks and accidents of his own time, are comprehended by the author in the light of the traditional heroics, and of similar situations in the imaginative sagas; and so these matters of real life, and of the writer's own experience, or near it, come to be co-ordinated, represented, and made intelligible through imagination. _sturlunga_ is something more than a bare diary, or a series of pieces of evidence. it has an author, and the author understands and appreciates the matter in hand, because it is illuminated for him by the example of the heroic literature. he carries an imaginative narrative design in his head, and things as they happen fall into the general scheme of his story as if he had invented them. how much this imaginative kind of true history is bound and indebted to its native land, how little capable of transportation, is proved in a very striking and interesting way by sturla's other work, his essay in foreign history, the _life of king hacon of norway_. the _hákonar saga_, as compared with _sturlunga_, is thin, grey, and abstract. it is a masterly book in its own kind; fluent and clear, and written in the inimitable icelandic prose. the story is parallel to the history of iceland, contemporary with _sturlunga_. it tells of the agonies of norway, a confusion no less violent and cruel than the anarchy of iceland in the same sixty years; while the norwegian history has the advantage that it comes to an end in remedy, not in exhaustion. there was no one in iceland like king hacon to break the heads of the disorderly great men, and thus make peace in an effective way. _sturlunga_, in iceland, is made up of mere anarchy; _hákonar saga_ is the counterpart of _sturlunga_, exhibiting the cure of anarchy in norway under an active king. but while the political import of sturla's _hacon_ is thus greater, the literary force is much less, in comparison with the strong work of _sturlunga_. there is great dexterity in the management of the narrative, great lucidity; but the vivid imagination shown in the story of flugumyri, and hardly less in other passages of _sturlunga_, is replaced in the life of hacon by a methodical exposition of facts, good enough as history, but seldom giving any hint of the author's reserve of imaginative force. it is not that sturla does not understand his subject. the tragedy of duke skule does not escape him; he recognises the contradiction in the life of hacon's greatest rival, between skule's own nobility and generosity of temper, and the hopelessness of the old scrambling misrule of which he is the representative. but the tragedy of the _rival kings_ (_kongsemnerne_) is left for ibsen to work out in full; the portraits of skule and hacon are only given in outline. in the part describing hacon's childhood among the veterans of the old guard (sverre's men, the "ancient birchlegs"), and in a few other places, there is a lapse into the proper icelandic manner. elsewhere, and in the more important parts of the history especially, it would seem as if the author had gone out of his way to find a sober and colourless pattern of work, instead of the full and vivid sort of story that came natural to him. after sturla, and after the fall of the commonwealth of iceland, although there were still some interesting biographies to be written--the _life of bishop arne_, the _life of bishop laurence_--it may be reckoned that the heroic strain is exhausted. after that, it is a new world for iceland, or rather it is the common medieval world, and not the peculiar icelandic version of an heroic age. after the fourteenth century the historical schools die out into meagre annals; and even the glorious figure of jón arason, and the tragic end of the catholic bishop, the poet, the ruler, who along with his sons was beheaded in the interests of the reformed religion and its adherents, must go without the honours that were freely paid in the thirteenth century to bishops and lords no more heroic, no more vehement and self-willed. the history of jón arason has to be made out and put together from documents; his saga was left unwritten, though the facts of his life and death may seem to prove that the old spirit lived long after the failure of the old literature. the thirteenth century, the century of snorri sturluson and of sturla his nephew, is also the age of villehardouin and joinville. that is to say, the finished historical work of the icelandic school is contemporary with the splendid improvisations and first essays of french historical prose. the fates of the two languages are an instance of "the way that things are shared" in this world, and may raise some grudges against the dispensing fortune that has ordered the _life of st. louis_ to be praised, not beyond its deserts, by century after century, while the northern masterpieces are left pretty much to their own island and to the antiquarian students of the northern tongues. this, however, is a consideration which does not touch the merits of either side. it is part of the fate of icelandic literature that it should not be influential in the great world, that it should fall out of time, and be neglected, in the march of the great nations. it is in this seclusion that its perfection is acquired, and there is nothing to complain of. a comparison of the two contemporaries, sturla and joinville, brings out the difference between two admirable varieties of history, dealing with like subjects. the scenery of the _life of st. louis_ is different from that of _sturlunga_, but there is some resemblance in parts of their themes, in so far as both narrate the adventures of brave men in difficult places, and both are told by authors who were on the spot themselves, and saw with their own eyes, or heard directly from those who had seen. as a subject for literature there is not much to choose between st. louis in egypt in and the burning of flugumyri three years later, though the one adventure had all the eyes of the world upon it, and the other was of no more practical interest to the world than floods or landslips or the grinding of rocks and stones in an undiscovered valley. nor is there much to choose between the results of the two methods; neither sturla nor joinville has anything to fear from a comparison between them. sometimes, in details, there is a very close approximation of the french and the icelandic methods. joinville's story, for example, of the moonlight adventure of the clerk of paris and the three robbers might go straight into icelandic. only, the seneschal's opening of the story is too personal, and does not agree with the icelandic manner of telling a story:-- as i went along i met with a wagon carrying three dead men that a clerk had slain, and i was told they were being brought for the king to see. when i heard this i sent my squire after them, to know how it had fallen out. the difference between the two kinds is that joinville, being mainly experimental and without much regard for the older precedents and models of historical writing, tells his story in his own way, as memoirs, in the order of events as they come within his view, revealing his own sentiments and policy, and keeping a distinction between the things he himself saw and the things he did not see. whereas sturla goes on the lines that had been laid down before him, and does not require to invent his own narrative scheme; and further, the scheme he receives from his masters is the opposite of joinville's personal memories. though sturla in great part of his work is as near the reality as joinville, he is obliged by the icelandic custom to keep himself out of the story, except when he is necessary; and then he only appears in the third person on the same terms as the other actors, with nothing except perhaps a greater particularity in description to show that the author is there himself in the thick of it. to let the story take care of itself is the first rule of the icelandic authors. if they have any emotion or sentiment of their own, it must go into the story impersonally; it must inform or enliven the characters and their speeches; it must quicken the style unobtrusively, or else it must be suppressed. the parts of the sagas that are most touching, such as the death of njal, and the parting of grettir and his mother, though they give evidence of the author's sensibility, never allow him a word for himself. the method is the method of homer--[greek: dolôi d' ho ge dakrya keuthen]--"he would not confess that he wept." in joinville, on the contrary, all the epic matter of the story is surveyed and represented not as a drama for any one to come and look at, and make his own judgment about it, but as the life of himself, the sire de joinville, seneschal of champagne, known and interpreted to himself first of all. it is barely possible to conceive the _life of st. louis_ transposed into the mood of the _odyssey_ or of _njála_. it is hard to see who would be a gainer thereby--certainly not st. louis himself. he would be deprived, for instance, of what is at once the most heroic and the most trifling of all the passages in his story, which belongs altogether to joinville, and is worth nothing except as he tells it, and because he tells it. the story of joinville's misunderstanding of the king, and the king's way of taking it, on occasion of the council at acre and the question whether to return or to stay and recover the prisoners from the saracens, is not only the whole _life of st. louis_ summed up and put into one chapter, but it is also one of those rarest passages of true history in which a character whom we thought we knew is presented with all his qualities intensified in a momentary act or speech. it is as if the dulness of custom were magically broken, and the familiar character stood out, not different from himself, but with a new expression. in this great scene the barons were for returning home, and put forward guy malvoisin their foreman to state their opinion. joinville took the other side, remembering the warning of a kinsman of his own not to return in a hurry and forget the lord's poor servants (_le peuple menu nostre signour_). there was no one there but had friends in prison among the saracens, "so they did not rebuke me," says joinville; but only two ventured to speak on his side, and one of these was shouted at (_mout felonessement_) by his uncle, the good knight sir jehan de beaumont, for so doing. the king adjourned the council for a week. what follows is a kind of narrative impossible under the homeric or the icelandic conditions--no impersonal story, but a record of joinville's own changes of mind as he was played upon by the mind of the king; an heroic incident, but represented in a way quite different from any epic manner. joinville describes the breaking up of the council, and how he was baited by them all: "the king is a fool, sire de joinville, if he does not take your advice against all the council of the realm of france"; how he sat beside the king at dinner, but the king did not speak to him; how he, joinville, thought the king was displeased; and how he got up when the king was hearing grace, and went to a window in a recess and stuck his arms out through the bars, and leant there gazing out and brooding over the whole matter, making up his mind to stay, whatever happened to all the rest; till some one came behind him and put his hands on his head at the window and held him there, and joinville thought it was one of the other side beginning to bother him again (_et je cuidai que ce fust mes sires phelippes d'anemos, qui trop d'ennui m'avoit fait le jour pour le consoil que je li avoie donnei_), till as he was trying to get free he saw, by a ring on the hand, that it was the king. then the king asked him how it was that he, a young man, had been bold enough to set his opinion against all the wisdom of france; and before their talk ended, let him see that he was of the same mind as joinville. this personal kind of story, in which an heroic scene is rendered through its effect on one particular mind, is quite contrary to the principles of the icelandic history, except that both kinds are heroic, and both are alive. joinville gives the succession of his own emotions; the icelandic narrators give the succession of events, either as they might appear to an impartial spectator, or (on occasion) as they are viewed by some one in the story, but never as they merely affect the writer himself, though he may be as important a personage as sturla was in the events of which he wrote the chronicle. the subject-matter of the icelandic historian (whether his own experience or not) is displayed as something in which he is not more nearly concerned than other people; his business is to render the successive moments of the history so that any one may form a judgment about them such as he might have formed if he had been there. joinville, while giving his own changes of mind very clearly, is not as careful as the icelandic writers are about the proper order of events. thus an icelander would not have written, as joinville does, "the king came and put his hands on my head"; he would have said, "john found that his head was being held"; and the discovery by means of the ring would have been the first direct intimation who it was. the story as told by joinville, though it is so much more intimate than any of the sagas, is not as true to the natural order of impressions. he follows out his own train of sentiment; he is less careful of the order of perception, which the icelanders generally observe, and sometimes with extraordinary effect. joinville's history is not one of a class, and there is nothing equal to it; but some of the qualities of his history are characteristic of the second medieval period, the age of romance. his prose, as compared with that of iceland, is unstudied and simple, an apparently unreserved confession. the icelandic prose, with its richness of contents and its capability of different moods, is by comparison resolute, secure, and impartial; its authors are among those who do not give their own opinion about their stories. joinville, for all his exceptional genius in narrative, is yet like all the host of medieval writers except the icelandic school, in his readiness to give his opinion, to improve the occasion, and to add to his plain story something like the intonation of the preacher. inimitable as he is, to come from the icelandic books to joinville is to discover that he is "medieval" in a sense that does not apply to those; that his work, with all its sobriety and solidity, has also the incalculable and elusive touch of fantasy, of exaltation, that seems to claim in a special way the name of romance. viii the northern prose romances the history of the sturlungs is the last great work of the classical age of icelandic literature, and after it the end comes pretty sharply, as far as masterpieces are concerned. there is, however, a continuation of the old literature in a lower degree and in degenerate forms, which if not intrinsically valuable, are yet significant, as bringing out by exaggeration some of the features and qualities of the older school, and also as showing in a peculiar way the encroachments of new "romantic" ideas and formulas. one of the extant versions of the _foster-brothers' story_ is remarkable for its patches of euphuistic rhetoric, which often appear suddenly in the course of plain, straightforward narrative. these ornamental additions are not all of the same kind. some of them are of the alliterative antithetical kind which is frequently found in the old northern ecclesiastical prose,[ ] and which has an english counterpart in the alliterative prose of Ælfric. others are more unusual; they are borrowed not from the latin ecclesiastical school of prose, but from the terms of the northern poetry, and their effect is often very curious. for instance, on page there is a sudden break from the common, unemphatic narrative of a storm at sea ("they were drenched through, and their clothes froze on them") into the incongruous statement that "the daughters of ran (the sea-goddess) came and wooed them and offered them rest in their embraces,"--a conceit which might possibly be mistaken by a modern reader for the fancy of hans andersen, but which is really something quite different, not "pathetic fallacy," but an irruption of metaphorical rhetoric from the poetical dictionary. there is another metaphorical flare-up on the next page, equally amazing, in its plain context:-- she gave orders to take their clothes and have them thawed. after that they had supper and were shown to bed. they were not long in falling asleep. snow and frost held all the night through; _all that night the dog (devourer) of the elder-tree howled with unwearying jaws and worried the earth with grim fangs of cold_. and when it began to grow light towards daybreak, a man got up to look out, and when he came in thorgeir asked what sort of weather it was outside; and so on in the ordinary sober way. it is not surprising that an editor should have been found to touch up the plain text of a saga with a few ornamental phrases here and there. considering the amount of bad taste and false wit in the contemporary poetry, the wonder is that there should be such a consistent exclusion of all such things from the prose of the sagas. the _fóstbræðra_ variations show the beginning of a process of decay, in which the lines of separation between prose and poetry are cut through. [footnote : _fóstbr._ ( ) p. : "Því at ekki var hjarta hans seen fóarn í fugli: ekki var þat blóðfullt svá at þat skylfi af hræzlu, heldr var þat herdt af enum hæsta höfuðsmið í öllum hvatleik." ("his heart was not fashioned like the crop in a fowl: it was not gorged with blood that it should flutter with fear, but was tempered by the high headsmith in all alacrity.")] except, however, as an indication of a general decline of taste, these diversions in _fóstbræðra saga_ do not represent the later and secondary schools of icelandic narrative. they remain as exceptional results of a common degeneracy of literature; the prevailing forms are not exactly of this special kind. instead of embroidering poetical diction over the plain text of the old sagas, the later authors preferred to invent new stories of their own, and to use in them the machinery and vocabulary of the old sagas. hence arose various orders of romantic saga, cut off from the original sources of vitality, and imitating the old forms very much as a modern romanticist might intimate them. one of the best, and one of the most famous, of these romantic sagas is the story of frithiof the bold, which was chosen by tegnér as the groundwork of his elegant romantic poem, a brilliant example of one particular kind of modern medievalism. the significance of tegnér's choice is that he went for his story to the secondary order of sagas. the original _frithiof_ is almost as remote as tegnér himself from the true heroic tradition; and, like tegnér's poem, makes up for this want of a pedigree by a study and imitation of the great manner, and by a selection and combination of heroic traits from the older authentic literature. hence tegnér's work, an ingenious rhetorical adaptation of all the old heroic motives, is already half done for him by the earlier romanticist; the original prose frithiof is the same romantic hero as in the swedish poem, and no more like the men of the icelandic histories than raoul de bragelonne is like d'artagnan. at the same time, it is easy to see how the authentic histories have supplied materials for the romance; as has been shown already, there are passages in the older sagas that contain some suggestions for the later kind of stories, and the fictitious hero is put together out of reminiscences of gunnar and kjartan. the "romantic movement" in the old northern literature was greatly helped by foreign encouragement from the thirteenth century onward, and particularly by a change of literary taste at the court of norway. king sverre at the end of the twelfth century quotes from the old volsung poem; he perhaps kept the faroese memory for that kind of poetry from the days of his youth in the islands. hakon hakonsson, two generations later, had a different taste in literature and was fond of french romances. it was in his day that the work of translation from the french began; the results of which are still extant in _strengleikar_ (the lays of marie de france), in _karlamagnus saga_, in the norwegian versions of tristram, perceval, iwain, and other books of chivalry.[ ] these cargoes of foreign romance found a ready market in the north; first of all in norway, but in iceland also. they came to iceland just at the time when the native literature, or the highest form of it at any rate, was failing; the failure of the native literature let in these foreign competitors. the norwegian translations of french romances are not the chief agents in the creation of the secondary icelandic school, though they help. the foreigners have contributed something to the story of frithiof and the story of viglund. the phrase _náttúra amorsins_ (= _natura amoris_) in the latter work shows the intrusion even of the romance vocabulary here, as under similar conditions in germany and england. but while the old northern literature in its decline is affected by the vogue of french romance, it still retains some independence. it went to the bad in its own way; and the later kinds of story in the old northern tongue are not wholly spurious and surreptitious. they have some claim upon _njála_ and _laxdæla_; there is a strain in them that distinguishes them from the ordinary professional medieval romance in french, english, or german. [footnote : "the first romantic sagas"--_i.e._ sagas derived from french romance--"date from the reign of king hakon hakonsson ( - ), when the longest and best were composed, and they appear to cease at the death of king hakon the fifth ( ), who, we are expressly told, commanded many translations to be made" (g. vigfusson, prol. § ).] when the icelandic prose began to fail, and the slighter forms of romance rose up in the place of epic history, there were two modes in which the older literature might be turned to profit. for one thing, there was plenty of romantic stuff in the old heroic poetry, without going to the french books. for another thing, the prose stories of the old tradition had in them all kinds of romantic motives which were fit to be used again. so there came into existence the highly-interesting series of mythical romances on the themes of the old northern mythical and heroic poetry, and another series besides, which worked up in its own way a number of themes and conventional motives from the older prose books. mythical sagas had their beginning in the classical age of the north. snorri, with his stories of the adventures of the gods, is the leader in the work of getting pure romance, for pure amusement, out of what once was religious or heroic myth, mythological or heroic poetry. even ari the wise, his great predecessor, had done something of the same sort, if the _ynglinga saga_ be his, an historical abstract of northern mythical history; though his aim, like that of saxo grammaticus, is more purely scientific than is the case with snorri. the later mythical romances are of different kinds. the _volsunga saga_ is the best known on account of its subject. the story of heidrek, instead of paraphrasing throughout like the volsung book, inserts the poems of hervor and angantyr, and of their descendants, in a consecutive prose narrative. _halfs saga_ follows the same method. the story of _hrolf kraki_, full of interest from its connexion with the matter of _beowulf_ and of saxo grammaticus, is more like _volsunga saga_ in its procedure.[ ] [footnote : the mythical sagas are described and discussed by vigfusson, prol. § .] the other class[ ] contains the sagas of _frithiof_ and _viglund_, and all the fictitious stories which copy the style of the proper icelandic sagas. their matter is taken from the adventures of the heroic age; their personages are idealised romantic heroes; romantic formulas, without substance. [footnote : _ibid._ § , "spurious icelandic sagas" (_skrök-sögur_). for _frithiof_, see § .] among the original sagas there are some that show the beginning of the process by which the substance was eliminated, and the romantic _eidolon_ left to walk about by itself. the introductions of many of the older sagas, of _gisli_ and _grettir_ for example, giving the adventures of the hero's ancestors, are made up in this way; and the best sagas have many conventional passages--viking exploits, discomfiture of berserkers, etc.--which the reader learns to take for granted, like the tournaments in the french books, and which have no more effect than simple adjectives to say that the hero is brave or strong. besides these stock incidents, there are ethical passages (as has already been seen) in which the hero is in some danger of turning into a figure of romance. grettir, gisli, kjartan, gunnlaug the wormtongue, gunnar of lithend, are all in some degree and at some point or other in danger of romantic exaggeration, while kari has to thank his humorous squire, more than anything in himself, for his preservation. also in the original sagas there are conventions of the main plot, as well as of the episodes, such as are repeated with more deliberation and less skill in the romantic sagas. the love-adventures of viglund are like those of frithiof, and they have a common likeness, except in their conclusion, to the adventures of kormak and steingerd in _kormaks saga_. kormak was too rude and natural for romance, and the romancers had to make their heroes better-looking, and to provide a happy ending. but the story of the poet's unfortunate love had become a commonplace. the plot of _laxdæla_, the story of the _lovers of gudrun_, which is the volsung story born again, became a commonplace of the same sort. it certainly had a good right to the favour it received. the plot of _laxdæla_ is repeated in the story of gunnlaug and helga, even to a repetition of the course of events by which kjartan is defrauded. the true lover is left in norway and comes back too late; the second lover, the dull, persistent man, contrasted with a more brilliant but less single-minded hero, keeps to his wooing and spreads false reports, and wins his bride without her goodwill. compared with the story of kjartan and gudrun, the story of gunnlaug and helga is shallow and sentimental; the likeness to _frithiof_ is considerable. the device of a false report, in order to carry off the bride of a man absent in norway, is used again in the story of _thorstein the white_, where the result is more summary and more in accordance with poetical justice than in _laxdæla_ or _gunnlaug_. this is one of the best of the icelandic short stories, firmly drawn, with plenty of life and variety in it. it is only in its use of what seems like a stock device for producing agony that it resembles the more pretentious romantic sagas. another short story of the same class and the same family tradition (vopnafjord), the story of _thorstein staffsmitten_, looks like a clever working-up of a stock theme--the quiet man roused.[ ] the combat in it is less like the ordinary icelandic fighting than the combats in the french poems, more especially that of roland and oliver in _girart de viane_; and on the whole there is no particular reason, except its use of well-known east-country names, to reckon this among the family histories rather than the romances. [footnote : translated by mr. william morris and mr. e. magnússon, in the same volume as _gunnlaug_, _frithiof_, and _viglund_ (_three northern love stories_, etc., ).] romantic sagas of different kinds have been composed in iceland, century after century, in a more or less mechanical way, by the repetition of old adventures, situations, phrases, characters, or pretences of character. what the worst of them are like may be seen by a reference to mr. ward's catalogue of ms. romances in the british museum, which contains a number of specimens. there is fortunately no need to say anything more of them here. they are among the dreariest things ever made by human fancy. but the first and freshest of the romantic sagas have still some reason in them and some beauty; they are at least the reflection of something living, either of the romance of the old mythology, or of the romantic grace by which the epic strength of _njal_ and _gisli_ is accompanied. there are some other romantic transformations of the old heroic matters to be noticed, before turning away from the northern world and its "twilight of the gods" to the countries in which the course of modern literature first began to define itself as something distinct from the older unsuccessful fashions, teutonic or celtic. the fictitious sagas were not the most popular kind of literature in iceland in the later middle ages. the successors of the old sagas, as far as popularity goes, are to be found in the _rímur_, narrative poems, of any length, in rhyming verse; not the ballad measures of denmark, nor the short couplets of the french school such as were used in denmark and sweden, in england, and in high and low germany, but rhyming verse derived from the medieval latin rhymes of the type best known from the works of bishop golias.[ ] this rhyming poetry was very industrious, and turned out all kinds of stories; the native sagas went through the mill in company with the more popular romances of chivalry. [footnote : vigfusson, prol. p. cxxxviii. _c.p.b._, ii. . the forms of verse used in the _rímur_ are analysed in the preface to _riddara rímur_, by theodor wisén ( ).] they were transformed also in another way. the icelandic sagas went along with other books to feed the imagination of the ballad-singers of the faroes. those islands, where the singing of ballads has always had a larger share of importance among the literary and intellectual tastes of the people than anywhere else in the world, have relied comparatively little on their own traditions or inventions for their ballad themes. natural and popular as it is, the ballad poetry of the faroes is derived from icelandic literary traditions. even sigmund brestisson, the hero of the islands, might have been forgotten but for the _færeyinga saga_; and icelandic books, possibly near relations of _codex regius_, have provided the islanders with what they sing of the exploits of sigurd and his horse grani, as other writings brought them the story of roncesvalles. from iceland also there passed to the faroes, along with the older legends, the stories of gunnar and of kjartan; they have been turned into ballad measures, together with _roland_ and _tristram_, in that refuge of the old songs of the world. chapter iv the old french epic (_chansons de geste_) it appears to be generally the case in all old epic literature, and it is not surprising, that the existing specimens come from the end of the period of its greatest excellence, and generally represent the epic fashion, not quite at its freshest and best, but after it has passed its culmination, and is already on the verge of decline. this condition of things is exemplified in _beowulf_; and the sagas also, here and there, show signs of over-refinement and exhaustion. in the extant mass of old french epic this condition is enormously exaggerated. the _song of roland_ itself, even in its earliest extant form, is comparatively late and unoriginal; while the remainder of french epic poetry, in all its variety, is much less authentic than _roland_, sensibly later, and getting rapidly and luxuriantly worse through all the stages of lethargy. it is the misfortune of french epic that so much should have been preserved of its "dotages," so little of the same date and order as the _song of roland_, and nothing at all of the still earlier epic--the more original _roland_ of a previous generation. the exuberance, however, of the later stages of french epic, and its long persistence in living beyond its due time, are proof of a certain kind of vitality. the french epic in the twelfth century, long after its best days were over, came into the keenest and closest rivalry with the younger romantic schools in their first vigour. fortune has to some extent made up for the loss of the older french poems by the preservation of endless later versions belonging in date to the exciting times of the great romantic revolution in literature. feeble and drowsy as they often are, the late-born hosts of the french epic are nevertheless in the thick of a great european contest, matched not dishonourably against the forces of romance. they were not the strongest possible champions of the heroic age, but they were _there_, in the field, and in view of all spectators. at this distance of time, we can see how much more fully the drift of the old teutonic world was caught and rendered by the imagination of iceland; how much more there is in grettir or skarphedinn than in ogier the dane, or raoul de cambrai, or even roland and oliver. but the icelandic work lay outside of the consciousness of europe, and the french epic was known everywhere. there are no such masterpieces in the french epic as in the icelandic prose. the french epic, to make up for that, has an exciting history; it lived by antagonism, and one may look on and see how the _chansons de geste_ were fighting for their life against the newer forms of narrative poetry. in all this there is the interest of watching one of the main currents of history, for it was nothing less than the whole future imaginative life of europe that was involved in the debate between the stubborn old epic fashion and the new romantic adventurers. the _chansons de geste_ stand in a real, positive, ancestral relation to all modern literature; there is something of them in all the poetry of europe. the icelandic histories can make no such claim. their relation to modern life is slighter, in one sense; more spiritual, in another. they are not widely known, they have had no share in establishing the forms or giving vogue to the commonplaces of modern literature. now that they are published and accessible to modern readers, their immediate and present worth, for the friends of skarphedinn and gunnar, is out of all proportion to their past historical influence. they have anticipated some of the literary methods which hardly became the common property of europe till the nineteenth century; even now, when all the world reads and writes prose stories, their virtue is unexhausted and unimpaired. but this spiritual affinity with modern imaginations and conversations, across the interval of medieval romance and rhetoric, is not due to any direct or overt relation. the sagas have had no influence; that is the plain historical fact about them. the historical influence and importance of the _chansons de geste_, on the other hand, is equally plain and evident. partly by their opposition to the new modes of fiction, and partly by compliance with their adversaries, they belong to the history of those great schools of literature in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries from which all modern imaginations in prose and rhyme are descended. the "dolorous rout" of roncesvalles, and not the tragedy of the niblungs, still less the history of gunnar or of njal, is the heroic origin of modern poetry; it is remembered and renowned, [greek: pasi melousa], among the poets who have given shape to modern imaginative literature, while the older heroics of the teutonic migration are forgotten, and the things of iceland are utterly unknown. french epic has some great advantages in comparison with the epic experiments of teutonic verse. for one thing, it exists in great quantity; there is no want of specimens, though they are not all of the best sort or the best period. further, it has no difficulty, only too much ease, in keeping a long regular course of narrative. even _beowulf_ appears to have attained to its epic proportions by a succession of efforts, and with difficulty; it labours rather heavily over the longer epic course. _maldon_ is a poem that runs freely, but here the course is shorter, and it carries much less weight. the northern poems of the "elder edda" never attain the right epic scale at all; their abrupt and lyrical manner is the opposite of the epic mode of narration. it is true that the _chansons de geste_ are far from the perfect continuity of the homeric narrative. _roland_ is described by m. gaston paris in terms not unlike those that are applied by ten brink in his criticism of _beowulf_:-- "on peut dire que la _chanson de roland_ (ainsi que toutes nos plus anciennes chansons de geste) se développe non pas, comme les poèmes homériques, par un courant large et ininterrompu, non pas, comme le _nibelungenlied_, par des battements d'ailes égaux et lents, mais par un suite d'explosions successives, toujours arrêtées court et toujours reprenant avec soudaineté" (_litt. fr. au moyen âge_, p. ). _roland_ is a succession of separate scenes, with no gradation or transition between them. it still bears traces of the lyrical origins of epic. but the narrative, though broken, is neither stinted nor laboured; it does not, like _beowulf_, give the impression that it has been expanded beyond the convenient limits, and that the author is scant of breath. and none of the later _chansons de geste_ are so restricted and reserved in their design as _roland_; most of them are diffuse and long. the french and the teutonic epics are at opposite extremes of style. the french epics are addressed to the largest conceivable audience.[ ] they are plain and simple, as different as possible from the allusive brevity of the northern poems. even the plainest of the old english poems, even _maldon_, has to employ the poetical diction, the unprosaic terms and figures of the teutonic school. the alliterative poetry down to its last days has a vocabulary different from that of prose, and much richer. the french epic language is not distinguished and made difficult in this way; it is "not prismatic but diaphanous." those who could understand anything could understand it, and the _chansons de geste_ easily found currency in the market-place, when they were driven by the new romances from their old place of honour in "bower and hall." the teutonic poetry, even at its simplest, must have required more attention in its hearers than the french, through the strangeness and the greater variety of its vocabulary. it is less familiar, less popular. whatever dignity may be acquired by the french epic is not due to any special or elaborate convention of phrase. where it is weak, its poverty is not disguised, as in the weaker portions of teutonic poetry, by the ornaments and synonyms of the _gradus_. the commonplaces of french epic are not imposing.[ ] with this difference between the french and the teutonic conventions, there is all the more interest in a comparison of the two kinds, where they come into comparison through any resemblance of their subjects or their thought, as in _byrhtnoth_ and _roland_. [footnote : g. paris, preface to _histoire de la littérature française_, edited by l. petit de julleville.] [footnote : see the preface to _raoul de cambrai_, ed. paul meyer (anc. textes), for examples of such _chevilles_; and also _aimeri de narbonne_, p. civ.] the french epics have generally a larger political field, more numerous armies, and more magnificent kings, than the teutonic. in the same degree, their heroism is different from that of the earlier heroic age. the general motives of patriotism and religion, france and christendom, prevent the free use of the simpler and older motives of individual heroism. the hero of the older sort is still there, but his game is hindered by the larger and more complex political conditions of france; or if these are evaded, still the mere size of the country and numbers of the fighting-men tell against his importance; he is dwarfed by his surroundings. the limitation of the scenes in the poems of _beowulf_, _ermanaric_, and _attila_ throws out the figures in strong relief. the mere extent of the stage and the number of the supernumeraries required for the action of most of the french stories appear to have told against the definiteness of their characters; as, on the other hand, the personages in _beowulf_, without much individual character of their own, seem to gain in precision and strength from the smallness of the scene in which they act. there is less strict economy in the _chansons de geste_. apart from this, there is real and essential vagueness in their characters; their drama is rudimentary. the simplicity of the french epic style, which is addressed to a large audience and easily intelligible, is not capable of much dramatic subtlety. it can be made to express a variety of actions and a variety of moods, but these are generally rendered by means of common formulas, without much dramatic insight or intention. while the fragments of teutonic epic seem to give evidence of a growing dramatic imagination, and the northern poems, especially, of a series of experiments in character, the french epic imagination appears to have remained content with its established and abstract formulas for different modes of sentiment and passion. it would not be easy to find anything in french epic that gives the same impression of discovery and innovation, of the search for dramatic form, of the absorption of the poet's mind in the pursuit of an imaginary character, as is given, again and again, by the northern poems of the volsung cycle. yet the _chansons de geste_ are often true and effective in their outlines of character, and include a quantity of "humours and observation," though their authors seem to have been unable to give solidity to their sketches. the weakness of the drama in the french epics, even more than their compliance with foreign romance in the choice of incidents or machinery, is against their claim to be reckoned in the higher order of heroic narrative. they are romantic by the comparative levity of their imagination; the story, with them, is too much for the personages. but it is still the problem of heroic character that engages them, however feebly or conventionally they may deal with it. they rely, like the teutonic epic and the sagas, on situations that test the force of character, and they find those situations in the common conditions of an heroic age, subject of course to the modifications of the comparatively late period and late form of society to which they belong. _roland_ is a variation on the one perpetual heroic theme; it has a grander setting, a grander accompaniment, than _byrhtnoth_ or _waldere_, but it is essentially the old story of the heroic age,--no knight-errantry, but the last resistance of a man driven into a corner. the greatness of the poem of _roland_ is that of an author who knows his own mind, who has a certain mood of the heroic imagination to express, and is at no loss for his instrument or for the lines of his work. the poem, as has been already noted, has a general likeness in its plan to the story of finnesburh as told in _beowulf_, and to the poems of the death of attila. the plot falls into two parts, the second part being the vengeance and expiation. although the story is thus not absolutely simple, like the adventures of beowulf, no epic has a more magnificent simplicity of effect. the other personages, charlemagne, ganelon, oliver, king marsile, have to roland nothing like the importance of agamemnon, ajax, diomede, or hector, as compared with achilles in the _iliad_. the poem is almost wholly devoted to the praise and glorification of a single hero; it retains very much of the old manners of the earlier stages of epic poetry, before it ceased to be lyric. it is a poem in honour of a chieftain. at the same time, this lyrical tone in _roland_ and this pathetic concentration of the interest on one personage do not interfere with the epic plan of the narrative, or disturb the lines of the composition. the central part of the poem is on the homeric scale; the fighting, the separate combats, are rendered in an homeric way. _byrhtnoth_ and _roland_ are the works that have given the best medieval counterpart to the battles of homer. there is more of a crisis and a climax in _roland_ than in the several battles of the _iliad_, and a different sort of climax from that of _byrhtnoth_. everything leads to the agony and heroic death of roland, and to his glory as the unyielding champion of france and christendom. it is not as in the _iliad_, where different heroes have their day, or as at maldon, where the fall of the captain leads to the more desperate defence and the more exalted heroism of his companions. roland is the absolute master of the _song of roland_. no other heroic poetry conveys the same effect of pre-eminent simplicity and grandeur. there is hardly anything in the poem except the single mood; its simplicity is overpowering, a type of heroic resistance for all the later poets of europe. this impressive effect is aided, it is true, by an infusion of the lyrical tone and by playing on the pathetic emotions. roland is ideal and universal, and the story of his defeat, of the blast of his horn, and the last stroke of durendal, is a kind of funeral march or "heroic symphony" into which a meaning may be read for every new hero, to the end of the world; for any one in any age whose _mood is the more as the might lessens_. yet although roland has this universal or symbolical or musical meaning--unlike the more individual personages in the sagas, who would resent being made into allegories--the total effect is mainly due to legitimate epic means. there is no stinting of the epic proportions or suppression of the epic devices. the _song of roland_ is narrative poetry, a model of narrative design, with the proper epic spaces well proportioned, well considered, and filled with action. it may be contrasted with the _death-song of ragnar lodbrok_, which is an attempt to get the same sort of moral effect by a process of lyrical distillation from heroic poetry; putting all the strongest heroic motives into the most intense and emphatic form. there is something lyrical in _roland_, but the poem is not governed by lyrical principles; it requires the deliberation and the freedom of epic; it must have room to move in before it can come up to the height of its argument. the abruptness of its periods is not really an interruption of its even flight; it is an abruptness of detail, like a broken sea with a larger wave moving under it; it does not impair or disguise the grandeur of the movement as a whole. there are other poems among the _chansons de geste_ which admit of comparison with _roland_, though _roland_ is supreme; other epics in which the simple motives of heroism and loyalty are treated in a simple and noble way, without any very strong individual character among the personages. of these rather abstract expositions of the heroic ideal, some of the finest are to be found in the cycle of william of orange, more especially in the poems relating the exploits of william and his nephew vivian, and the death of vivian in the battle against the moors-- en icel jor que la dolor fu grans et la bataille orible en aliscans. like _roland_, the poem of _aliscans_ is rather lyrical in its effect, reiterating and reinforcing the heroic motives, making an impression by repetition of one and the same mood; a poem of the glorification of france. it shows, at the same time, how this motive might be degraded by exaggeration and amplification. there are too many moors in it (as also in _roland_), and the sequel is reckless and extravagant, where william of orange rides to the king's court for help and discovers an ally in the enormous scullion of the king's kitchen, rainouart, the morgante of french epic. rainouart, along with william of orange, was seen by dante in paradise. in his gigantic and discourteous way he was one of the champions of christendom, and his manners are interesting as a variation from the conventional heroic standards. but he takes up too much room; he was not invented by the wide and comprehensive epic imagination which finds a place for many varieties of mankind in its story, but by some one who felt that the old epic forms were growing thin and unsatisfactory, and that there was need of some violent diversion to keep the audiences awake. this new device is not abandoned till rainouart has been sent to avalon--the epic form and spirit losing themselves in a misappropriation of romance. these excursions are of course not to be ascribed to the central authors of the cycle of william of orange; but already even in the most heroic parts of the cycle there are indications of the flagging imagination, the failure of the old motives, which gave an opening to these wild auxiliary forces. where the epic came to trust too much to the mere heroic sentiment, to the moral of _roland_, to the contrast of knight and infidel, there was nothing for it but either to have recourse to the formal heroics of camoens or tasso,--for which the time had not yet come,--or to be dissolved altogether in a medley of adventures, and to pass from its old station in the front of literature to those audiences of the market-place that even now, in some parts of the world, have a welcome for charlemagne and his peers.[ ] [footnote : _historia verdadera de carlo magno y los doce pares de francia_: madrid, to ( ), a chap-book of thirty-two pages.] those of the french epics in which the motives of _roland_ are in some form or other repeated, in which the defence of christendom is the burden, are rightly considered the best representatives of the whole body. but there are others in which with less dignity of theme there is more freedom, and in which an older epic type, more akin to the teutonic, nearer in many ways to the icelandic sagas, is preserved, and for a long time maintains itself distinct from all the forms of romance and the romantic schools. it is not in _roland_ or in _aliscans_ that the epic interest in character is most pronounced and most effective. those among the _chansons de geste_ which make least of the adventures in comparison with the personages, which think more of the tragic situation than of rapid changes of scene and incident, are generally those which represent the feuds and quarrels between the king and his vassals, or among the great houses themselves; the anarchy, in fact, which belongs to an heroic age and passes from experience into heroic literature. there is hardly any of the _chansons de geste_ in which this element of heroic anarchy is not to be found in a greater or less degree. in _roland_, for example, though the main action is between the french and the moors, it is jealousy and rivalry that bring about the catastrophe, through the treason of ganelon. this sort of jealousy, which is subordinate in _roland_, forms the chief motive of some of the other epics. these depend for their chief interest on the vicissitudes of family quarrels almost as completely as the sagas. these are the french counterparts of _eyrbyggja_, and of the stories of glum or gisli. in france, as in iceland, the effect of the story is produced as much by the energy of the characters as by the interest of adventures. only in the french epic, while they play for larger stakes, the heroes are incomparably less impressive. the imagination which represents them is different in kind from the icelandic, and puts up with a very indefinite and general way of denoting character. though the extant poems are late, some of them have preserved a very elementary psychology and a very simple sort of ethics, the artistic formulas and devices of a rudimentary stage which has nothing to correspond to it in the extant icelandic prose. _raoul de cambrai_ in its existing form is a late poem; it has gone through the process of translation from assonance into rhyme, and like _huon of bordeaux_, though by a different method, it has been fitted with a romantic continuation. but the first part of the poem apparently keeps the lines of an older and more original version. the story is not one of the later cyclic fabrications; it has an historical basis and is derived from the genuine epic tradition of that tenth-century school which unfortunately is only known through its descendants and its influence. _raoul de cambrai_, though in an altered verse and later style, may be taken as presenting an old story still recognisable in most of its original features, especially in its moral. raoul de cambrai, a child at his father's death, is deprived of his inheritance. to make up for this he is promised, later, the first fief that falls vacant, and asserts his claim in a way that brings him into continual trouble,--a story with great opportunities for heroic contrasts and complications. the situation is well chosen; it is better than that of the story of glum, which is rather like it[ ]--the right is not all on one side. raoul has a just cause, but cannot make it good; he is driven to be unjust in order to come by his own. violence and excess in a just cause will make a tragic history; there is no fault to be found with the general scheme or principle in this case. it is in the details that the barbarous simplicity of the author comes out. for example, in the invasion of the lands on which he has a claim, raoul attacks and burns a nunnery, and in it the mother of his best friend and former squire, bernier. the injured man, his friend, is represented as taking it all in a helpless dull expostulatory way. the author has no language to express any imaginative passion; he can only repeat, in a muffled professional voice, that it was really a very painful and discreditable affair. the violent passions here are those of the heroic age in its most barbarous form; more sudden and uncontrolled even than the anger of achilles. but with all their vehemence and violence there is no real tragic force, and when the hero is killed by his friend, and the friend is sorry afterwards, there is nothing but the mere formal and abstract identity of the situation to recall to mind the tragedy of kjartan and bolli. [footnote : glum, like raoul, is a widow's son deprived of his rights.] _garin le loherain_ is a story with a similar plot,--the estrangement and enmity of old friends, "sworn companions." though no earlier than _raoul de cambrai_, though belonging in date to the flourishing period of romance, it is a story of the older heroic age, and its contents are epic. its heroes are unsophisticated, and the incidents, sentiments, and motives are primitive and not of the romantic school. the story is much superior to _raoul de cambrai_ in speed and lightness; it does not drag at the critical moments; it has some humour and some grace. among other things, its gnomic passages represent very fairly the dominant heroic ideas of courage and good temper; it may be appealed to for the humanities of the _chansons de geste_, expressed in a more fluent and less emphatic shape than _roland_. the characters are taken very lightly, but at least they are not obtuse and awkward. if there is not much dramatic subtlety, there is a recognition and appreciation of different aspects of the same character. the story proceeds like an icelandic saga, through different phases of a long family quarrel, springing from a well-marked origin; foreshadowed and accompanied, as in many of the sagas, by the hereditary felonious character of the one party, which yet is not blackened too much nor wholly unrelieved. as in many of the icelandic stories, there is a stronger dramatic interest in the adversary, the wrong side, than in the heroes. as with kari and flosi in _njála_, as with kjartan and bolli in _laxdæla_, and with sigmund and thrond of gata in _færeyinga saga_, so in the story of garin it is fromont the enemy whose case is followed with most attention, because it is less simple than that of the heroes, garin of lorraine and begon his brother. the character of fromont shows the true observation, as well as the inadequate and sketchy handling, of the french epic school. fromont is in the wrong; all the trouble follows from his original misconduct, when he refused to stand by garin in a war of defence against the moors:-- iluec comence li grans borroflemens. but fromont's demeanour afterwards is not that of a traitor and a felon, such as his father was. he belongs to a felonious house; he is the son of hardré, one of the notorious traitors of french epic tradition; but he is less than half-hearted in his own cause, always lamentable, perplexed, and peevish, always trying to be just, and always dragged further into iniquity by the mischief-makers among his friends. this idea of a distracted character is worked out as well as was possible for a poet of that school, in a passage of narrative which represents more than one of the good qualities of french epic poetry,--the story of the death of begon, and the vengeance exacted for him by his brother garin. this episode shows how the french poets could deal with matter like that of the sagas. the story is well told, fluently and clearly; it contains some fine expressions of heroic sentiment, and a good fight, as well as the ineffectual sorrows and good intentions of the anti-hero fromont, with all the usual tissue of violence which goes along with a feud in heroic narrative, when the feud is regarded as something impersonal and fatal, outside the wishes of the agents in it. it may be said here that although the story of garin and of the feud between the house of lorraine and their enemies is long drawn out and copious in details, it is not confused, but falls into a few definite episodes of warfare, with intervals of truce and apparent reconciliation. of these separate acts in the tragedy, the _death of begon_ is the most complete in itself; the most varied, as well as the most compact. the previous action is for a modern taste too much occupied with the commonplaces of epic warfare, homeric combats in the field, such as need the heroic motives of maldon or roncesvalles to make them interesting. in the story of the _death of begon_ there is a change of scene from the common epic battlefield; the incidents are not taken from the common stock of battle-poetry, and the homeric supernumeraries are dismissed. this episode[ ] begins after an interval in the feud, and tells how begon one day thought of his brother garin whom he had not seen for seven years and more (the business of the feud having been slack for so long), and how he set out for the east country to pay his brother a visit, with the chance of a big boar-hunt on the way. the opening passage is a very complete and lively selection from the experience and the sentiments of the heroic age; it represents the old heroic temper and the heroic standard of value, with, at the same time, a good deal of the gentler humanities. [footnote : _garin le loherain_, ed. paulin paris ( - ), vol. ii. pp. - .] one day begon was in his castle of belin; at his side was the duchess beatrice, and he kissed her on the mouth: he saw his two sons coming through the hall (so the story runs). the elder was named gerin and the younger hernaudin; the one was twelve and the other was ten years old, and with them went six noble youths, running and leaping with one another, playing and laughing and taking their sport. the duke saw them and began to sigh, and his lady questioned him:-- "ah, my lord duke, why do you ponder thus? gold and silver you have in your coffers; falcons on their perch, and furs of the vair and the grey, and mules and palfreys; and well have you trodden down your enemies: for six days' journey round you have no neighbour so stout but he will come to your levy." said the duke: "madame, you have spoken true, save in one thing. riches are not in the vair and the grey, nor in money, nor in mules and horses, but riches are in kinsmen and friends: the heart of a man is worth all the gold in the land. do you not remember how i was assailed and beset at our home-coming? and but for my friends how great had been my shame that day! pepin has set me in these marches where i have none of my near friends save rigaut and hervi his father; i have no brother but one, garin the lothering, and full seven years are past and gone that i have not seen him, and for that i am grieved and vexed and ill at ease. now i will set off to see my brother garin, and the child girbert his son that i have never seen. of the woods of vicogne and of st. bertin i hear news that there is a boar there; i will run him down, please the lord, and will bring the head to garin, a wonder to look upon, for of its like never man heard tell." begon's combined motives are all alike honest, and his rhetoric is as sound as that of sarpedon or of gunnar. nor is there any reason to suppose, any more than in the case of byrhtnoth, that what is striking in the poem is due to its comparative lateness, and to its opportunities of borrowing from new discoveries in literature. if that were so, then we might find similar things among the newer fashions of the contemporary twelfth-century literature; but in fact one does not find in the works of the romantic school the same kind of humanity as in this scene. the melancholy of begon at the thought of his isolation--"bare is back without brother behind it"--is an adaptation of a common old heroic motive which is obscured by other more showy ideas in the romances. the conditions of life are here essentially those of the heroic age, an age which has no particular ideas of its own, which lives merely on such ideas as are struck out in the collision of lawless heavy bodies, in that heroic strife which is the parent of all things, and, among the rest, of the ideas of loyalty, fellowship, fair dealing, and so on. there is nothing romantic or idealist in begon; he is merely an honest country gentleman, rather short of work. he continues in the same strain, after the duchess has tried to dissuade him. she points out to him the risk he runs by going to hunt on his enemy's marches,-- c'est en la marche fromont le poësti, --and tells him of her foreboding that he will never return alive. his answer is like that of hector to polydamas:-- diex! dist il, dame, merveilles avez dit: ja mar croiroie sorciere ne devin; par aventure vient li biens el païs, je ne lairoie, por tot l'or que diex fist, que je n'i voise, que talens m'en est prins. the hunting of the boar is as good as anything of its kind in history, and it is impossible to read it without wishing that it had been printed a few years earlier to be read by sir walter scott. he would have applauded as no one else can this story of the chase and of the hunter separated from his companions in the forest. there is one line especially in the lament for begon after his death which is enough by itself to prove the soundness of the french poet's judgment, and his right to a welcome at abbotsford: "this was a true man; his dogs loved him":-- gentis hons fu, moult l'amoient si chien. begon came by his death in the greenwood. the forester found him there and reported him to fromont's seneschal, who called out six of his men to go and take the poacher; and along with them went thibaut, fromont's nephew, an old rival of begon. begon set his back to an aspen tree and killed four of the churls and beat off the rest, but was killed himself at last with an arrow. the four dead men were brought home and begon's horse was led away:-- en une estable menerent le destrier fronce et hennit et si grate des pies que nus de char ne li ouse aprochier. begon was left lying where he fell and his three dogs came back to him:-- seul ont begon en la forest laissié: et jouste lui revindrent si trois chien, hulent et braient com fuissent enragié. this most spirited passage of action and adventure shows the poet at his best; it is the sort of thing that he understands, and he carries it through without a mistake. it is followed by an attempt at another theme where something more is required of the author, and his success is not so perfect. he is drawn into the field of tragic emotion. here, though his means are hardly sufficient for elaborate work, he sketches well. the character of fromont when the news of his opponent's death is brought to him comes out as something of a different value from the sheer barbarism of _raoul de cambrai_. the narrative is light and wanting in depth, but there is no untruth and no dulness in the conception, and the author's meaning is perfectly clear. fromont is different from the felons of his own household. fromont is the adversary, but he is a gentleman. even when he knows no more of the event than that a trespasser has been killed in the forest, he sends his men to bring in the body;-- frans hons de l'autre doient avoir pitié --and when he sees who it is (_vif l'ot véu, mort le reconnut bien_) he breaks out into strong language against the churls who have killed the most courteous knight that ever bore arms. mingled with this sentiment is the thought of all the trouble to come from the revival of the feud, but his vexation does not spring from mere self-interest. fromondin his son is also angry with thibaut his cousin; thibaut ought to be flayed alive for his foul stroke. but while fromondin is thinking of the shame of the murder which will be laid to the account of his father's house, fromont's thought is more generous, a thought of respect and regret for his enemy. the tragedy of the feud continues after this; as before, fromont is involved by his irrepressible kinsmen, and nothing comes of his good thoughts and intentions. our wills and fates do so contrary run, our thoughts are ours, the ends none of our own. this moral axiom is understood by the french author, and in an imaginative, not a didactic way, though his imagination is not strong enough to make much of it. in this free, rapid, and unforced narrative, that nothing might be wanting of the humanities of the french heroic poetry, there is added the lament for begon, by his brother and his wife. garin's lament is what the french epic can show in comparison with the famous lament for lancelot at the end of the _mort d'arthur_:-- ha! sire begues, li loherains a dit frans chevaliers, corajeus et hardis! fel et angris contre vos anemis et dols et simples a trestoz vos amis! tant mar i fustes, biaus frères, biaus amis! here the advantage is with the english romantic author, who has command of a more subtle and various eloquence. on the other hand, the scene of the grief of the duchess beatrice, when begon is brought to his own land, and his wife and his sons come out to meet him, shows a different point of view from romance altogether, and a different dramatic sense. the whole scene of the conversation between beatrice and garin is written with a steady hand; it needs no commentary to bring out the pathos or the dramatic truth of the consolation offered by garin. she falls fainting, she cannot help herself; and when she awakens her lamenting is redoubled. she mourns over her sons, hernaudin and gerin: "children, you are orphans; dead is he that begot you, dead is he that was your stay!"--"peace, madame," said garin the duke, "this is a foolish speech and a craven. you, for the sake of the land that is in your keeping, for your lineage and your lordly friends--some gentle knight will take you to wife and cherish you; but it falls to me to have long sorrow. the more i have of silver and fine gold, the more will be my grief and vexation of spirit. hernaudin and gerin are my nephews; it will be mine to suffer many a war for them, to watch late, and to rise up early."--"thank you, uncle," said hernaudin: "lord! why have i not a little habergeon of my own? i would help you against your enemies!" the duke hears him, and takes him in his arms and kisses the child. "by god, fair nephew, you are stout and brave, and like my brother in face and mouth, the rich duke, on whom god have mercy!" when this was said, they go to bury the duke in the chapel beyond belin; the pilgrims see it to this day, as they come back from galicia, from st. james.[ ] [footnote : one of the frequent morals of french epic (repeated also by french romance) is the vanity of overmuch sorrow for the dead. [greek: alla chrê ton men katathaptein hos ke thanêsin nêlea thymon echontas, ep' êmati dakrysantas.] (odysseus speaking) _il._ xix. . "laissiez ester," li quens guillaumes dit; "tout avenra ce que doit avenir; li mort as mors, li vif voissent as vis; duel sor dolor et joie sor joïr ja nus frans hons nel devroit maintenir." les cors enportent, les out en terre mis. _garin_, i. p. .] _roland_, _raoul de cambrai_, and _garin le loherain_ represent three kinds of french heroic poetry. _roland_ is the more purely heroic kind, in which the interest is concentrated on the passion of the hero, and the hero is glorified by every possible means of patriotism, religion, and the traditional ethics of battle, with the scenery and the accompaniments all chosen so as to bring him into relief and give him an ideal or symbolical value, like that of the statues of the gods. _raoul_ and _garin_, contrasted with _roland_, are two varieties of another species; namely, of the heroic poetry which (like the _odyssey_ and the icelandic stories) represents the common life of an heroic age, without employing the ideal motives of great causes, religious or patriotic, and without giving to the personages any great representative or symbolical import. the subjects of _raoul_ and _garin_ belong to the same order. the difference between them is that the author of the first is only half awake to the chances offered by his theme. the theme is well chosen, not disabled, like so many romantic plots, by an inherent fallacy of ethics or imagination; a story that shapes itself naturally, if the author has the wit to see it. the author of _raoul de cambrai_, unhappily, has "no more wit than a christian or an ordinary man," and leaves his work encumbered with his dulness of perception; an evidence of the fertility of the heroic age in good subjects, and of the incompetence of some of the artists. _garin_, on the other hand, shows how the common subject-matter might be worked up by a man of intelligence, rather discursive than imaginative, but alive to the meaning of his story, and before everything a continuous narrator, with the gift of natural sequence in his adventures. he relates as if he were following the course of events in his own memory, with simplicity and lucidity, qualities which were not beyond the compass of the old french verse and diction. he does not stop to elaborate his characters; he takes them perhaps too easily. but his lightness of spirit saves him from the untruth of _raoul de cambrai_; and while his ethics are the commonplaces of the heroic age, these commonplaces are not mere formulas or cant; they are vividly realised. there is no need to multiply examples in order to prove the capacity of french epic for the same kind of subjects as those of the sagas; that is, for the representation of strenuous and unruly life in a comprehensive and liberal narrative, noble in spirit and not much hampered by conventional nobility or dignity. _roland_ is the great achievement of french epic, and there are other poems, also, not far removed from the severity of _roland_ and inspired by the same patriotic and religious ardour. but the poem of _garin of lorraine_ (which begins with the defence of france against the infidels, but very soon passes to the business of the great feud--its proper theme), though it is lacking in the political motives, not to speak of the symbolical imagination of _roland_, is significant in another way, because though much later in date, though written at a time when romance was prevalent, it is both archaic in its subject and also comprehensive in its treatment. it has something like the freedom of movement and the ease which in the icelandic sagas go along with similar antique subjects. the french epic poetry is not all of it made sublime by the ideas of _roland_; there is still scope for the free representation of life in different moods, with character as the dominant interest. it should not be forgotten that the french epic has room for comedy, not merely in the shape of "comic relief," though that unhappily is sometimes favoured by the _chansons de geste_, and by the romances as well, but in the "humours" inseparable from all large and unpedantic fiction. a good deal of credit on this account may be claimed for galopin, the reckless humorist of the party of garin of lorraine, and something rather less for rigaut the villain unwashed, another of garin's friends. this latter appears to be one of the same family as hreidar the simple, in the saga of harald hardrada; a figure of popular comedy, one of the lubbers who turn out something different from their promise. clumsy strength and good-nature make one of the most elementary compounds, and may easily be misused (as in _rainouart_) where the author has few scruples and no dramatic consistency. galopin is a more singular humorist, a ribald and a prodigal, yet of gentle birth, and capable of good service when he can be got away from the tavern. there are several passages in the _chansons de geste_ where, as with _rainouart_, the fun is of a grotesque and gigantic kind, like the fun to be got out of the giants in the northern mythology, and the trolls in the northern popular tales. the heathen champion corsolt in the _coronemenz looïs_ makes good comedy of this sort, when he accosts the pope: "little man! why is your head shaved?" and explains to him his objection to the pope's religion: "you are not well advised to talk to me of god: he has done me more wrong than any other man in the world," and so on.[ ] [footnote : respont li reis: "n'iés pas bien enseigniez, qui devant mei oses de deu plaidier; c'est l'om el mont qui plus m'a fait irier: mon pere ocist une foldre del ciel: tot i fu ars, ne li pot l'en aidier. quant deus l'ot mort, si fist que enseigniez; el ciel monta, ça ne voit repairier; ge nel poeie sivre ne enchalcier, mais de ses omes me sui ge puis vengiez; de cels qui furent levé et baptisié ai fait destruire plus de trente miliers, ardeir en feu et en eve neier; quant ge la sus ne puis deu guerreier, nul de ses omes ne vueil ça jus laissier, et mei et deu n'avons mais que plaidier: meie est la terre et siens sera li ciels." _l.c._, l. . the last verse expresses the same sentiment as the answer of the emperor henry when he was told to beware of god's vengeance: "celum celi domino, terram autem dedit filiis hominum" (otton. frising. _gesta frid._ i. ).] also, in a less exaggerated way, there is some appreciation of the humour to be found in the contrast between the churl and the knight, and their different points of view; as in the passage of the _charroi de nismes_ where william of orange questions the countryman about the condition of the city under its saracen masters, and is answered with information about the city tolls and the price of bread.[ ] it must be admitted, however, that this slight passage of comedy is far outdone by the conversation in the romance of _aucassin and nicolette_, between aucassin and the countryman, where the author of that story seems to get altogether beyond the conventions of his own time into the region of chaucer, or even somewhere near the forest of arden. the comedy of the _chansons de geste_ is easily satisfied with plain and robust practical jokes. yet it counts for something in the picture, and it might be possible, in a detailed criticism of the epics, to distinguish between the comic incidents that have an artistic value and intention, and those that are due merely to the rudeness of those common minstrels who are accused (by their rivals in epic poetry) of corrupting and debasing the texts. [footnote : li cuens guillaumes li comença à dire: --diva, vilain, par la loi dont tu vives fus-tu a nymes, la fort cité garnie? --oïl, voir, sire, le paaige me quistrent; ge fui trop poures, si nel poi baillier mie. il me lessèrent por mes enfanz qu'il virent. --di moi, vilain, des estres de la vile. et cil respont:--ce vos sai-ge bien dire por un denier .ii. granz pains i véismes; la denerée vaut .iii. en autre vile: moult par est bone, se puis n'est empirie. --fox, dist guillaume, ce ne demant-je mie, mès des paiens chevaliers de la vile, del rei otrant et de sa compaignie. _l.c._, ll. - .] there were many ways in which the french epic was degraded at the close of its course--by dilution and expansion, by the growth of a kind of dull parasitic, sapless language over the old stocks, by the general failure of interest, and the transference of favour to other kinds of literature. reading came into fashion, and the minstrels lost their welcome in the castles, and had to betake themselves to more vulgar society for their livelihood. at the same time, epic made a stand against the new modes and a partial compliance with them; and the _chansons de geste_ were not wholly left to the vagrant reciters, but were sometimes copied out fair in handsome books, and held their own with the romances. the compromise between epic and romance in old french literature is most interesting where romance has invaded a story of the simpler kind like _raoul de cambrai_. stories of war against the infidel, stories like those of william of orange, were easily made romantic. the poem of the _prise d'orange_, for example, an addition to this cycle, is a pure romance of adventure, and a good one, though it has nothing of the more solid epic in it. where the action is carried on between the knights of france and the moors, one is prepared for a certain amount of wonder; the palaces and dungeons of the moors are the right places for strange things to happen, and the epic of the defence of france goes easily off into night excursions and disguises: the moorish princess also is there, to be won by the hero. all this is natural; but it is rather more paradoxical to find the epic of family feuds, originally sober, grave, and business-like, turning more and more extravagant, as it does in the _four sons of aymon_, which in its original form, no doubt, was something like the more serious parts of _raoul de cambrai_ or of the _lorrains_, but which in the extant version is expanded and made wonderful, a story of wild adventures, yet with traces still of its origin among the realities of the heroic age, the common matters of practical interest to heroes. the case of _huon of bordeaux_ is more curious, for there the original sober story has been preserved, and it is one of the best and most coherent of them all,[ ] till it is suddenly changed by the sound of oberon's horn and passes out of the real world altogether. [footnote : cf. auguste longnon, "l'élément historique de huon de bordeaux," _romania_, viii.] the lines of the earlier part of the story are worth following, for there is no better story among the french poems that represent the ruder heroic age--a simple story of feudal rivalries and jealousies, surviving in this strange way as an introduction to the romance of _oberon_. the emperor charlemagne, one hundred and twenty-five years old, but not particularly reverend, holds a court at paris one whitsuntide and asks to be relieved of his kingdom. his son charlot is to succeed him. charlot is worthless, the companion of traitors and disorderly persons; he has made enough trouble already in embroiling ogier the dane with the emperor. charlemagne is infatuated and will have his son made king:-- si m'aït diex, tu auras si franc fiet com damediex qui tot puet justicier tient paradis de regne droiturier! then the traitor amaury de la tor de rivier gets up and brings forward the case of bordeaux, which has rendered no service for seven years, since the two brothers, huon and gerard, were left orphans. amaury proposes that the orphans should be dispossessed. charlemagne agrees at once, and withdraws his assent again (a painful spectacle!) when it is suggested to him that huon and his brother have omitted their duties in pure innocence, and that their father sewin was always loyal. messengers are sent to bring huon and gerard to paris, and every chance is to be given them of proving their good faith to the emperor. this is not what amaury the traitor wants; he goes to charlot and proposes an ambuscade to lie in wait for the two boys and get rid of them; his real purpose being to get rid of the king's son as well as of huon of bordeaux. the two boys set out, and on the way fall in with the abbot of clugni, their father's cousin, a strong-minded prelate, who accompanies them. outside paris they come to the ambush, and the king's son is despatched by amaury to encounter them. what follows is an admirable piece of narrative. gerard rides up to address charlot; charlot rides at him as he is turning back to report to huon and the abbot, and gerard who is unarmed falls severely wounded. then huon, also unarmed, rides at charlot, though his brother calls out to him: "i see helmets flashing there among the bushes." with his scarlet mantle rolled round his arm he meets the lance of charlot safely, and with his sword, as he passes, cuts through the helmet and head of his adversary. this is good enough for amaury, and he lets huon and his party ride on to the city, while he takes up the body of charlot on a shield and follows after. huon comes before the emperor and tells his story as far as he knows it; he does not know that the felon he has killed is the emperor's son. charlemagne gives solemn absolution to huon. then appears amaury with a false story, making huon the aggressor. charlemagne forgets all about the absolution and snatches up a knife, and is with difficulty calmed by his wise men. the ordeal of battle has to decide between the two parties; there are elaborate preparations and preliminaries, obviously of the most vivid interest to the audience. the demeanour of the abbot of clugni ought not to be passed over: he vows that if heaven permits any mischance to come upon huon, he, the abbot, will make it good on st. peter himself, and batter his holy shrine till the gold flies. in the combat huon is victorious; but unhappily a last treacherous effort of his enemy, after he has yielded and confessed, makes huon cut off his head in too great a hurry before the confession is heard by the emperor or any witnesses:-- le teste fist voler ens el larris: hues le voit, mais ce fu sans jehir. the head went flying over the lea, but it had no more words to speak. huon is not forgiven by the emperor; the emperor spares his life, indeed, but sends him on a hopeless expedition. and there the first part of the story ends. the present version is dated in the early part of the reign of st. louis; it is contemporary with snorri sturluson and sturla his nephew, and exhibits, though not quite in the icelandic manner, the principal motives of early unruly society, without much fanciful addition, and with a very strong hold upon the tragic situation, and upon the types of character. as in _raoul de cambrai_, right and wrong are mixed; the emperor has a real grievance against huon, and huon, with little fault of his own, is put apparently in the wrong. the interests involved are of the strongest possible. there was not a single lord among those to whom the minstrel repeated his story who did not know that he might have to look out for encroachments and injustice--interference at any rate--from the king, and treachery from his neighbours. no one hoped to leave his castles and lands in peace to his son, who did not also fear that his son might be left defenceless and his lands exposed to competition; a fear most touchingly expressed in the lament of william of poitiers, when he set out on the first crusade.[ ] [footnote : "pos de chantar m'es pres talens:"--raynouard, _choix des poésies des troubadours_, iv. p. ; bartsch, _chrestomathie provençale_.] whatever general influences of law or politics or social economy are supposed to be at work in the story of _huon of bordeaux_,--and all this earlier part of it is a story of feudal politics and legal problems,--these influences were also present in the real world in which the maker and the hearers of the poem had their life. it is plain and serious dealing with matter of fact. but after the ordeal of battle in which huon kills the traitor, the tone changes with great abruptness and a new story begins. the commission laid upon huon by the implacable and doting emperor is nothing less than that which afterwards was made a byword for all impossible enterprises--"to take the great turk by the beard." he is to go to babylon and, literally, to beard the admiral there, and carry off the admiral's daughter. the audience is led away into the wide world of romance. huon goes to the east by way of rome and brindisi--naturally enough--but the real world ends at brindisi; beyond that everything is magical. chapter v romance and the old french romantic schools romance in many varieties is to be found inherent in epic and in tragedy; for some readers, possibly, the great and magnificent forms of poetry are most attractive when from time to time they forget their severity, and when the tragic strength is allowed to rest, as in the fairy interludes of the _odyssey_, or the similes of the clouds, winds, and mountain-waters in the _iliad_. if romance be the name for the sort of imagination that possesses the mystery and the spell of everything remote and unattainable, then romance is to be found in the old northern heroic poetry in larger measure than any epic or tragic solemnity, and in no small measure also even in the steady course of the icelandic histories. possibly romance is in its best place here, as an element in the epic harmony; perhaps the romantic mystery is most mysterious when it is found as something additional among the graver and more positive affairs of epic or tragic personages. the occasional visitations of the dreaming moods of romance, in the middle of a great epic or a great tragedy, are often more romantic than the literature which is nothing but romance from beginning to end. the strongest poets, homer, dante, and shakespeare, have along with their strong reasoning enough of the lighter and fainter grace and charm to be the despair of all the "romantic schools" in the world. in the icelandic prose stories, as has been seen already, there is a similar combination. these stories contain the strongest imaginative work of the middle ages before dante. along with this there is found in them occasionally the uncertain and incalculable play of the other, the more airy mode of imagination; and the romance of the strong sagas is more romantic than that of the medieval works which have no other interest to rely upon, or of all but a very few. one of the largest and plainest facts of medieval history is the change of literature in the twelfth century, and the sudden and exuberant growth and progress of a number of new poetical forms; particularly the courtly lyric that took shape in provence, and passed into the tongues of italy, france, and germany, and the french romance which obeyed the same general inspiration as the provençal poetry, and was equally powerful as an influence on foreign nations. the french romantic schools of the twelfth century are among the most definite and the most important appearances even in that most wonderful age; though it is irrational to contrast them with the other great historical movements of the time, because there is no real separation between them. french romance is part of the life of the time, and the life of the twelfth century is reproduced in french romance. the rise of these new forms of story makes an unmistakable difference between the age that preceded them and everything that comes after. they are a new, fresh, and prosperous beginning in literature, and they imply the failure of the older manner of thought, the older fashion of imagination, represented in the epic literature of france, not to speak of the various teutonic forms of heroic verse and prose that are related to the epic of france only by a remote common ancestry, and a certain general likeness in the conditions of "heroic" life. the defeat of french epic, as has been noted already, was slow and long resisted; but the victory of romance was inevitable. together with the influence of the provençal lyric idealism, it determined the forms of modern literature, long after the close of the middle ages. the change of fashion in the twelfth century is as momentous and far-reaching in its consequences as that to which the name "renaissance" is generally appropriated. the later renaissance, indeed, in what concerns imaginative literature, makes no such abrupt and sudden change of fashion as was made in the twelfth century. the poetry and romance of the renaissance follow naturally upon the literature of the middle ages; for the very good reason that it was the middle ages which began, even in their dark beginnings, the modern study of the humanities, and in the twelfth century made a remarkable and determined effort to secure the inheritance of ancient poetry for the advantage of the new tongues and their new forms of verse. there is no such line of division between ariosto and chrestien of troyes as there is between chrestien and the primitive epic. the romantic schools of the twelfth century are the result and evidence of a great unanimous movement, the origins of which may be traced far back in the general conditions of education and learning, in the influence of latin authors, in the interchange of popular tales. they are among the most characteristic productions of the most impressive, varied, and characteristic period in the middle ages; of that century which broke, decisively, with the old "heroic" traditions, and made the division between the heroic and the chivalric age. when the term "medieval" is used in modern talk, it almost always denotes something which first took definite shape in the twelfth century. the twelfth century is the source of most of the "medieval" influences in modern art and literature, and the french romances of that age are the original authorities for most of the "gothic" ornaments adopted in modern romantic schools. the twelfth-century french romances form a definite large group, with many ranks and divisions, some of which are easily distinguished, while all are of great historical interest. one common quality, hardly to be mistaken, is that which marks them all as belonging to a romantic _school_, in almost all the modern senses of that term. that is to say, they are not the spontaneous product of an uncritical and ingenuous imagination; they are not the same sort of thing as the popular stories on which many of them are founded; they are the literary work of authors more or less sophisticated, on the look-out for new sensations and new literary devices. it is useless to go to those french books in order to catch the first fresh jet of romantic fancy, the "silly sooth" of the golden age. one might as well go to the _légende des siècles_. most of the romance of the medieval schools is already hot and dusty and fatigued. it has come through the mills of a thousand active literary men, who know their business, and have an eye to their profits. medieval romance, in its most characteristic and most influential form, is almost as factitious and professional as modern gothic architecture. the twelfth-century dealers in romantic commonplaces are as fully conscious of the market value of their goods as any later poet who has borrowed from them their giants and enchanters, their forests and their magic castles; and these and similar properties are used in the twelfth century with the same kind of literary sharpness, the same attention to the demands of the "reading public," as is shown by the various poets and novelists who have waited on the successes, and tried to copy the methods, of goethe, scott, or victor hugo. pure romance, such as is found in the old northern poems, is very rare in the french stories of the twelfth century; the magical touch and the sense of mystery, and all the things that are associated with the name romance, when that name is applied to the _ancient mariner_, or _la belle dame sans merci_, or the _lady of shalott_, are generally absent from the most successful romances of the great medieval romantic age, full though they may be of all the forms of chivalrous devotion and all the most wonderful romantic machines. most of them are as different from the true irresistible magic of fancy as _thalaba_ from _kubla khan_. the name "romantic school" is rightly applicable to them and their work, for almost the last thing that is produced in a "romantic school" is the infallible and indescribable touch of romance. a "romantic school" is a company for the profitable working of broceliande, an organised attempt to "open up" the enchanted ground; such, at least, is the appearance of a great deal of the romantic literature of the early part of the nineteenth century, and of its forerunner in the twelfth. there is this difference between the two ages, that the medieval romanticists are freer and more original than the moderns who made a business out of tales of terror and wonder, and tried to fatten their lean kine on the pastures of "gothic" or of oriental learning. the romance-writers of the twelfth century, though they did much to make romance into a mechanic art, though they reduced the game to a system and left the different romantic combinations and conventions within the reach of almost any 'prentice hand, were yet in their way original explorers. though few of them got out of their materials the kind of effect that appeals to us now most strongly, and though we think we can see what they missed in their opportunities, yet they were not the followers of any great man of their own time, and they chose their own way freely, not as bungling imitators of a greater artist. it is a disappointment to find that romance is rarely at its finest in the works that technically have the best right in the world to be called by that name. nevertheless, the work that is actually found there is interesting in its own way, and historically of an importance which does not need to be emphasised. the true romantic interest is very unequally distributed over the works of the middle ages, and there is least of it in the authors who are most representative of the "age of chivalry." there is a disappointment prepared for any one who looks in the greater romantic authors of the twelfth century for the music of the _faery queene_ or _la belle dame sans merci_. there is more of the pure romantic element in the poems of brynhild, in the story of njal, in the _song of roland_, than in the famous romances of chrestien of troyes or any of his imitators, though they have all the wonders of the isle of britain at their command, though they have the very story of tristram and the very mystery of the grail to quicken them and call them out. elegance, fluency, sentiment, romantic adventures are common, but for words like those of hervor at the grave of her father, or of the parting between brynhild and sigurd, or of helgi and sigrun, it would be vain to search in the romances of benoit de sainte more or of chrestien. yet these are the masters of the art of romance when it was fresh and strong, a victorious fashion. if the search be continued further, the search for that kind of imaginative beauty which these authors do not give, it will not be unsuccessful. the greater authors of the twelfth century have more affinity to the "heroic romance" of the school of the _grand cyrus_ than to the dreams of spenser or coleridge. but, while this is the case with the most distinguished members of the romantic school, it is not so with all the rest. the magic that is wanting to the clear and elegant narrative of benoit and chrestien will be found elsewhere; it will be found in one form in the mystical prose of the _queste del st. graal_--a very different thing from chrestien's _perceval_--it will be found, again and again, in the prose of sir thomas malory; it will be found in many ballads and ballad burdens, in _william and margaret_, in _binnorie_, in the _wife of usher's well_, in the _rime of the count arnaldos_, in the _königskinder_; it will be found in the most beautiful story of the middle ages, _aucassin and nicolette_; one of the few perfectly beautiful stories in the world, about which there is no need, in england at any rate, to say anything in addition to the well-known passages in which it has been praised. _aucassin and nicolette_ cannot be made into a representative medieval romance: there is nothing else like it; and the qualities that make it what it is are the opposite of the rhetorical self-possession, the correct and deliberate narrative of chrestien and his school. it contains the quintessence of romantic imagination, but it is quite unlike the most fashionable and successful romances. there are several stages in the history of the great romantic school, as well as several distinct sources of interest. the value of the best works of the school consists in their representation of the passion of love. they turn the psychology of the courtly amatory poets into narrative. chaucer's address to the old poets,--"ye lovers that can make of sentiment,"--when he complains that they have left little for him to glean in the field of poetry, does not touch the lyrical poets only. the narrative poetry of the courteous school is equally devoted to the philosophy of love. narrative poets like chrestien, when they turn to lyric, can change their instrument without changing the purport of their verse; lyric or narrative, it has the same object, the same duty. so also, two hundred years later, chaucer himself or froissart may use narrative or lyric forms indifferently, and observe the same "courteous" ideal in both. in the twelfth-century narratives, besides the interest of the love-story and all its science, there was the interest of adventure, of strange things; and here there is a great diversity among the authors, and a perceptible difference between earlier and later usage. courteous sentiment, running through a succession of wonderful adventures, is generally enough to make a romance; but there are some notable varieties, both in the sentiment and in the incidents. the sentiment comes later in the history of literature than the adventures; the conventional romantic form of plot may be said to have been fixed before the romantic sentiment was brought to its furthest refinement. the wonders of romantic story are more easily traced to their origin, or at least to some of their earlier forms, than the spirit of chivalrous idealism which came in due time to take possession of the fabulous stories, and gave new meanings to the lives of tristram and lancelot. variety of incident, remoteness of scene, and all the incredible things in the world, had been at the disposal of medieval authors long before the french romantic schools began to define themselves. the wonders of the east, especially, had very early come into literature; and the anglo-saxon _epistle of alexander_ seems to anticipate the popular taste for eastern stories, just as the anglo-saxon version of _apollonius of tyre_ anticipates the later importation of greek romance, and the appropriation of classical rhetoric, in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries; as the grace and brightness of the old english poems of st. andrew or st. helen seem to anticipate the peculiar charm of some of the french poems of adventures. in french literature before the vogue of romance can be said to have begun, and before the epic form had lost its supremacy, the poem of the _pilgrimage of charlemagne_, one of the oldest extant poems of the heroic cycle, is already far gone in subjection to the charm of mere unqualified wonder and exaggeration--rioting in the wonders of the east, like the varangians on their holiday, when they were allowed a free day to loot in the emperor's palace.[ ] the poem of charlemagne's journey to constantinople is unrefined enough, but the later and more elegant romances deal often in the same kind of matter. mere furniture counts for a good deal in the best romances, and they are full of descriptions of riches and splendours. the story of troy is full of details of various sorts of magnificence; the city of troy itself and "ylion," its master-tower, were built by priam out of all kinds of marble, and covered with sculpture all over. much further on in benoit's poem (l. , ) hector is brought home wounded to a room which is described in lines, with particulars of its remarkable decorations, especially its four magical images. the tomb of penthesilea (l. , ) is too much for the author:-- sepolture ot et monument tant que se _plenius_ fust vis ou _cil qui fist apocalis_ nel vos sauroient il retraire: por ço si m'en dei gie bien taire: n'en dirai plus, que n'oseroie; trop halte chose envaïroie. [footnote : see the account of the custom in the _saga of harald hardrada_, c. . "harald entrusted to jarizleif all the gold that he had sent from micklegarth, and all sorts of precious things: so much wealth all together, as no man of the north lands had ever seen before in one man's hands. harald had thrice come in for the palace-sweeping (_polotasvarf_) while he was in micklegarth. it is the law there that when the greek king dies, the varangians shall have a sweep of the palace; they go over all the king's palaces where his treasures are, and every man shall have for his own what falls to his hand" (_fornmanna sögur_, vi. p. ).] pliny and the author of the apocalypse are here acknowledged as masters and authorities in the art of description. in other places of the same work there is a very liberal use of natural history such as is common in many versions of the history of alexander. there is, for example, a long description of the precious clothes of briseide (cressida) at her departure, especially of her mantle, which had been given to calchas by an indian poet in upper india. it was made by nigromancy, of the skin of the beast _dindialos_, which is hunted in the shadowless land by the savage people whose name is _cenocefali_; and the fringes of the mantle were not of the sable, but of a "beast of price" that dwells in the water of paradise:-- dedans le flum de paradis sont et conversent, ço set l'on se c'est vrais que nos en lison. calchas had a tent which had belonged to pharaoh:-- diomedes tant la conduit qu'il descendi al paveillon qui fu al riche pharaon, cil qui noa en la mer roge. in such passages of ornamental description the names of strange people and of foreign kings have the same kind of value as the names of precious stones, and sometimes they are introduced on their own account, apart from the precious work of arabian or indian artists. of this sort is the "dreadful sagittary," who is still retained in shakespeare's _troilus and cressida_ on the ultimate authority (when it comes to be looked into) of benoit de sainte more.[ ] [footnote : il ot o lui un saietaire qui molt fu fels et deputaire: des le nombril tot contreval ot cors en forme de cheval: il n'est riens nule s'il volsist que d'isnelece n'ateinsist: cors, chiere, braz, a noz semblanz avoit, mes n'ert pas avenanz. l. , .] a quotation by m. gaston paris (_hist. litt. de la france_, xxx. p. ), from the unpublished romance of _ider_ (edeyrn, son of nudd), shows how this fashion of rich description and allusion had been overdone, and how it was necessary, in time, to make a protest against it. kings' pavilions were a favourite subject for rhetoric, and the poet of _ider_ explains that he does not approve of this fashion, though he has pavilions of his own, and can describe them if he likes, as well as any one:-- tels diz n'a fors savor de songe, tant en acreissent les paroles: mes jo n'ai cure d'iperboles: _yperbole_ est chose non voire, qui ne fu et qui n'est a croire, c'en est la difinicion: mes tant di de cest paveillon qu'il n'en a nul soz ciel qu'il vaille. many poets give themselves pains to describe gardens and pavilions and other things, and think they are beautifying their work, but this is all dreaming and waste of words; i will have no such hyperbole. (_hyperbole_ means by definition that which is untrue and incredible.) i will only say of this pavilion that there was not its match under heaven. the author, by his definition of _hyperbole_[ ] in this place, secures an ornamental word with which he consoles himself for his abstinence in other respects. this piece of science is itself characteristic of the rhetorical enterprise of the romantic school; of the way in which pliny, isidore, and other encyclopaedic authors were turned into decorations. the taste for such things is common in the early and the later middle ages; all that the romances did was to give a certain amount of finish and neatness to the sort of work that was left comparatively rude by the earlier pedants. there many be discovered in some writers a preference for classical subjects in their ornamental digressions, or for the graceful forms of allegory, such as in the next century were collected for the garden of the rose, and still later for the _house of fame_. thus chrestien seems to assert his superiority of taste and judgment when, instead of oriental work, he gives enid an ivory saddle carved with the story of aeneas and dido (_erec_, l. ); or when, in the same book, erec's coronation mantle, though it is fairy work, bears no embroidered designs of broceliande or avalon, but four allegorical figures of the quadrivial sciences, with a reference by chrestien to macrobius as his authority in describing them. one function of this romantic school, though not the most important, is to make an immediate literary profit out of all accessible books of learning. it was a quick-witted school, and knew how to turn quotations and allusions. much of its art, like the art of _euphues_, is bestowed in making pedantry look attractive. [footnote : chaucer, who often yields to the temptations of "hyperbole" in this sense of the word, lays down the law against impertinent decorations, in the rhetorical instruction of pandarus to troilus, about troilus's letter to cressida (b. ii. l. ):-- ne jompre eek no discordaunt thing yfere as thus, to usen termes of phisyk; in loves termes hold of thy matere the forme alwey, and do that it be lyk; for if a peyntour wolde peynte a pyk with asses feet, and hede it as an ape, it cordeth naught; so nere it but a jape.] the narrative material imported and worked up in the romantic school is, of course, enormously more important than the mere decorations taken out of solinus or macrobius. it is not, however, with the principal masters the most important part of their study. chrestien, for example, often treats his adventures with great levity in comparison with the serious psychological passages; the wonder often is that he should have used so much of the common stuff of adventures in poems where he had a strong commanding interest in the sentiments of the personages. there are many irrelevant and unnecessary adventures in his _erec_, _lancelot_, and _yvain_, not to speak of his unfinished _perceval_; while in _cliges_ he shows that he did not rely on the commonplaces of adventure, on the regular machinery of romance, and that he might, when he chose, commit himself to a novel almost wholly made up of psychology and sentiment. whatever the explanation be in this case, it is plain enough both that the adventures are of secondary value as compared with the psychology, in the best romances, and that their value, though inferior, is still considerable, even in some of the best work of the "courtly makers." the greatest novelty in the twelfth-century narrative materials was due to the welsh; not that the "matter of britain" was quite overwhelming in extent, or out of proportion to the other stores of legend and fable. "the matter of rome the great" (not to speak again of the old epic "matter of france" and its various later romantic developments) included all known antiquity, and it was recruited continually by new importations from the east. the "matter of rome," however, the tales of thebes and troy and the wars of alexander, had been known more or less for centuries, and they did not produce the same effect as the discovery of the celtic stories. rather, it may be held that the welsh stories gave a new value to the classical authorities, and suggested new imaginative readings. as chaucer's _troilus_ in our own time has inspired a new rendering of the _life and death of jason_, so (it would seem) the same story of jason got a new meaning in the twelfth century when it was read by benoit de sainte more in the light of celtic romance. then it was discovered that jason and medea were no more, and no less, than the adventurer and the wizard's daughter, who might play their parts in a story of wales or brittany. the quest of the golden fleece and the labours of jason are all reduced from the rhetoric of ovid, from their classical dignity, to something like what their original shape may have been when the story that now is told in argyll and connaught of the _king's son of ireland_ was told or chanted, ages before homer, of a king's son of the greeks and an enchantress beyond sea. something indeed, and that of the highest consequence, as will be seen, was kept by benoit from his reading of the _metamorphoses_; the passion of medea, namely. but the story itself is hardly distinguishable in kind from _libeaux desconus_. it is not easy to say how far this treatment of jason may be due to the welsh example of similar stories, and how far to the general medieval disrespect for everything in the classics except their matter. the celtic precedents can scarcely have been without influence on this very remarkable detection of the "celtic element" in the voyage of the argonauts, while at the same time ovid ought not to be refused his share in the credit of medieval romantic adventure. virgil, ovid, and statius are not to be underrated as sources of chivalrous adventure, even in comparison with the unquestioned riches of wales or ireland. there is more than one distinct stage in the progress of the celtic influence in france. the culmination of the whole thing is attained when chrestien makes the british story of the capture and rescue of guinevere into the vehicle of his most finished and most courtly doctrine of love, as shown in the examples of lancelot and the queen. before that there are several earlier kinds of celtic romance in french, and after that comes what for modern readers is more attractive than the typical work of chrestien and his school,--the eloquence of the old french prose, with its languor and its melancholy, both in the prose _lancelot_ and in the _queste del st. graal_ and _mort artus_. in chrestien everything is clear and positive; in these prose romances, and even more in malory's english rendering of his "french book," is to be heard the indescribable plaintive melody, the sigh of the wind over the enchanted ground, the spell of pure romance. neither in chrestien of troyes, nor yet in the earlier authors who dealt more simply than he with their celtic materials, is there anything to compare with this later prose. in some of the earlier french romantic work, in some of the lays of marie de france, and in the fragments of the poems about tristram, there is a kind of simplicity, partly due to want of skill, but in its effect often impressive enough. the plots made use of by the medieval artists are some of them among the noblest in the world, but none of the poets were strong enough to bring out their value, either in translating _dido_ and _medea_, or in trying to educate tristram and other british heroes according to the manners of the court of champagne. there are, however, differences among the misinterpretations and the failures. no french romance appears to have felt the full power of the story of tristram and iseult; no french poet had his mind and imagination taken up by the character of iseult as more than one northern poet was possessed by the tragedy of brynhild. but there were some who, without developing the story as chaucer did with the story of troilus, at least allowed it to tell itself clearly. the celtic magic, as that is described in mr. arnold's _lectures_, has scarcely any place in french romance, either of the earlier period or of the fully-developed and successful chivalrous order, until the time of the prose books. the french poets, both the simpler sort and the more elegant, appear to have had a gift for ignoring that power of vagueness and mystery which is appreciated by some of the prose authors of the thirteenth century. they seem for the most part to have been pleased with the incidents of the celtic stories, without appreciating any charm of style that they may have possessed. they treated them, in fact, as they treated virgil and ovid; and there is about as much of the "celtic spirit" in the french versions of _tristram_, as there is of the genius of virgil in the _roman d'eneas_. in each case there is something recognisable of the original source, but it has been translated by minds imperfectly responsive. in dealing with celtic, as with greek, latin, or oriental stories, the french romancers were at first generally content if they could get the matter in the right order and present it in simple language, like tunes played with one finger. one great advantage of this procedure is that the stories are intelligible; the sequence of events is clear, and where the original conception has any strength or beauty it is not distorted, though the colours may be faint. this earlier and more temperate method was abandoned in the later stages of the romantic school, when it often happened that a simple story was taken from the "matter of britain" and overlaid with the chivalrous conventional ornament, losing its simplicity without being developed in respect of its characters or its sentiment. as an example of the one kind may be chosen the _lay of guingamor_, one of the lays of marie de france;[ ] as an example of the other, the dutch romance of gawain (_walewein_), which is taken from the french and exhibits the results of a common process of adulteration. or, again, the story of _guinglain_, as told by renaud de beaujeu with an irrelevant "courtly" digression, may be compared with the simpler and more natural versions in english (_libeaux desconus_) and italian (_carduino_), as has been done by m. gaston paris; or the _conte du graal_ of chrestien with the english _sir perceval of galles_. [footnote : not included in the editions of her works (roquefort, warnke); edited by m. gaston paris in the eighth volume of _romania_ along with the lays of _doon_, _tidorel_, and _tiolet_.] _guingamor_ is one of the best of the simpler kind of romances. the theme is that of an old story, a story which in one form and another is extant in native celtic versions with centuries between them. in essentials it is the story of ossian in the land of youth; in its chief motive, the fairy-bride, it is akin to the old irish story of connla. it is different from both in its definite historical manner of treating the subject. the story is allowed to count for the full value of all its incidents, with scarcely a touch to heighten the importance of any of them. it is the argument of a story, and little more. even an argument, however, may present some of the vital qualities of a fairy story, as well as of a tragic plot, and the conclusion, especially, of _guingamor_ is very fine in its own way, through its perfect clearness. there was a king in britain, and guingamor was his nephew. the queen fell in love with him, and was driven to take revenge for his rejection of her; but being less cruel than other queens of similar fortune, she planned nothing worse than to send him into the _lande aventureuse_, a mysterious forest on the other side of the river, to hunt the white boar. this white boar of the adventurous ground had already taken off ten knights, who had gone out to hunt it and had never returned. guingamor followed the boar with the king's hound. in his wanderings he came on a great palace, with a wall of green marble and a silver shining tower, and open gates, and no one within, to which he was brought back later by a maiden whom he met in the forest. the story of their meeting was evidently, in the original, a story like that of weland and the swan-maidens, and those of other swan or seal maidens, who are caught by their lovers as weland caught his bride. but the simplicity of the french story here is in excess of what is required even by the illiterate popular versions of similar incidents. guingamor, after two days in the rich palace (where he met the ten knights of the king's court, who had disappeared before), on the third day wished to go back to bring the head of the white boar to the king. his bride told him that he had been there for three hundred years, and that his uncle was dead, with all his retinue, and his cities fallen and destroyed. but she allowed him to go, and gave him the boar's head and the king's hound; and told him after he had crossed the river into his own country to eat and drink nothing. he was ferried across the river, and there he met a charcoal-burner and asked for news of the king. the king had been dead for three hundred years, he was told; and the king's nephew had gone hunting in the forest and had never been seen again. guingamor told him his story, and showed him the boar's head, and turned to go back. now it was after nones and turning late. he saw a wild apple-tree and took three apples from it; but as he tasted them he grew old and feeble and fell from his horse. the charcoal-burner had followed him and was going to help him, when he saw two damsels richly dressed, who came to guingamor and reproached him for his forgetfulness. they put him gently on a horse and brought him to the river, and ferried him over, along with his hound. the charcoal-burner went back to his own house at nightfall. the boar's head he took to the king of britain that then was, and told the story of guingamor, and the king bade turn it into a lay. the simplicity of all this is no small excellence in a story. if there is anything in this story that can affect the imagination, it is there unimpaired by anything foreign or cumbrous. it is unsupported and undeveloped by any strong poetic art, but it is sound and clear. in the dutch romance of _walewein_, and doubtless in its french original (to show what is gained by the moderation and restriction of the earlier school), another story of fairy adventures has been dressed up to look like chivalry. the story of walewein is one that appears in collections of popular tales; it is that of mac iain direach in campbell's _west highland tales_ (no. xlvi.), as well as of grimm's _golden bird_. the romance observes the general plot of the popular story; indeed, it is singular among the romances in its close adherence to the order of events as given in the traditional oral forms. though it contains , lines, it begins at the beginning and goes on to the end without losing what may be considered the original design. but while the general economy is thus retained, there are large digressions, and there is an enormous change in the character of the hero. while guingamor in the french poem has little, if anything, to distinguish him from the adventurer of popular fairy stories, the hero in this dutch romance is gawain,--gawain the courteous, in splendid armour, playing the part of mac iain direach. the discrepancy is very great, and there can be little doubt that the story as told in gaelic fifty years ago by angus campbell, quarryman, is, in respect of the hero's condition and manners, more original than the medieval romance. both versions are simple enough in their plot, and their plot is one and the same: the story of a quest for something wonderful, leading to another quest and then another, till the several problems are solved and the adventurer returns successful. in each story (as in grimm's version also) the fox appears as a helper. mac iain direach is sent to look for the blue falcon; the giant who owns the falcon sends him to the big women of the isle of jura to ask for their white glaive of light. the women of jura ask for the bay filly of the king of erin; the king of erin sends him to woo for him the king's daughter of france. mac iain direach wins all for himself, with the help of the fox. gawain has to carry out similar tasks: to find and bring back to king arthur a magical flying chessboard that appeared one day through the window and went out again; to bring to king wonder, the owner of the chessboard, "the sword of the strange rings"; to win for the owner of the sword the princess of the garden of india. some things in the story, apart from the hero, are different from the popular versions. in _walewein_ there appears quite plainly what is lost in the gaelic and the german stories, the character of the strange land in which the quests are carried out. gawain has to pass through or into a hill to reach the land of king wonder; it does not belong to the common earth. the three castles to which he comes have all of them water about them; the second of them, ravensten, is an island in the sea; the third is beyond the water of purgatory, and is reached by two perilous bridges, the bridge of the sword and the bridge under water, like those in chrestien's _lancelot_. there is a distinction here, plain enough, between the human world, to which arthur and his court belong, and the other world within the hill, and the castles beyond the waters. but if this may be supposed to belong to an older form of the story not evident in the popular versions, a story of adventures in the land of the dead, on the other hand the romance has no conception of the meaning of these passages, and gets no poetical result from the chances here offered to it. it has nothing like the vision of thomas of erceldoune; the waters about the magic island are tame and shallow; the castle beyond the bridge of dread is loaded with the common, cheap, pedantic "hyperboles," like those of the _pèlerinage_ or of benoit's _troy_. gawain is too heavily armoured, also, and even his horse gringalet has a reputation of his own; all inconsistent with the lightness of the fairy tale. gawain in the land of all these dreams is burdened still by the heavy chivalrous conventions. the world for him, even after he has gone through the mountain, is still very much the old world with the old stale business going on; especially tournaments and all their weariness. one natural result of all this is that the fox's part is very much reduced. in the gaelic story, mac iain direach and his friend gille mairtean (the lad of march, the fox) are a pair of equals; they have no character, no position in the world, no station and its duties. they are quite careless, and they move freely. gawain is slow, and he has to put in a certain amount of the common romantic business. the authors of that romantic school, if ever they talked shop, may have asked one another, "where do you put your felon red knight? where do you put your doing away of the ill custom? or your tournaments?" and the author of _walewein_ would have had an answer ready. everything is there all right: that is to say, all the things that every one else has, all the mechanical business of romance. the fox is postponed to the third adventure, and there, though he has not quite grown out of his original likeness to the gille mairtean, he is evidently constrained. sir gawain of the romance, this courteous but rather dull and middle-aged gentleman in armour, is not his old light-hearted companion. still, though this story of _gawain_ is weighed down by the commonplaces of the romantic school, it shows through all its encumbrances what sort of story it was that impressed the french imagination at the beginning of the school. it may be permitted to believe that the story of _walewein_ existed once in a simpler and clearer form, like that of _guingamor_. the curious sophistication of _guinglain_ by renaud de beaujeu has been fully described and criticised by m. gaston paris in one of his essays (_hist. litt. de la france_, xxx. p. ). his comparison with the english and italian versions of the story brings out the indifference of the french poets to their plot, and their readiness to sacrifice the unities of action for the sake of irrelevant sentiment. the story is as simple as that of walewein; an expedition, this time, to rescue a lady from enchantment. she is bewitched in the form of a serpent, and freed by a kiss (_le fier basier_). there are various adventures on the journey; it has some resemblance to that of gareth in the _morte d'arthur_, and of the red cross knight in spenser, which is founded upon malory's _gareth_.[ ] one of the adventures is in the house of a beautiful sorceress, who treats guinglain with small consideration. renaud de beaujeu, in order to get literary credit from his handling of this romantic episode, brings guinglain back to this enchantress after the real close of the story, in a kind of sentimental show-piece or appendix, by which the story is quite overweighted and thrown off its balance for the sake of a rhetorical demonstration. this of course belongs to the later period of romance, when the simpler methods had been discredited; but the simpler form, much nearer the fashion of popular stories, is still kept more or less by the english and the italian rhymes of "sir lybeaux." [footnote : britomart in the house of busirane has some resemblance to the conclusion of _libius disconius_.] the most remarkable examples of the earlier french romantic methods are presented by the fragments remaining of the old anglo-norman poems on tristram and yseult, by béroul and thomas, especially the latter;[ ] most remarkable, because in this case there is the greatest contradiction between the tragic capabilities of the story and the very simple methods of the norman poets. it is a story that might test the tragic strength and eloquence of any poet in any age of the world; the poetical genius of thomas is shown in his abstinence from effort. hardly anything could be simpler. he does very little to fill out or to elaborate the story; he does nothing to vitiate his style; there is little ornament or emphasis. the story itself is there, as if the poet thought it an impertinence to add any harmonies of his own. if it were only extant as a whole, it would be one of the most notable of poems. where else is there anything like it, for sincerity and for thinness? [footnote : fr. michel: _tristan._ london, . _le roman de tristan_ (thomas) ed. bédier; (béroul) ed. muret, _anc. textes_, - . cf. gaston paris, _poëmes et légendes_.] this poet of _tristram_ does not represent the prevalent fashion of his time. the eloquence and the passion of the amorous romances are commonly more effusive, and seldom as true. the lost _tristram_ of chrestien would probably have made a contrast with the anglo-norman poem in this respect. chrestien of troyes is at the head of the french romantic school, and his interest is in the science of love; not in ancient rude and passionate stories, such as the story of tristram--for it is rude and ancient, even in the french of thomas--not in the "celtic magic," except for decorative and incidental purposes, but in psychology and analysis of the emotions, and in the appropriate forms of language for such things. it is impossible (as m. gaston paris has shown) to separate the spirit of french romance from the spirit of the provençal lyric poetry. the romances represent in a narrative form the ideas and the spirit which took shape as lyric poetry in the south; the romances are directly dependent upon the poetry of the south for their principal motives. the courtesy of the provençal poetry, with its idealism and its pedantry, its psychological formalism, its rhetoric of antithesis and conceits, is to be found again in the narrative poetry of france in the twelfth century, just as, in the thirteenth, all the floods of lyrical idealism are collected in the didactic reservoir of the _romaunt of the rose_. the dominant interest in the french romances is the same as in the provençal lyric poetry and in the _romaunt of the rose_; namely, the idealist or courteous science of love. the origins of this mode of thought are difficult to trace fully. the inquiry belongs more immediately to the history of provence than of france, for the romancers are the pupils of the provençal school; not independent practitioners of the same craft, but directly indebted to provence for some of their main ideas and a good deal of their rhetoric. in provence itself the origins are partly to be found in the natural (_i.e._ inexplicable) development of popular love-poetry, and in the corresponding progress of society and its sentiments; while among the definite influences that can be proved and explained, one of the strongest is that of latin poetry, particularly of the _art of love_. about this there can be no doubt, however great may seem to be the interval between the ideas of ovid and those of the provençal lyrists, not to speak of their greater scholars in italy, dante and petrarch. the pedantry of ovid was taken seriously, for one thing, in an age when everything systematic was valuable just because it was a system; when every doctrine was profitable. for another thing, they found in ovid the form, at least, of devotion, and again the _art of love_ was not their only book. there were other writings of ovid and works of other poets from whom the middle ages learned their lesson of chivalrous service; not for the most part, it must be confessed, from the example of "paynim knights," but far more from the classical "legend of good women," from the passion of dido and the other heroines. it is true that there were some names of ancient heroes that were held in honour; the name of paris is almost inseparable from the name of tristram, wherever a medieval poet has occasion to praise the true lovers of old time, and dante followed the common form when he brought the names together in his fifth canto. but what made by far the strongest impression on the middle ages was not the example of paris or of leander, nor yet the passion of catullus and propertius, who were then unknown, but the poetry of the loyalty of the heroines, the fourth book of the _aeneid_, the _heroides_ of ovid, and certain parts of the _metamorphoses_. if anything literary can be said to have taken effect upon the temper of the middle ages, so as to produce the manners and sentiments of chivalry, this is the literature to which the largest share of influence must be ascribed. the ladies of romance all owe allegiance, and some of them are ready to pay it, to the queens of the latin poets.[ ] virgil's dido and ovid's medea taught the eloquence of love to the french poets, and the first chivalrous lovers are those who have learned to think poorly of the recreant knights of antiquity. [footnote : a fine passage is quoted from the romance of _ider_ in the essay cited above, where guenloïe the queen finds ider near death and thinks of killing herself, like phyllis and other ladies of the old time, who will welcome her. it is the "saints' legend of cupid," many generations before chaucer, in the form of an invocation to love, the tyrant:-- bel semblant ço quit me feront les cheitives qui a toi sont qui s'ocistrent par druerie d'amor; mout voil lor compainie: d'amor me recomfortera la lasse deïanira, qui s'encroast, et canacé, eco, scilla, fillis, pronné, ero, biblis, dido, mirra, tisbé, la bele hypermnestra, et des autres mil et cinc cenz. amor! por quoi ne te repenz de ces simples lasses destruire? trop cruelment te voi deduire: pechié feiz que n'en as pitié; nuls deus fors toi ne fait pechié! de ço est tisbé al dessus, que por lié s'ocist piramus; amors, de ço te puet loer car a ta cort siet o son per; ero i est o leander: si jo i fusse avec ider, aise fusse, ço m'est avis, com alme qu'est en paraïs.] the french romantic authors were scholars in the poetry of the provençal school, but they also knew a good deal independently of their provençal masters, and did not need to be told everything. they read the ancient authors for themselves, and drew their own conclusions from them. they were influenced by the special provençal rendering of the common ideas of chivalry and courtesy; they were also affected immediately by the authors who influenced the provençal school. few things are more instructive in this part of literature than the story of medea in the _roman de troie_ of benoit de sainte more. it might even claim to be the representative french romance, for it contains in an admirable form the two chief elements common to all the dominant school--adventure (here reduced from ovid to the scale of a common fairy story, as has been seen already) and sentimental eloquence, which in this particular story is very near its original fountain-head. it is to be noted that benoit is not in the least troubled by the latin rhetoric when he has to get at the story. nothing latin, except the names, and nothing rhetorical remains to show that the story came from ovid, and not from blethericus or some other of his fellow-romancers in wales,[ ] so long, that is, as the story is merely concerned with the golden fleece, the dragon, the bulls, and all the tasks imposed on jason. but one essential thing is retained by benoit out of the latin which is his authority, and that is the way in which the love of medea for jason is dwelt upon and described. [footnote : blethericus, or bréri, is the welsh authority cited by thomas in his _tristan_. cf. gaston paris, _romania_, viii. p. .] this is for medieval poetry one of the chief sources of the psychology in which it took delight,--an original and authoritative representation of the beginning and growth of the passion of love, not yet spoilt by the pedantry which later displayed itself unrestrained in the following generations of amatory poets, and which took its finest form in the poem of guillaume de lorris; but yet at the same time giving a starting-point and some encouragement to the later pedants, by its study of the different degrees of the passion, and by the success with which they are explained and made interesting. this is one of the masterpieces and one of the standards of composition in early french romance; and it gives one of the most singular proofs of the dependence of modern on ancient literature, in certain respects. it would not be easy to prove any real connexion between homer and the sagas, in order to explain the resemblances of temper, and even of incident, between them; but in the case of the medieval romances there is this direct and real dependence. the medea of apollonius rhodius is at the beginning of medieval poetry, in one line of descent (through virgil's dido as well as ovid's medea); and it would be hard to overestimate the accumulated debt of all the modern poets whose rhetoric of passion, whether they knew it or not, is derived somehow from the earlier medieval masters of dante or chaucer, boccaccio or spenser. the "medieval" character of the work of chrestien and his contemporaries is plain enough. but "medieval" and other terms of the same sort are too apt to impose themselves on the mind as complete descriptive formulas, and in this case the term "medieval" ought not to obscure the fact that it is modern literature, in one of its chief branches, which has its beginning in the twelfth century. no later change in the forms of fiction is more important than the twelfth-century revolution, from which all the later forms and constitutions of romance and novel are in some degree or other derived. it was this revolution, of which chrestien was one of the first to take full advantage, that finally put an end to the old local and provincial restrictions upon narrative. the older schools of epic are bound to their own nation or tribe, and to the family traditions. these restrictions are no hindrance to the poetry of homer, nor to the plots and conversations of the sagas. within these local restrictions the highest form of narrative art is possible. nevertheless the period of these restrictions must come to an end; the heroic age cannot last for ever. the merit of the twelfth-century authors, benoit, chrestien, and their followers, is that they faced the new problems and solved them. in their productions it may be seen how the western world was moving away from the separate national traditions, and beginning the course of modern civilisation with a large stock of ideas, subjects, and forms of expression common to all the nations. the new forms of story might be defective in many ways, thin or formal or extravagant in comparison with some of the older modes; but there was no help for it, there was no progress to be made in any other way. the first condition of modern progress in novel-writing, as in other more serious branches of learning, was that the author should be free to look about him, to reflect and choose, to pick up his ideas and his matter anyhow. he was turned out of the old limited region of epic tradition. the nations had several centuries to themselves, in the dark ages, in which they were at liberty to compose homeric poems ("if they had a mind"), but by the twelfth century that time was over. the romancers of the twelfth century were in the same position as modern authors in regard to their choice of subjects. their subjects were not prescribed to them by epic tradition. they were more or less reflective and self-conscious literary men, citizens of the universal world, ready to make the most of their education. they are the sophists of medieval literature; emancipated, enlightened and intelligent persons, with an apparatus of rhetoric, a set of abstract ideas, a repertory of abstract sentiments, which they could apply to any available subject. in this sophistical period, when the serious interest of national epic was lost, and when stories, collected from all the ends of the earth, were made the receptacles of a common, abstract, sentimental pathos, it was of some importance that the rhetoric should be well managed, and that the sentiment should be refined. the great achievement of the french poets, on account of which they are to be remembered as founders and benefactors, is that they went to good masters for instruction. solid dramatic interpretation of character was beyond them, and they were not able to make much of the openings for dramatic contrast in the stories on which they worked. but they were caught and held by the language of passion, the language of dido and medea; language not dramatic so much as lyrical or musical, the expression of universal passion, such as might be repeated without much change in a thousand stories. in this they were happily guided. the greater drama, the stronger characters, appeared in due time; but the dramas and the novels of europe would not have been what they are, without the medieval elaboration of the simple motives, and the practice of the early romantic schools in executing variations on love and jealousy. it may be remarked that there were sources more remote and even more august, above and beyond the latin poets from whom the medieval authors copied their phrasing; in so far as the latin poets were affected by athenian tragedy, directly or indirectly, in their great declamatory passages, which in turn affected the middle ages. the history of this school has no end, for it merges in the history of the romantic schools that are still flourishing, and will be continued by their successors. one of the principal lines of progress may be indicated, to conclude this discourse on epic poetry. the twelfth-century romances are in most things the antithesis to homer, in narrative. they are fanciful, conceited, thin in their drama, affected in their sentiments. they are like the "heroic romances" of the seventeenth century, their descendants, as compared with the strong imagination of cervantes or shakespeare, who are the representatives, if not of the homeric line, at any rate of the homeric principles, in their intolerance of the formally pathetic or heroic, and who have all the great modern novelists on their side. but the early romantic schools, though they are generally formal and sentimental, and not dramatic, have here and there the possibilities of a stronger drama and a truer imagination, and seem at times almost to have worked themselves free from their pedantry. there is sentiment and sentiment: and while the pathos of medieval romance, like some of the effusion of medieval lyric, is often merely formal repetition of phrases, it is sometimes more natural, and sometimes the mechanical fancy seems to quicken into true poetical vision, or at least to make room for a sane appreciation of real life and its incidents. chrestien of troyes shows his genius most unmistakably in his occasional surprising intervals of true description and natural feeling, in the middle of his rhetoric; while even his sustained rhetorical dissertations, like those of the _roman de la rose_ in the next century, are not absolutely untrue, or uncontrolled by observation of actual manners. often the rhetorical apparatus interferes in the most annoying way with the clear vision. in the _chevalier au lion_, for example, there is a pretty sketch of a family party--a girl reading a romance to her father in a garden, and her mother coming up and listening to the story--from which there is a sudden and annoying change to the common impertinences of the amatory professional novelist. this is the passage, with the two kinds of literature in abrupt opposition:-- messire yvain goes into the garden, and his people follow; and he sees a goodly gentleman reclining on a cloth of silk and leaning on his elbow; and a maiden was sitting before him reading out of a romance, i know not whose the story. and to listen to the romance a lady had drawn near; that was her mother, and he was her father, and well might they be glad to look on her and listen to her, for they had no other child. she was not yet sixteen years old, and she was so fair and gentle that the god of love if he had seen her would have given himself to be her slave, and never would have bestowed the love of her on any other than himself. for her sake, to serve her, he would have made himself man, would have put off his deity, and would have stricken himself with the dart whose wound is never healed, except a disloyal physician tend it. it is not right that any should recover from that wound, unless there be disloyalty in it; and whoever is otherwise healed, he never loved with loyalty. _of this wound i could talk to you without end_, if it pleased you to listen; but i know that some would say that all my talk was idleness, for the world is fallen away from true love, and men know not any more how to love as they ought, for the very talk of love is a weariness to them! (ll. - ). this short passage is representative of chrestien's work, and indeed of the most successful and influential work of the twelfth-century schools. it is not, like some affected kinds of romance, entirely cut off from reality. but the glimpses of the real world are occasional and short; there is a flash of pure daylight, a breath of fresh air, and then the heavy-laden, enchanted mists of rhetoric and obligatory sentiment come rolling down and shut out the view. it is possible to trace out in some detail a line of progress in medieval romance, in which there is a victory in the end for the more ingenuous kind of sentiment; in which the rhetorical romantic forms are altered and strengthened to bear the weight of true imagination. this line of progress is nothing less than the earlier life of all the great modern forms of novel; a part of european history which deserves some study from those who have leisure for it. the case may be looked at in this way. the romantic schools, following on the earlier heroic literature, generally substituted a more shallow, formal, limited set of characters for the larger and freer portraits of the heroic age, making up for this defect in the personages by extravagance in other respects--in the incidents, the phrasing, the sentimental pathos, the rhetorical conceits. the great advantage of the new school over the old was that it was adapted to modern cosmopolitan civilisation; it left the artist free to choose his subject anywhere, and to deal with it according to the laws of good society, without local or national restrictions. but the earlier work of this modern enlightenment in the middle ages was generally very formal, very meagre in imagination. the progress of literature was to fill out the romantic forms, and to gain for the new cosmopolitan schemes of fiction the same sort of substantial contents, the same command of human nature and its variety, as belong (with local or national restrictions) to some at any rate of the earlier epic authors. this being so, one of the interests of the study of medieval romance must be the discovery of those places in which it departs from its own dominant conventions, and seems to aim at something different from its own nature: at the recovery of the fuller life of epic for the benefit of romance. epic fulness of life within the limits of romantic form--that might be said to be the ideal which is _not_ attained in the middle ages, but towards which many medieval writers seem to be making their way. chrestien's story of _geraint and enid_ (geraint has to take the name of _erec_ in the french) is one of his earlier works, but cannot be called immature in comparison with what he wrote afterwards. in chrestien's _enid_ there is not a little superfluity of the common sort of adventure. the story of enid in the _idylls of the king_ (founded upon the welsh _geraint_, as given in lady charlotte guest's _mabinogion_) has been brought within compass, and a number of quite unnecessary adventures have been cut out. yet the story here is the same as chrestien's, and the drama of the story is not the pure invention of the english poet. chrestien has all the principal motives, and the working out of the problem is the same. in one place, indeed, where the welsh romance, the immediate source of tennyson's _enid_, has shortened the scene of reconciliation between the lovers, the idyll has restored something like the proportions of the original french. chrestien makes erec speak to enid and renounce all his ill-will, after the scene in which "the brute earl" is killed; the welsh story, with no less effect, allows the reconciliation to be taken for granted when geraint, at this point in the history, with no speech of his reported, lifts enid on his own horse. the idyll goes back (apparently without any direct knowledge of chrestien's version) to the method of chrestien. the story of enid in chrestien is very unlike the other stories of distressed and submissive wives; it has none of the ineradicable falsity of the story of griselda. how much is due to chrestien for this can hardly be reckoned, in our ignorance of the materials he used. but taking into account the other passages, like that of the girl reading in the garden, where chrestien shows a distinct original appreciation of certain aspects of life, it cannot be far wrong to consider chrestien's picture of enid as mainly his own; and, in any case, this picture is one of the finest in medieval romance. there is no comparison between chrestien of troyes and homer, but it is not impious to speak of enid along with nausicaa, and there are few other ladies of romance who may claim as much as this. the adventure of the sparrowhawk, one of the finest pieces of pure romance in the poetry of this century, is also one of the finest in the old french, and in many ways very unlike the commonplaces of chivalry, in the simplicity of the household where enid waits on her father's guest and takes his horse to the stable, in the sincerity and clearness with which chrestien indicates the gentle breeding and dignity of her father and mother, and the pervading spirit of grace and loyalty in the whole scene.[ ] [footnote : the welsh version has the advantage here in noting more fully than chrestien the beauty of age in enid's mother: "and he thought that there could be no woman fairer than she must have been in the prime of her youth." chrestien says merely (at the end of his story, l. ):-- bele est enide et bele doit estre par reison et par droit, que bele dame est mout sa mere bel chevalier a an son pere.] in the story of enid, chrestien has a subject which recommends itself to modern readers. the misunderstanding between enid and her husband, and the reconciliation, are not peculiarly medieval, though the adventures through which their history is worked out are of the ordinary romantic commonplace. indeed the relation of husband and wife in this story is rather exceptionally divergent from the current romantic mode, and from the conventional law that true love between husband and wife was impossible. afterwards, in his poem of _lancelot_ (_le chevalier de la charrette_), chrestien took up and worked out this conventional and pedantic theory, and made the love of lancelot and the queen into the standard for all courtly lovers. in his _enid_, however, there is nothing of this. at the same time, the courtly and chivalrous mode gets the better of the central drama in his _enid_, in so far as he allows himself to be distracted unduly from the pair of lovers by various "hyperboles" of the romantic school; there are a number of unnecessary jousts and encounters, and a mysterious exploit of erec in a magic garden, which is quite out of connexion with the rest of the story. the final impression is that chrestien wanted strength of mind or inclination to concentrate himself on the drama of the two lovers. the story is taken too lightly. in _cliges_, his next work, the dramatic situation is much less valuable than in _enid_, but the workmanship is far more careful and exact, and the result is a story which may claim to be among the earliest of modern novels, if the greek romances, to which it has a close relation, are not taken into account. the story has very little "machinery"; there are none of the marvels of the faerie in it. there is a thessalian witch (the heroine's nurse), who keeps well within the limits of possible witchcraft, and there is the incident of the sleeping-draught (familiar in the ballad of the _gay goshawk_), and that is all. the rest is a simple love-story (or rather a double love-story, for there is the history of the hero's father and mother, before his own begins), and the personages are merely true lovers, undistinguished by any such qualities as the sulkiness of erec or the discretion of enid. it is all pure sensibility, and as it happens the sensibility is in good keeping--not overdriven into the pedantry of the more quixotic troubadours and minnesingers, and not warped by the conventions against marriage. it is explained at the end that, though cliges and fenice are married, they are lovers still:-- de s'amie a feite sa fame, mais il l'apele amie et dame, que por ce ne pert ele mie que il ne l'aint come s'amie, et ele lui autresi con l'an doit feire son ami: et chascun jor lor amors crut, n'onques cil celi ne mescrut, ne querela de nule chose. _cliges_, l. . this poem of chrestien's is a collection of the finest specimens of medieval rhetoric on the eternal theme. there is little incident, and sensibility has it all its own way, in monologues by the actors and digressions by the author, on the nature of love. it is rather the sentiment than the passion that is here expressed in the "language of the heart"; but, however that may be, there are both delicacy and eloquence in the language. the pensive fenice, who debates with herself for nearly two hundred lines in one place ( - ), is the ancestress of many later heroines. meis fenice est sor toz pansive; ele ne trueve fonz ne rive el panser dont ele est anplie, tant li abonde et mouteplie. _cliges_, l. . in the later works of chrestien, in _yvain_, _lancelot_, and _perceval_, there are new developments of romance, more particularly in the story of lancelot and guinevere. but these three later stories, unlike _cliges_, are full of the british marvels, which no one would wish away, and yet they are encumbrances to what we must regard as the principal virtue of the poet--his skill of analysis in cases of sentiment, and his interest in such cases. _cliges_, at any rate, however far it may come short of the _chevalier de la charrette_ and the _conte du graal_ in variety, is that one of chrestien's poems, it might be said that one of the twelfth-century french romances, which best corresponds to the later type of novel. it is the most modern of them; and at the same time it does not represent its own age any the worse, because it also to some extent anticipates the fashions of later literature. in this kind of romance, which reduces the cost of the "machinery," and does without enchanters, dragons, magic mists, and deadly castles, there are many other examples besides _cliges_. a hundred years after chrestien, one of his cleverest pupils wrote the provençal story of _flamenca_,[ ] a work in which the form of the novel is completely disengaged from the unnecessary accidents of romance, and reaches a kind of positive and modern clearness very much at variance in some respects with popular ideas of what is medieval. the romance of the medieval romantic school attains one of its highest and most distinctive points in _flamenca_, and shows what it had been aiming at from the beginning--namely, the expression in an elegant manner of the ideas of the _art of love_, as understood in the polite society of those times. _flamenca_ is nearly contemporary with the _roman de la rose_ of guillaume de lorris. its inspiring ideas are the same, and though its influence on succeeding authors is indiscernible, where that of the _roman de la rose_ is widespread and enduring, _flamenca_ would have as good a claim to be considered a representative masterpiece of medieval literature, if it were not that it appears to be breaking loose from medieval conventions where the _roman de la rose_ makes all it can out of them. _flamenca_ is a simple narrative of society, with the indispensable three characters--the husband, the lady, and the lover. the scene of the story is principally at the baths of bourbon, in the then present day; and of the miracles and adventures of the more marvellous and adventurous romances there is nothing left but the very pleasant enumeration of the names of favourite stories in the account of the minstrelsy at flamenca's wedding. the author knew all that was to be known in romance, of greek, latin, or british invention--thebes and troy, alexander and julius caesar, samson and judas maccabeus, ivain and gawain and perceval, paris and tristram, and all ovid's _legend of good women_--but out of all these studies he has retained only what suited his purpose. he does not compete with the greek or the british champions in their adventures among the romantic forests. chrestien of troyes is his master, but he does not try to copy the magic of the lady of the fountain, or the bridge of the sword, or the castle of the grail. he follows the doctrine of love expounded in chrestien's _lancelot_, but his hero is not sent wandering at random, and is not made to display his courtly emotions among the ruins and shadows of the lost celtic mythology, like lancelot in chrestien's poem. the life described in _flamenca_ is the life of the days in which it was composed; and the hero's task is to disguise himself as a clerk, so as to get a word with the jealously-guarded lady in church on sundays, while giving her the psalter to kiss after the mass. _flamenca_, is really the triumph of ovid, with the _art of love_, over all his gothic competitors out of the fairy tales. the provençal poet has discarded everything but the essential dominant interests, and in so doing has gone ahead of his master chrestien, who (except in _cliges_) allowed himself to be distracted between opposite kinds of story, between the school of ovid and the school of blethericus; and who, even in _cliges_, was less consistently modern than his provençal follower. [footnote : ed. paul meyer, , and, again, .] _flamenca_ is the perfection and completion of medieval romance in one kind and in one direction. it is all sentiment; the ideal courtly sentiment of good society and its poets, made lively by the author's knowledge of his own time and its manners, and his decision not to talk about anything else. it is perhaps significant that he allows his heroine the romance of _flores and blanchefleur_ for her reading, an older story of true lovers, after the simpler pattern of greek romance, which the author of _flamenca_ apparently feels himself entitled to refer to with the condescension of a modern and critical author towards some old-fashioned prettiness. he is completely self-possessed and ironical with regard to his story. his theme is the idle love whose origin is explained by ovid; his personages are nothing to him but the instruments of the symphony which he composes and directs: _sopra lor vanità che par persona_, over and through their graceful inanity, passes the stream of sentiment, the shifting, flickering light which the provençal author has borrowed from ovid and transferred for his own purposes to his own time. it is perhaps the first complete modern appropriation of classical examples in literary art; for the poem of _flamenca_ is classical in more than one sense of the term--classical, not only because of its comprehension of the spirit of the latin poet and his code of manners and sentiment, but because of its clear proportions and its definite abstract lines of composition; because of the self-possession of the author and his subordination of details and rejection of irrelevances. many things are wanting to _flamenca_ which it did not suit the author to bring in. it was left to other greater writers to venture on other and larger schemes with room for more strength and individuality of character, and more stress of passion, still keeping the romantic framework which had been designed by the masters of the twelfth century, and also very much of the sentimental language which the same masters had invented and elaborated. the story of the _chastelaine de vergi_[ ] (dated by its editor between and ) is an example of a different kind from _flamenca_; still abstract in its personages, still sentimental, but wholly unlike _flamenca_ in the tragic stress of its sentiment and in the pathos of its incidents. there is no plot in _flamenca_, or only just enough to display the author's resources of eloquence; in the _chastelaine de vergi_ there is no rhetorical expansion or effusion, but instead of that the coherent closely-reasoned argument of a romantic tragedy, with nothing in it out of keeping with the conditions of "real life." it is a moral example to show the disastrous result of breaking the first law of chivalrous love, which enjoins loyal secrecy on the lover; the tragedy in this case arises from the strong compulsion of honour under which the commandment is transgressed. [footnote : ed. g. raynaud, _romania_, xxi. p. .] there was a knight who was the lover of the chastelaine de vergi, unknown to all the world. their love was discovered by the jealous machinations of the duchess of burgundy, whom the knight had neglected. the duchess made use of her knowledge to insult the chastelaine; the chastelaine died of a broken heart at the thought that her lover had betrayed her; the knight found her dead, and threw himself on his sword to make amends for his unwilling disloyalty. even a summary like this may show that the plot has capabilities and opportunities in it; and though the scheme of the short story does not allow the author to make use of them in the full detailed manner of the great novelists, he understands what he is about, and his work is a very fine instance of sensitive and clearly-executed medieval narrative, which has nothing to learn (in its own kind, and granting the conditions assumed by the author) from any later fiction. the story of the _lady of vergi_ was known to boccaccio, and was repeated both by bandello and by queen margaret of navarre. it is time to consider how the work of the medieval romantic schools was taken up and continued by many of the most notable writers of the period which no longer can be called medieval, in which modern literature makes a new and definite beginning; especially in the works of the two modern poets who have done most to save and adapt the inheritance of medieval romance for modern forms of literature--boccaccio and chaucer. the development of romance in these authors is not always and in all respects a gain. even the pathetic stories of the _decameron_ (such as the _pot of basil_, _tancred and gismunda_, _william of cabestaing_) seem to have lost something by the adoption of a different kind of grammar, a more learned rhetoric, in comparison with the best of the simple french stories, like the _chastelaine de vergi_. this is the case in a still greater degree where boccaccio has allowed himself a larger scale, as in his version of the old romance of _flores and blanchefleur_ (_filocolo_), while his _teseide_ might be taken as the first example in modern history of the pernicious effect of classical studies. the _teseide_ is the story of palamon and arcita. the original is lost, but it evidently was a french romance, probably not a long one; one of the favourite well-defined cases or problems of love, easily understood as soon as stated, presenting the rivalry of the two noble kinsmen for the love of the lady emily. it might have been made into one of the stories of the _decameron_, but boccaccio had other designs for it. he wished to write a classical epic in twelve books, and not very fortunately chose this simple theme as the groundwork of his operations. the _teseide_ is the first of the solemn row of modern epics; "reverend and divine, abiding without motion, shall we say that they have being?" everything is to be found in the _teseide_ that the best classical traditions require in epic--olympian machinery, catalogues of armies, descriptions of works of art to compete with the homeric and virgilian shields, elaborate battles, and epic similes, and funeral games. chaucer may have been at one time tempted by all this magnificence; his final version of the story, in the _knight's tale_, is a proof among other things of his critical tact. he must have recognised that the _teseide_, with all its ambition and its brilliancy of details, was a failure as a story; that this particular theme, at any rate, was not well fitted to carry the epic weight. these personages of romance were not in training for the heavy classical panoply. so he reduced the story of palamon and arcita to something not very different from what must have been its original scale as a romance. his modifications of boccaccio here are a lesson in the art of narrative which can hardly be overvalued by students of that mystery. chaucer's procedure in regard to his romantic subjects is often very difficult to understand. how firm and unwavering his critical meditations and calculations were may be seen by a comparison of the _knight's tale_ with its italian source. at other times and in other stories he appears to have worked on different principles, or without much critical study at all. the _knight's tale_ is a complete and perfect version of a medieval romance, worked out with all the resources of chaucer's literary study and reflexion; tested and considered and corrected in every possible way. the story of _constance_ (the _man of law's tale_) is an earlier work in which almost everything is lacking that is found in the mere workmanship of the _knight's tale_; though not, of course, the humanity, the pathos, of chaucer. the story of _constance_ appears to have been taken by chaucer from one of the least artificial specimens of medieval romance, the kind of romance that worked up in a random sort of way the careless sequence of incidents in a popular traditional tale. just as the tellers of the stories in campbell's _highland tales_, and other authentic collections, make no scruple about proportion where their memory happens to fail them or their irrelevant fancy to distract them, but go on easily, dropping out a symmetrical adventure here and there, and repeating a favourite "machine" if necessary or unnecessary; so the story of _constance_ forgets and repeats itself. the voice is the voice of chaucer, and so are the thoughts, but the order or disorder of the story is that of the old wives' tales when the old wives are drowsy. all the principal situations occur twice over; twice the heroine is persecuted by a wicked mother-in-law, twice sent adrift in a rudderless boat, twice rescued from a churl, and so on. in this story the poetry of chaucer appears as something almost independent of the structure of the plot; there has been no such process of design and reconstruction as in the _knight's tale_. it is almost as strange to find chaucer in other stories, as in the _franklin's tale_ and the _clerk's tale_, putting up with the most abstract medieval conventions of morality; the point of honour in the _franklin's tale_, and the unmitigated virtue of griselda, are hopelessly opposed to anything like dramatic truth, and very far inferior as motives to the ethical ideas of many stories of the twelfth century. the truth of _enid_ would have given no opportunity for the ironical verses in which chaucer takes his leave of the clerk of oxford and his heroine. in these romances chaucer leaves some old medieval difficulties unresolved and unreconciled, without attempting to recast the situation as he found it in his authorities, or to clear away the element of unreason in it. he takes the framework as he finds it, and embroiders his poetry over it, leaving an obvious discrepancy between his poetry and its subject-matter. in some other stories, as in the _legend of good women_, and the tale of virginia, he is content with pathos, stopping short of vivid drama. in the _knight's tale_ he seems to have deliberately chosen a compromise between the pathetic mood of pure romance and a fuller dramatic method; he felt, apparently, that while the contrast between the two rivals admitted of drama, the position of the lady emily in the story was such as to prevent a full dramatic rendering of all the characters. the plot required that the lady emily should be left without much share of her own in the action. the short and uncompleted poem of _anelida_ gains in significance and comes into its right place in chaucer's works, when it is compared with such examples of the older school as the _chastelaine de vergi_. it is chaucer's essay in that delicate abstract fashion of story which formed one of the chief accomplishments of the french romantic school. it is his acknowledgment of his debt to the artists of sensibility, the older french authors, "that can make of sentiment," and it proves, like all his writings, how quick he was to save all he could from the teaching of his forerunners, for the profit of "that fair style that has brought him honour." to treat a simple problem, or "case," of right and wrong in love, was a favourite task of medieval courtly poetry, narrative and lyric. chaucer in his _anelida_ takes up this old theme again, treating it in a form between narrative and lyric, with the pure abstract melody that gives the mood of the actors apart from any dramatic individuality. he is one of the extractors of quintessence, and his _anelida_ is the formal spirit, impalpable yet definite, of the medieval courtly romance. it is not here, but in a poem the opposite of this in fulness and richness of drama, that chaucer attains a place for himself above all other authors as the poet who saw what was needed to transform medieval romance out of its limitations into a new kind of narrative. chaucer's _troilus and criseyde_ is the poem in which medieval romance passes out of itself into the form of the modern novel. what cervantes and what fielding did was done first by chaucer; and this was the invention of a kind of story in which life might be represented no longer in a conventional or abstract manner, or with sentiment and pathos instead of drama, but with characters adapting themselves to different circumstances, no longer obviously breathed upon by the master of the show to convey his own ideas, but moving freely and talking like men and women. the romance of the middle ages comes to an end, in one of the branches of the family tree, by the production of a romance that has all the freedom of epic, that comprehends all good and evil, and excludes nothing as common or unclean which can be made in any way to strengthen the impression of life and variety. chaucer was not tempted by the phantasm of the epic poem like boccaccio, and like so many of the great and wise in later generations. the substance of epic, since his time, has been appropriated by certain writers of history, as fielding has explained in his lectures on that science in _tom jones_. the first in the line of these modern historians is chaucer with his _troilus and criseyde_, and the wonder still is as great as it was for sir philip sidney:-- chaucer undoubtedly did excellently in his _troylus_ and _cresseid_; of whom, truly i know not whether to mervaile more, either that he in that mistie time could see so clearely, or that wee in this cleare age walke so stumblingly after him. his great work grew out of the french romantic school. the episode of troilus and briseide in benoit's _roman de troie_ is one of the best passages in the earlier french romance; light and unsubstantial like all the work of that school, but graceful, and not untrue. it is all summed up in the monologue of briseide at the end of her story (l. , ):-- dex donge bien a troylus! quant nel puis amer ne il mei a cestui[ ] me done et otrei. molt voldreie aveir cel talent que n'eüsse remembrement des ovres faites d'en arriere: Ço me fait mal à grant manière! [footnote : _i.e._ diomede.] boccaccio took up this story, from the latin version of the tale of troy, the _historia trojana_ of guido. his _filostrato_ is written on a different plan from the _teseide_; it is one of his best works. he did not make it into an epic poem; the _filostrato_, boccaccio's _troilus and cressida_, is a romance, differing from the older french romantic form not in the design of the story, but in the new poetical diction in which it is composed, and its new poetical ideas. there is no false classicism in it, as there is in his _palamon and arcita_; it is a novel of his own time, a story of the _decameron_, only written at greater length, and in verse. chaucer, the "great translator," took boccaccio's poem and treated it in his own way, not as he had dealt with the _teseide_. the _teseide_, because there was some romantic improbability in the story, he made into a romance. the story of troilus he saw was strong enough to bear a stronger handling, and instead of leaving it a romance, graceful and superficial as it is in boccaccio, he deepened it and filled it with such dramatic imagination and such variety of life as had never been attained before his time by any romancer; and the result is a piece of work that leaves all romantic convention behind. the _filostrato_ of boccaccio is a story of light love, not much more substantial, except in its new poetical language, than the story of _flamenca_. in chaucer the passion of troilus is something different from the sentiment of romance; the changing mind of cressida is represented with an understanding of the subtlety and the tragic meaning of that life which is "time's fool." pandarus is the other element. in boccaccio he is a personage of the same order as troilus and cressida; they all might have come out of the garden of the _decameron_, and there is little to choose between them. chaucer sets him up with a character and a philosophy of his own, to represent the world outside of romance. the comic genius claims a share in the tragedy, and the tragedy makes room for him, because the tragic personages, "tragic comedians" as they are, can bear the strain of the contrast. the selection of personages and motives is made in another way in the romantic schools, but this poem of chaucer's is not romance. it is the fulfilment of the prophecy of socrates, just before aristophanes and the tragic poet had to be put to bed at the end of the _symposium_, that the best author of tragedy is the best author of comedy also. it is the freedom of the imagination, beyond all the limits of partial and conventional forms. notes and illustrations appendix note a (p. ) _rhetoric of the western and northern alliterative poems_ any page of the anglo-saxon poets, and of the "elder edda," will show the difference between the "continuous" and the "discrete"--the western and the northern--modes of the alliterative verse. it may be convenient to select some passages here for reference. ( ) as an example of the western style ("the sense variously drawn out from one verse to another"), the speech of the "old warrior" stirring up vengeance for king froda (_beowulf_, l. _sq._; see above, p. ):-- þonne cwið æt beore se ðe beah gesyhð, eald æscwiga, se ðe eall geman garcwealm gumena (him bið grim sefa) onginneð geomormod geongum cempan þurh hreðra gehygd higes cunnian, wigbealu weccean, ond þæt word acwyð: "meaht ðu, min wine, mece gecnawan, þone þin fæder to gefeohte bær under heregriman, hindeman siðe, dyre iren, þær hine dene slogon, weoldon wælstowe, syððan wiðergyld læg æfter hæleþa hryre, hwate scyldingas? nu her þara banena byre nathwylces, frætwum hremig, on flet gæð, mordres gylpeð ond þone maðþum byreð þone þe þu mid rihte rædan sceoldest!" (the "old warrior"--no less a hero than starkad himself, according to saxo--bears a grudge on account of the slaying of froda, and cannot endure the reconciliation that has been made. he sees the reconciled enemies still wearing the spoils of war, arm-rings, and even froda's sword, and addresses ingeld, froda's son):-- over the ale he speaks, seeing the ring, the old warrior, that remembers all, the spear-wrought slaying of men (his thought is grim), with sorrow at heart begins with the young champion, in study of mind to make trial of his valour, to waken the havoc of war, and thus he speaks: "knowest thou, my lord? nay, well thou knowest the falchion that thy father bore to the fray, wearing his helmet of war, in that last hour, the blade of price, where the danes him slew, and kept the field, when withergyld was brought down after the heroes' fall; yea, the danish princes slew him! see now, a son of one or other of the men of blood, glorious in apparel, goes through the hall, boasts of the stealthy slaying, and bears the goodly heirloom that thou of right shouldst have and hold!" ( ) the northern arrangement, with "the sense concluded in the couplet," is quite different from the western style. there is no need to quote more than a few lines. the following passage is from the last scene of _helgi and sigrun_ (_c.p.b._, i. p. ; see p. above--"yet precious are the draughts," etc.):-- vel skolom drekka dýrar veigar þótt misst hafim munar ok landa: skal engi maðr angr-lióð kveða, þótt mer á briósti benjar líti. nú ero brúðir byrgðar í haugi, lofða dísir, hjá oss liðnom. the figure of _anadiplosis_ (or the "redouble," as it is called in the _arte of english poesie_) is characteristic of a certain group of northern poems. see the note on this, with references, in _c.p.b._, i. p. . the poems in which this device appears are the poems of the heroines (brynhild, gudrun, oddrun), the heroic idylls of the north. in these poems the repetition of a phrase, as in the greek pastoral poetry and its descendants, has the effect of giving solemnity to the speech, and slowness of movement to the line. so in the _long lay of brynhild_ (_c.p.b._, i. p. ):-- svárar sifjar, svarna eiða, eiða svarna, unnar trygðir; and (_ibid._)-- hann vas fyr utan eiða svarna, eiða svarna, unnar trygðir; and in the _old lay of gudrun_ (_c.p.b._, i. p. )-- hverr vildi mer hnossir velja hnossir velja, ok hugat mæla. there are other figures which have the same effect:-- gott es at ráða rínar malmi, ok unandi auði styra, ok sitjandi sælo nióta. _c.p.b._, i. p. . but apart from these emphatic forms of phrasing, all the sentences are so constructed as to coincide with the divisions of the lines, whereas in the western poetry, saxon and anglo-saxon, the phrases are made to cut across the lines, the sentences having their own limits, independent of the beginnings and endings of the verses. note b (p. ) _the meeting of kjartan and king olaf tryggvason_ (_laxdæla saga_, c. ) kjartan rode with his father east from hjardarholt, and they parted in northwaterdale; kjartan rode on to the ship, and bolli, his kinsman, went along with him. there were ten men of iceland all together that followed kjartan out of goodwill; and with this company he rides to the harbour. kalf asgeirsson welcomes them all. kjartan and bolli took a rich freight with them. so they made themselves ready to sail, and when the wind was fair they sailed out and down the borg firth with a gentle breeze and good, and so out to sea. they had a fair voyage, and made the north of norway, and so into throndheim. there they asked for news, and it was told them that the land had changed its masters; earl hacon was gone, and king olaf tryggvason come, and the whole of norway had fallen under his sway. king olaf was proclaiming a change of law; men did not take it all in the same way. kjartan and his fellows brought their ship into nidaros. at that time there were in norway many icelanders who were men of reputation. there at the wharves were lying three ships all belonging to men of iceland: one to brand the generous, son of vermund thorgrimsson; another to hallfred the troublesome poet; the third ship was owned by two brothers, bjarni and thorhall, sons of skeggi, east in fleetlithe,--all these men had been bound for iceland in the summer, but the king had arrested the ships because these men would not accept the faith that he was proclaiming. kjartan was welcomed by them all, and most of all by brand, because they had been well acquainted earlier. the icelanders all took counsel together, and this was the upshot, that they bound themselves to refuse the king's new law. kjartan and his mates brought in their ship to the quay, and fell to work to land their freight. king olaf was in the town; he hears of the ship's coming, and that there were men in it of no small account. it fell out on a bright day in harvest-time that kjartan's company saw a number of men going to swim in the river nith. kjartan said they ought to go too, for the sport; and so they did. there was one man of the place who was far the best swimmer. kjartan says to bolli: "will you try your swimming against this townsman?" bolli answers: "i reckon that is more than my strength." "i know not what is become of your hardihood," says kjartan; "but i will venture it myself." "that you may, if you please," says bolli. kjartan dives into the river, and so out to the man that swam better than all the rest; him he takes hold of and dives under with him, and holds him under for a time, and then lets him go. after that they swam for a little, and then the stranger takes kjartan and goes under with him, and holds him under, none too short a time, as it seemed to kjartan. then they came to the top, but there were no words between them. they dived together a third time, and were down longer than before. kjartan thought it hard to tell how the play would end; it seemed to him that he had never been in so tight a place in his life. however, they come up at last, and strike out for the land. then says the stranger: "who may this man be?" kjartan told his name. the townsman said: "you are a good swimmer; are you as good at other sports as at this?" kjartan answers, but not very readily: "when i was in iceland it was thought that my skill in other things was much of a piece; but now there is not much to be said about it." the townsman said: "it may make some difference to know with whom you have been matched; why do you not ask?" kjartan said: "i care nothing for your name." the townsman says: "for one thing you are a good man of your hands, and for another you bear yourself otherwise than humbly; none the less shall you know my name and with whom you have been swimming; i am olaf tryggvason, the king." kjartan makes no answer, and turns to go away. he had no cloak, but a coat of scarlet cloth. the king was then nearly dressed. he called to kjartan to wait a little; kjartan turned and came back, rather slowly. then the king took from his shoulders a rich cloak and gave it to kjartan, saying he should not go cloakless back to his men. kjartan thanks the king for his gift, and goes to his men and shows them the cloak. they did not take it very well, but thought he had allowed the king too much of a hold on him. things were quiet for a space; the weather began to harden with frost and cold. the heathen men said it was no wonder they had ill weather that autumn; it was all the king's newfangledness and the new law that had made the gods angry. the icelanders were all together that winter in the town; and kjartan took the lead among them. in time the weather softened, and men came in numbers to the town at the summons of king olaf. many men had taken the christian faith in throndheim, but those were more in number who were against it. one day the king held an assembly in the town, out on the point of eyre, and declared the faith with many eloquent words. the thronds had a great multitude there, and offered battle to the king on the spot. the king said they should know that he had fought against greater powers than to think of scuffling with clowns in throndheim. then the yeomen were cowed, and gave in wholly to the king, and many men were christened; then the assembly broke up. that same evening the king sends men to the icelanders' inn to observe and find out how they talked. when the messengers came there, there was a loud sound of voices within. kjartan spoke, and said to bolli: "kinsman, are you willing to take this faith of the king's?" "i am not," says bolli, "for it seems to me a feeble, pithless thing." says kjartan: "seemed the king to you to have no threats for those that refused to accept his will?" says bolli: "truly the king seemed to us to come out clearly and leave no shadow on that head, that they should have hard measure dealt them." "no man's underling will i be," says kjartan, "while i can keep my feet and handle a sword; it seems to me a pitiful thing to be taken thus like a lamb out of the pen, or a fox out of the trap. i hold it a far better choice, if one must die, to do something first that shall be long talked of after." "what will you do?" says bolli. "i will not make a secret of it," says kjartan; "burn the king's house, and the king in it." "i call that no mean thing to do," says bolli; "but yet it will not be, for i reckon that the king has no small grace and good luck along with him; and he keeps a strong watch day and night." kjartan said that courage might fail the stoutest man; bolli answered that it was still to be tried whose courage would hold out longest. then many broke in and said that this talk was foolishness; and when the king's spies had heard so much, they went back to the king and told him how the talk had gone. on the morrow the king summons an assembly; and all the icelanders were bidden to come. when all were met, the king stood up and thanked all men for their presence, those who were willing to be his friends and had taken the faith. then he fell to speech with the icelanders. the king asks if they will be christened. they make little sound of agreement to that. the king said that they might make a choice that would profit them less. "which of you was it that thought it convenient to burn me in my house?" then says kjartan: "you think that he will not have the honesty to confess it, he that said this. but here you may see him." "see thee i may," says the king, "and a man of no mean imagination; yet it is not in thy destiny to see my head at thy feet. and good enough cause might i have to stay thee from offering to burn kings in their houses in return for their good advice; but because i know not how far thy thought went along with thy words, and because of thy manly declaration, thou shalt not lose thy life for this; it may be that thou wilt hold the faith better, as thou speakest against it more than others. i can see, too, that it will bring the men of all the iceland ships to accept the faith the same day that thou art christened of thine own free will. it seems to me also like enough that thy kinsmen and friends in iceland will listen to what thou sayest when thou art come out thither again. it is not far from my thought that thou, kjartan, mayst have a better faith when thou sailest from norway than when thou camest hither. go now all in peace and liberty whither you will from this meeting; you shall not be penned into christendom; for it is the word of god that he will not have any come to him save in free will." there was much approval of this speech of the king's, yet chiefly from the christians; the heathen men left it to kjartan to answer as he would. then said kjartan: "we will thank you, sir, for giving us your peace; this more than anything would draw us to accept your faith, that you renounce all grounds of enmity and speak gently altogether, though you have our whole fortunes in your hand to-day. and this is in my mind, only to accept the faith in norway if i may pay some small respect to thor next winter when i come to iceland." then answered the king, smiling: "it is well seen from the bearing of kjartan that he thinks he has better surety in his strength and his weapons than there where thor and odin are." after that the assembly broke up. note c (p. ) _eyjolf karsson_: an episode in the history of bishop gudmund arason, a.d. (from _arons saga hjörleifssonar_, c. , printed in _biskupa sögur_, i., and in _sturlunga_, ii. pp. - ). [eyjolf karsson and aron stood by bishop gudmund in his troubles, and followed him out to his refuge in the island of grimsey, lying off the north coast of iceland, about miles from the mouth of eyjafirth. there the bishop was attacked by the sturlungs, sighvat (brother of snorri sturluson) and his son sturla. his men were out-numbered; aron was severely wounded. this chapter describes how eyjolf managed to get his friend out of danger and how he went back himself and was killed.] now the story turns to eyjolf and aron. when many of eyjolf's men were down, and some had run to the church, he took his way to the place where aron and sturla had met, and there he found aron sitting with his weapons, and all about were lying dead men and wounded. it is reckoned that nine men must have lost their lives there. eyjolf asks his cousin whether he can move at all. aron says that he can, and stands on his feet; and now they go both together for a while by the shore, till they come to a hidden bay; there they saw a boat ready floating, with five or six men at the oars, and the bow to sea. this was eyjolf's arrangement, in case of sudden need. now eyjolf tells aron that he means the boat for both of them; giving out that he sees no hope of doing more for the bishop at that time. "but i look for better days to come," says eyjolf. "it seems a strange plan to me," says aron; "for i thought that we should never part from bishop gudmund in this distress; there is something behind this, and i vow that i will not go unless you go first on board." "that i will not, cousin," says eyjolf; "for it is shoal water here, and i will not have any of the oarsmen leave his oar to shove her off; and it is far too much for you to go afoot with wounds like yours. you will have to go on board." "well, put your weapons in the boat," says aron, "and i will believe you." aron now goes on board; and eyjolf did as aron asked him. eyjolf waded after, pushing the boat, for the shallows went far out. and when he saw the right time come, eyjolf caught up a battle-axe out of the stern of the boat, and gave a shove to the boat with all his might. "good-bye, aron," says eyjolf; "we shall meet again when god pleases." and since aron was disabled with wounds, and weary with loss of blood, it had to be even so; and this parting was a grief to aron, for they saw each other no more. now eyjolf spoke to the oarsmen and told them to row hard, and not to let aron come back to grimsey that day, and not for many a day if they could help it. they row away with aron in their boat; but eyjolf turns to the shore again and to a boat-house with a large ferry-boat in it, that belonged to the goodman gnup. and at the same nick of time he sees the sturlung company come tearing down from the garth, having finished their mischief there. eyjolf takes to the boat-house, with his mind made up to defend it as long as his doom would let him. there were double doors to the boat-house, and he puts heavy stones against them. brand, one of sighvat's followers, a man of good condition, caught a glimpse of a man moving, and said to his companions that he thought he had made out eyjolf karsson there, and they ought to go after him. sturla was not on the spot; there were nine or ten together. so they come to the boat-house. brand asks who is there, and eyjolf says it is he. "then you will please to come out and come before sturla," says brand. "will you promise me quarter?" says eyjolf. "there will be little of that," says brand. "then it is for you to come on," says eyjolf, "and for me to guard; and it seems to me the shares are ill divided." eyjolf had a coat of mail, and a great axe, and that was all. now they came at him, and he made a good and brave defence; he cut their pike-shafts through; there were stout strokes on both sides. and in that bout eyjolf breaks his axe-heft, and catches up an oar, and then another, and both break with his blows. and in this bout eyjolf gets a thrust under his arm, and it came home. some say that he broke the shaft from the spear-head, and let it stay in the wound. he sees now that his defence is ended. then he made a dash out, and got through them, before they knew. they were not expecting this; still they kept their heads, and a man named mar cut at him and caught his ankle, so that his foot hung crippled. with that he rolls down the beach, and the sea was at the flood. in such plight as he was in, eyjolf set to and swam; and swimming he came twelve fathoms from shore to a shelf of rock, and knelt there; and then he fell full length upon the earth, and spread his hands from him, turning to the east as if to pray. now they launch the boat, and go after him. and when they came to the rock, a man drove a spear into him, and then another, but no blood flowed from either wound. so they turn to go ashore, and find sturla and tell him the story plainly how it had all fallen out. sturla held, and other men too, that this had been a glorious defence. he showed that he was pleased at the news. note d (p. ) _two catalogues of romances_ there are many references to books and cycles of romance in medieval literature--minstrels' enumerations of their stock-in-trade, and humorous allusions like those of sir thopas, and otherwise. there are two passages, among others, which seem to do their best to cover the whole ground, or at least to exemplify all the chief groups. one of these is that referred to in the text, from _flamenca_; the other is to be found, much later, in the _complaint of scotland_ ( ). i. flamenca (ll. - ) qui volc ausir diverses comtes de reis, de marques e de comtes, auzir ne poc tan can si volc; anc null' aurella non lai colc, quar l'us comtet de priamus, e l'autre diz de piramus; l'us contet de la bell'elena com paris l'enquer, pois l'anmena; l'autres comtava d'ulixes, l'autre d'ector et d'achilles; l'autre comtava d'eneas, e de dido consi remas per lui dolenta e mesquina; l'autre comtava de lavina con fes lo breu el cairel traire a la gaita de l'auzor caire; l'us contet d'apollonices de tideu e d'etidiocles; l'autre comtava d'apolloine comsi retenc tyr de sidoine; l'us comtet del rei alexandri l'autre d'ero et de leandri; l'us dis de catmus quan fugi et de tebas con las basti, l'autre contava de jason e del dragon que non hac son; l'us comte d'alcide sa forsa, l'autre con tornet en sa forsa phillis per amor demophon; l'us dis com neguet en la fon lo bels narcis quan s'i miret; l'us dis de pluto con emblet sa bella moillier ad orpheu; l'autre comtet del philisteu golias, consi fon aucis ab treis peiras quel trais david; l'us diz de samson con dormi, quan dalidan liet la cri; l'autre comtet de machabeu comen si combatet per dieu; l'us comtet de juli cesar com passet tot solet la mar, e no i preguet nostre senor que nous cujes agues paor; l'us diz de la taula redonda que no i venc homs que noil responda le reis segon sa conoissensa, anc nuil jorn ne i failli valensa; l'autre comtava de galvain, e del leo que fon compain del cavallier qu'estors luneta; l'us diz de la piucella breta con tenc lancelot en preiso cant de s'amor li dis de no; l'autre comtet de persaval co venc a la cort a caval; l'us comtet d'erec e d'enida, l'autre d'ugonet de perida; l'us comtava de governail com per tristan ac grieu trebail, l'autre comtava de feniza con transir la fes sa noirissa l'us dis del bel desconogut e l'autre del vermeil escut que l'yras trobet a l'uisset; l'autre comtava de guiflet; l'us comtet de calobrenan, l'autre dis con retenc un an dins sa preison quec senescal lo deliez car li dis mal; l'autre comtava de mordret; l'us retrais lo comte duret com fo per los ventres faiditz e per rei pescador grazits; l'us comtet l'astre d'ermeli, l'autre dis com fan l'ancessi per gein lo veil de la montaina; l'us retrais con tenc alamaina karlesmaines tro la parti, de clodoveu e de pipi comtava l'us tota l'istoria; l'autre dis con cazec de gloria donz lucifers per son ergoil; l'us diz del vallet de nantoil, l'autre d'oliveir de verdu. l'us dis lo vers de marcabru, l'autre comtet con dedalus saup ben volar, et d'icarus co neguet per sa leujaria. cascus dis lo mieil que sabia. per la rumor dels viuladors e per brug d'aitans comtadors hac gran murmuri per la sala. the allusions are explained by the editor, m. paul meyer. the stories are as follows: priam, pyramus, helen, ulysses, hector, achilles, dido, lavinia (how she sent her letter with an arrow over the sentinel's head, _roman d'eneas_, l. , _sq._), polynices, tydeus, and eteocles; apollonius of tyre; alexander; hero and leander; cadmus of thebes; jason and the sleepless dragon; hercules; demophoon and phyllis (a hard passage); narcissus; pluto and the wife of orpheus ("sir orfeo"); david and goliath; samson and dalila; judas maccabeus; julius caesar; the round table, and how the king had an answer for all who sought him; gawain and yvain ("of the lion that was companion of the knight whom lunete rescued"[ ]); of the british maiden who kept lancelot imprisoned when he refused her love; of perceval, how he rode into hall; ugonet de perida (?); governail, the loyal comrade of tristram; fenice and the sleeping-draught (chrestien's _cliges_, see p. , above); guinglain ("sir libeaus)"; chrestien's _chevalier de la charrette_ ("how the herald found the red shield at the entry," an allusion explained by m. gaston paris, in _romania_, xvi. p. ), guiflet, calobrenan, kay punished for his railing accusations; mordred; how the count duret was dispossessed by the vandals and welcomed by the fisher king (?); the luck of hermelin (?); the old man of the mountain and his assassins; the wars of charlemagne; clovis and pepin of france; the fall of lucifer; gui de nanteuil; oliver of verdun; the flight of daedalus, and how icarus was drowned through his vanity. the songs of marcabrun, the troubadour, find a place in the list among the stories. [footnote : in a somewhat similar list of romances, in the italian poem of _l'intelligenza_, ascribed to dino compagni (st. ), luneta is named analida; possibly the origin of chaucer's anelida, a name which has not been clearly traced.] the author of _flamenca_ has arranged his library, though there are some incongruities; daedalus belongs properly to the "matter of rome" with which the catalogue begins, and lucifer interrupts the series of _chansons de geste_. the "matter of britain," however, is all by itself, and is well represented. ii. the complaynt of scotland, c. vi. (ed. j.a.h. murray, _e.e.t.s._, pp. - ) [this passage belongs to the close of the middle ages, when the old epic and romantic books were falling into neglect. there is no distinction here between literary romance and popular tales; the once-fashionable poetical works are reduced to their original elements. arthur and gawain are no more respected than the red etin, or the tale of the _well at the world's end_ (the reading _volfe_ in the text has no defender); the four sons of aymon have become what they were afterwards for boileau (_ep._ xi. ), or rather for boileau's gardener. but, on the whole, the list represents the common medieval taste in fiction. the _chansons de geste_ have provided the _bridge of the mantrible_ (from _oliver and fierabras_, which may be intended in the _flamenca_ reference to oliver), and the _siege of milan_ (see _english charlemagne romances_, _e.e.t.s._, part ii.), as well as the _four sons of aymon_ and _sir bevis_. the arthurian cycle is popular; the romance of _sir ywain_ (the knight of the lion) is here, however, the only one that can be definitely traced in the _flamenca_ list also, though of course there is a general correspondence in subject-matter. the classical fables from ovid are still among the favourites, and many of them are common to both lists. see dr. furnivall's note, in the edition cited, pp. lxxiii.-lxxxii.] quhen the scheiphird hed endit his prolixt orison to the laif of the scheiphirdis, i meruellit nocht litil quhen i herd ane rustic pastour of bestialite, distitut of vrbanite, and of speculatioune of natural philosophe, indoctryne his nychtbours as he hed studeit ptholome, auerois, aristotel, galien, ypocrites, or cicero, quhilk var expert practicians in methamatic art. than the scheiphirdis vyf said: my veil belouit hisband, i pray the to desist fra that tideus melancolic orison, quhilk surpassis thy ingyne, be rason that it is nocht thy facultee to disput in ane profund mater, the quhilk thy capacite can nocht comprehend. ther for, i thynk it best that ve recreat our selfis vytht ioyus comonyng quhil on to the tyme that ve return to the scheip fald vytht our flokkis. and to begin sic recreatione i thynk it best that everie ane of vs tel ane gude tayl or fable, to pas the tyme quhil euyn. al the scheiphirdis, ther vyuis and saruandis, var glaid of this propositione. than the eldest scheiphird began, and al the laif follouit, ane be ane in their auen place. it vil be ouer prolixt, and no les tideus to reherse them agane vord be vord. bot i sal reherse sum of ther namys that i herd. sum vas in prose and sum vas in verse: sum vas stories and sum var flet taylis. thir var the namis of them as eftir follouis: the taylis of cantirberrye, robert le dyabil duc of normandie, the tayl of the volfe of the varldis end, ferrand erl of flandris that mareit the deuyl, the taiyl of the reyde eyttyn vitht the thre heydis, the tail quhou perseus sauit andromada fra the cruel monstir, the prophysie of merlyne, the tayl of the giantis that eit quyk men, on fut by fortht as i culd found, vallace, the bruce, ypomedon, the tail of the three futtit dug of norrouay, the tayl quhou hercules sleu the serpent hidra that hed vij heydis, the tail quhou the king of est mure land mareit the kyngis dochtir of vest mure land, skail gillenderson the kyngis sone of skellye, the tail of the four sonnis of aymon, the tail of the brig of the mantribil, the tail of syr euan, arthour's knycht, rauf col ear, the seige of millan, gauen and gollogras, lancelot du lac, arthour knycht he raid on nycht vitht gyltin spur and candil lycht, the tail of floremond of albanye that sleu the dragon be the see, the tail of syr valtir the bald leslye, the tail of the pure tynt, claryades and maliades, arthour of litil bertang e, robene hude and litil ihone, the meruellis of mandiueil, the tayl of the ong tamlene and of the bald braband, the ryng of the roy robert, syr egeir and syr gryme, beuis of southamtoun, the goldin targe, the paleis of honour, the tayl quhou acteon vas transformit in ane hart and syne slane be his auen doggis, the tayl of pirramus and tesbe, the tail of the amours of leander and hero, the tail how iupiter transformit his deir love yo in ane cou, the tail quhou that iason van the goldin fleice, opheus kyng of portingal, the tail of the goldin appil, the tail of the thre veird systirs, the tail quhou that dedalus maid the laborynth to keip the monstir minotaurus, the tail quhou kyng midas gat tua asse luggis on his hede because of his auereis. index _aage_, danish ballad, related to helgi and sigrun, ; cf. york powell, _c.p.b._ i. , and _grimm centenary papers_ ( ), p. achilles, , , , , , _aeneid_, , , , alboin the lombard (o.e. Ælfwine, see _davenant_), , , , n, alexander the great, in old french poetry, ; his _epistle_; (anglo-saxon version), _aliscans, chanson de geste_ of the cycle of william of orange, _alvíssmál_, in 'elder edda,' amadis of gaul, a formal hero, , , ammius (o.n. hamðer): see _hamðismál_ _andreas_, old english poem on the legend of st. andrew, , , , andvari, _angantyr_, the _waking of_, poem in _hervarar saga_, , , , , , n _apollonius of tyre_, in anglo-saxon, ari thorgilsson, called the wise (ari fróði, a.d. - ), his _landnámabók_ and _konunga Æfi_, ; _ynglinga saga_, ariosto, , , , aristotle on the dramatic element in epic, _sq._; his summary of the _odyssey_, , , , , _sq._ _arnaldos, romance del conde_, spanish ballad, arni, bishop of skalholt (_ob._ ), his _life_ (_arna saga_), arni beiskr (the bitter), murderer of snorri sturluson, his death at flugumyri, aron hjörleifsson (_arons saga_), a friend of bishop gudmund, , , _sq._ asbjörnsen, p. chr., n asdis, grettir's mother, n askel: see _reykdæla saga_ _atlakviða_, the _lay of attila_, _sq._: see _attila_ _atlamál_, the _greenland poem of attila_, , , - : see _attila_ _atli and rimgerd, contention of_, in 'elder edda,' _sq._ atli in _grettis saga_, his dying speech, in _hávarðar saga_, attila (o.e. Ætla, o.n. atli), the hun, adopted as a german hero in epic tradition, ; different views of him in epic, ; in _waltharius_, ; in _waldere_, ; in the 'elder edda,' , , _sq._, , , _sq._ _aucassin et nicolette_, , audoin the lombard (o.e. eadwine), father of alboin, _aymon, four sons of_, i.e. _renaus de montauban_ (_chanson de geste_), , balder, death of, , , _bandamanna saga_, 'the confederates,' , , - beatrice the duchess, wife of begon de belin, mother of gerin and hernaudin, _sq._ begon de belin, brother of garin le loherain, _q.v._ benoit de sainte more, his _roman de troie_, _sq._, _beowulf_, , _sq._, , , , - , and the _odyssey_, _beowulf_ and the _hêliand_, bergthora, njal's wife, , _sq._ bernier: see _raoul de cambrai_ béroul: see _tristram_ _bevis, sir_, _biarkamál_, bjargey: see _hávarðar saga_ bjorn, in _njála_, and his wife, - blethericus, a welsh author, boccaccio, his relation to the french romantic school, and to chaucer, - bodvild, boethius _on the consolation of philosophy_, a favourite book, bolli, gudrun's husband (_laxdæla saga_), , , , _sq._; kills kjartan, bolli the younger, son of bolli and gudrun, - bossu, on the epic poem, his opinion of phaeacia, , n bradley, mr. henry, on the first riddle in the _exeter book_, (_academy_, march , , p. ) bréri, cited by thomas as his authority for the story of tristram: see _blethericus_ brink, dr. bernhard ten, some time professor at strassburg, , broceliande visited by wace, , _brunanburh_, poem of the battle of, brynhild, sister of attila, wife of gunnar the niblung, _passim_ long _lay of_, in the 'elder edda' (_al. sigurðarkviða in skamma_), , _sq._ _hell-ride of_, short _lay of_ (fragment), , lost poem concerning, paraphrased in _volsunga saga_, danish ballad of: see _sivard_ bugge, dr. sophus, sometime professor in christiania, n, n, n _byrhtnoth_: see _maldon_ _c.p.b._, i.e. _corpus poeticum boreale_, q.v. campbell, j.f., of islay, n, casket of whalebone (the franks casket), in the british museum, subjects represented on it, ; runic inscriptions, (cf. napier, in _an english miscellany_, oxford ) charles the great, roman emperor (charlemagne), different views of him in french epic, ; in _huon de bordeaux_ _sq._; history of, in norwegian (_karlamagnus saga_), ; in spanish (chap-book), n: see _pèlerinage de charlemagne_ charlot: see _huon de bordeaux_ _charroi de nismes_, _chanson de geste_ of the cycle of william of orange, quoted, chaucer, , n; his relation to the french romantic school, and to boccaccio, - chrestien de troyes, , his works, _tristan_ (lost), ; _erec_ (_geraint and enid_), , , _sq._; _conte du graal_ (_perceval_), ; _cliges_, , _sq._, ; _chevalier de la charrette_ (_lancelot_), , , ; _yvain_ (_chevalier au lion_), _sq._, _sq._ his influence on the author of _flamenca_, _sq._ _codex regius_ ( , to), in the king's library, copenhagen: see _edda, 'the elder_' _comédie humaine, la_, connla (the story of the fairy-bride): see _guingamor_ contract, social, in iceland, _coronemenz looïs_, _chanson de geste_ of the cycle of william of orange, quoted, _corpus poeticum boreale_, ed. g. vigfusson and f. york powell, oxford, , _passim_ corsolt, a pagan, cressida, in _roman de troie_, ; the story treated in different ways by boccaccio and chaucer, _q.v._ cynewulf, the poet, _cynewulf and cyneheard_ (english chronicle, a.d. ), , n dag, brother of sigrun, dandie dinmont, dante, ; his reference to william of orange, _dart, song of the_ (_darraðarlióð_, gray's 'fatal sisters'), davenant, sir william, on the heroic poem (preface to _gondibert_), quoted, ; author of a tragedy, 'albovine king of the lombards,' _deor's lament_, old english poem, , , drangey, island in eyjafirth, north of iceland, grettir's refuge, dryden and the heroic ideal, du bartas, _edda_, a handbook of the art of poetry, by snorri sturluson, , , 'edda,' 'the elder,' 'the poetic,' 'of sæmund the wise' (_codex regius_), , , _passim_ egil the bowman, weland's brother, represented on the franks casket (Ægili), egil skallagrimsson, , , einar thorgilsson: see _sturla of hvamm_ ekkehard, dean of st. gall, author of _waltharius_, _elene_, by cynewulf, an old english poem on the legend of st. helen (the invention of the cross), , , _eneas, roman d'_, _enid_: see _chrestien de troyes_ _erec_: see _chrestien de troyes_ eric the red, his saga in hauk's book, ermanaric (o.e. eormenríc, o.n. jörmunrekr), ; killed by the brothers of suanihilda, : see _hamðismál_ erp: see _hamðismál_ _exodus_, old english poem of, , eyjolf karsson, a friend of bishop gudmund, , , _sq._ eyjolf thorsteinsson: see _gizur_ _eyrbyggja saga_, the story of the men of eyre, _sq._, , , _færeyinga saga_, the story of the men of the faroes (thrond of gata and sigmund brestisson), , faroese ballads, , fielding, henry, _fierabras_, finn: see _finnesburh_ _finnesburh_, old english poem (fragment), published by hickes from a lambeth ms., now mislaid, _sq._, episode in _beowulf_, giving more of the story, _sq._ _fiölsvinnsmál_ see _svipdag_ _flamenca_, a provençal romance, by a follower of chrestien de troyes, in the spirit of ovid, - ; romances named in, , - _flóamanna saga_, the story of the people of floi, _flores et blanchefleur_, romance, referred to in _flamenca_, ; translated by boccaccio (_filocolo_), flosi the burner, in _njála_, , , , , _sq._ flugumyri, a homestead in northern iceland (skagafjord), earl gizur's house, burned october , the story as given by sturla, - _fóstbræðra saga_ (the story of the two sworn brethren, thorgeir and thormod) n, ; in hauk's book, , , ; euphuistic interpolations in, _sq._ frey, poem of his wooing of gerd (_skirnismál_), in the 'poetic edda,' , , _frithiof the bold_, a romantic saga, , , _sq._ froda (fróðá), homestead in olafsvík, near the end of snæfellsnes, western iceland, a haunted house, _eyrbyggja saga_, froda (frotho in saxo grammaticus), his story alluded to in _beowulf_, , , n, , _sq._ froissart and the courteous ideal, fromont, the adversary in the story of _garin le loherain_, _q.v._ galopin the prodigal, in the story of _garin le loherain_, _gareth_, in malory's _morte d'arthur_, original of the red cross knight in the _faery queene_, _garin le loherain_ (_chanson de geste_), n, - gawain killed dragons, : see _walewein_ _gawain and the green knight_, alliterative poem, _gay goshawk_, ballad of the, _genesis_, old english poem of, , _geraint_, welsh story, gerd: see _frey_ _germania_ of tacitus, _gísla saga_, the story of gisli the outlaw, , _sq._, , ; its relations to the heroic poetry, giuki (lat. gibicho, o.e. gifica), father of gunnar, hogni, gothorm, and gudrun, _q.v._ gizur thorvaldsson, the earl, at flugumyri, , - glam (_grettis saga_), , glum (_víga-glúms saga_), _sq._, and _raoul de cambrai_, gollancz, mr., (see _academy_, dec. , , p. ) gothorm, gray, his translations from the icelandic, , n gregory (st.) the great, _de cura pastorali_, studied in iceland, grendel, : see _beowulf_ _grettis saga_, the story of grettir the strong, , , _sq._, n, , grimhild, mother of gudrun, _grimild's revenge_, danish ballad (_grimilds hævn_), , grimm, n; story of the _golden bird_, wilhelm, _deutsche heldensage_, _grímnismál_, in 'elder edda,' gripir, prophecy of (_grípisspá_) in the 'elder edda,' a summary of the volsung story, groa, wife of earl gizur, _q.v._ _grógaldr_: see _svipdag_ _grottasöngr_ (song of the magic mill), gudmund arason, bishop of hólar, , , gudmund, son of granmar: see _sinfiotli_ gudmund the mighty (guðmundr inn riki), in _ljósvetninga_ and other sagas, , gudny, wife of sturla of hvamm, _q.v._ gudrun (o.n. guðrún), daughter of giuki, sister of gunnar and hogni, wife of sigurd, , , , _sq._ and theodoric, the _old lay of gudrun_ (_guðrúnarkviða in forna_), , _lay of_ (_guðrúnarkviða_), _lament of_, or _chain of woe_ (_tregrof guðrúnar_), , _ordeal of_, daughter of osvifr (_laxdæla saga_), , , - _guingamor, lay of_, by marie de france, - _guinglain_, romance, by renaud de beaujeu: see _libeaux desconus_ gundaharius (gundicarius), the burgundian (o.e. gúðhere, o.n. gunnarr; gunther in the _nibelungenlied_, etc.), : see _gunnar_, _gunther_ gunnar of lithend (hlíðarendi), in _njáls saga_, ; his death, gunnar, son of giuki, brother of gudrun, _sq._, _sq._: see _gundaharius_, _gunther_ gunnlaug the poet, called wormtongue, his story (_gunnlaugs saga ormstungu_), , gunther (guntharius, son of gibicho) in _waltharius_, _sq._; in _waldere_, : see _gundaharius_, _gunnar_ hacon, king of norway (a.d. - ): see _hákonar saga_; his taste for french romances, hadubrand, son of hildebrand, hagen (hagano), in _waltharius_, _sq._ hagen, in _waldere_ (hagena), , in _sivard_, _q.v._: see _hogni_ _hákonar saga_, the _life_ of hacon, hacon's son, king of norway (_ob._ ), written by sturla, contrasted with his history of iceland, _sq._ _halfs saga_, hall, son of earl gizur, hama, _hamlet_ in saxo, _hamðismál_ ('poetic edda'), lay of the death of ermanaric, , - , , harald, king of norway (fairhair), ; in _egils saga_, king of norway (hardrada), killed dragons, ; his saga referred to (story of hreidar the simple), ; (varangian custom), n _harbarzlióð_: see _thor_ _harðar saga ok holmverja_, the story of hord and the men of the island, n hauk's book, an icelandic gentleman's select library in the fourteenth century, _sq._ (_hauksbók_, ed. finnur jónsson, - ) _hávamál_ in 'poetic edda,' a gnomic miscellany, _hávarðar saga isfirðings_, the story of howard of icefirth, , _sq._, hearne, thomas, hedin, brother of helgi, hiorvard's son, _heiðarvíga saga_, the story of the battle on the heath (connected with _eyrbyggja saga_), : see _víga-styrr_ _heiðreks saga_: see _hervarar saga_ _heimskringla_, snorri's _lives of the kings of norway_, abridged, helgi and kara, helgi, hiorvard's son, and swava, _sq._, helgi hundingsbane and sigrun, , n, _sq._, _hêliand_, old saxon poem on the gospel history, using the forms of german heroic poetry, , , hengest: see _finnesburh_ heremod, herkja, hermes, in the homeric hymn, _hervarar saga ok heiðreks konungs_ (_heiðreks saga_), one of the romantic mythical sagas in hauk's book, ; contains the poems of the cycle of angantyr, , hervor, daughter of angantyr, , , , heusler, dr. andreas, professor in berlin, n hialli, hickes, george, d.d., n, _hildebrand, lay of_, , , , n, hildeburg: see _finnesburh_ hildegund (hildegyth), _sq._: see _walter_ hnæf: see _finnesburh_ hobs, mr. (_i.e._ thomas hobbes of malmesbury), hodbrodd, in story of helgi and sigrun, , hogni, father of sigrun, , hogni, son of giuki, brother of gunnar, gothorm, and gudrun, , _sq._: see _hagen_ homeric analogies in medieval literature, _sq._ hrafn sveinbjarnarson, a friend of bishop gudmund, ; _hrafns saga_ quoted, n hrafn: see _gunnlaug_ _hrafnkels saga freysgoða_, the story of hrafnkel, frey's priest, , hrefna, kjartan's wife, hreidar the simple, an unpromising hero, in _haralds saga harðráða_, hrolf kraki (hroðulf in _beowulf_), , _hromund greipsson_, saga of, hrothgar, , . hunding, hunferth, , _huon de bordeaux_ (_chanson de geste_), epic and romance combined inartistically in, , , - hurd's _letters on chivalry and romance_, hygelac, _sq._: see _beowulf_ _hymiskviða_: see _thor_ ibsen, henrik, his _hærmændene paa helgeland_ (_warriors in helgeland_), a drama founded on the volsung story, its relation to _laxdæla saga_, his _kongsemnerne_ (_rival kings_, hacon and skule), _ider_, romance, _sq._, n _iliad_, _sq._, , _sq._, , _sq._, , n ingeld: see _froda_ ingibjorg, daughter of sturla, her wedding at flugumyri, _sq._ _intelligenza, l'_, n jehoram, son of ahab, in the famine of samaria, johnson, dr., , joinville, jean de, seneschal of champagne, his _life of st. louis_ compared with icelandic prose history, _sq._ jón arason the poet, bishop of hólar, the last catholic bishop in iceland, beheaded by reformers, th november , a notable character, jordanes, historian of the goths, his version of the story of _ermanaric_, its relation to _hamðismál_, _judith_, old english poem of, , , julian, the emperor, his opinion of german songs, kara, _sq._ kari, in _njála_, and bjorn, - karl jónsson, abbot of thingeyri in iceland, author of _sverris saga_, kjartan, son of olaf the peacock (_laxdæla saga_), , , , , his death, _sq._ _königskinder, die_, german ballad, _kormaks saga_, n, _lancelot_, the french prose romance, _landnámabók_, in hauk's book, laurence, bishop of hólar (_ob._ ), his _life_ (_laurentius saga_), _laxdæla saga_, the story of laxdale (_the lovers of the gudrun_), , , _sq._, ; a new version of the niblung story, _sq._, _sq._, leconte de lisle, _l'epée d'angantyr_, n lessing's _laocoon_, _libeaux desconus_, romance in different versions--french, by renaud de beaujeu (_guinglain_), , _sq._, ; english, , ; italian (_carduino_), , _ljósvetninga saga_, story of the house of ljósavatn, _sq._ _lokasenna_ (the railing of loki), , , longnon, auguste, n louis ix., king of france (st. louis): see _joinville_ _lusiad_, the, a patriotic epic, unlike the poetry of the 'heroic age,' macrobius, , _maldon_, poem of the battle of (a.d. ), , , n, , , ; compared with the _iliad_, ; compared with _roland_, , _sq._, malory, sir thomas, his _morte d'arthur_, , _mantrible, bridge of the_, marie de france, her _lays_ translated into norwegian (_strengleikar_), ; _guingamor_ criticised, - marino, martianus capella, _de nuptiis philologiae_, studied in the middle ages, medea, , _sq._ _menglad, rescue of_, , : see _svipdag_ mephistopheles in thessaly, meyer, paul, n, n, _milan, siege of_, mimming, the sword of weland, morris, william, , , _mort arthure_, alliterative poem, _mort artus_, french prose romance, _morte d'arthur_: see _malory_ _nibelungenlied_, , , , niblung story, its relation to historical fact, _sq._: see _gunnar_, _hogni_, _gudrun_, _laxdæla saga_ nidad, njal, story of (_njála_), , , , , , - oberon; see _huon de bordeaux_ odd, arrow (Örvar-oddr), oddrun, sister of brynhild and attila, _lament of_ (_oddrúnargrátr_), in the 'elder edda,' , _sq._, _sq._ odd ufeigsson: see _bandamanna saga_ odoacer, referred to in _lay of hildebrand_, odysseus, , , _sq._, , _odyssey_, the, , , ; aristotle's summary of, ; romance in, _sq._ olaf tryggvason, king of norway, , _sq._ _olkofra Þáttr_, the story of alecap, related to _bandamanna saga_, ossian, in the land of youth: see _guingamor_ ovid in the middle ages, , , ; [transcriber's note: no page in original.] _ovidius epistolarum_ studied in iceland, ovid's story of medea, translated in the _roman de troie_, _sq._, _sq._; _heroides_ became the 'saints' legend of cupid,' paris, gaston, , , , , , , n, paulus diaconus, heroic stories in the lombard history, _sq._ peer gynt, _pèlerinage de charlemagne_ (_chanson de geste_), , , percy, thomas, d.d., _five pieces of runic poetry_, n, n phaeacia, odysseus in, bossu's criticism, pindar, his treatment of myths, poitiers, william ix., count of, his poem on setting out for the crusade, powell, f. york, : see _aage_ _prise d'orange_, _chanson de geste_ of the cycle of william of orange, in substance a romance of adventure, _queste del st. graal_, french prose romance, a contrast to the style of chrestien de troyes, , ragnar lodbrok, his death-song (_krákumál_), , , rainouart, the gigantic ally of william of orange, , ; their names associated by dante (_par._ xviii. ), _ibid._ _raoul de cambrai_ (_chanson de geste_), n, - , rastignac, eugène de, _reykdæla saga_, the story of vemund, askel, and skuta son of askel, connected with the story of glum, , rigaut, son of hervi the villain, in the story of _garin le loherain_, rimgerd the giantess: see _atli_ _rímur_, icelandic rhyming romances, , _roland, chanson de_, , , , , - , ; compared with _byrhtnoth_ (_maldon_), _sq._; with an incident in _njála_, _roman de la rose_, of guillaume de lorris, , , , _rood, dream of the_, old english poem, rosamund and alboin in the lombard history, , _rosmunda_, a tragedy, by rucellai, _rou, roman de_, the author's visit to broceliande, sam (sámr), gunnar's dog, sarpedon's address to glaucus, , sarus and ammius (sorli and hamther), brothers of suanihilda (jordanes), : see _hamðismál_ saxo grammaticus, , , , , , _scotland, complaynt of_, romances named in, - _scottish field_, alliterative poem on flodden, _sq._ shakespeare, his treatment of popular tales, _sq._ _sibyl's prophecy_: see _volospá_ sidney, sir philip, , sievers, dr. eduard, professor in leipzig, n, n sigmund brestisson, in _færeyinga saga_, , , sigmund, father of sinfiotli, helgi, and sigurd, , signild: see _sivard_ sigrdrifa, sigrun: see _helgi_ sigurd, the volsung (o.n. sigurðr), , , _sq._, , fragmentary _lay of_ (_brot af sigurðarkviðu_), _lay of_: see _brynhild_ sinfiotli, debate of, and gudmund, _sivard og brynild_, danish ballad, translated, - skallagrim, how he told the truth to king harald, skarphedinn, son of njal, , _sq._, , skirnir: see _frey_ skule, duke, the rival of hacon, skuta: see _reykdæla saga_ snorri sturluson (a.d. - ), author of the _edda_, ; and of the _lives of the kings of norway_, ; his murder avenged at flugumyri, snorri the priest (snorri goði), in _eyrbyggja_ and other sagas, , , _sonatorrek_ (the sons' loss), poem by egil skallagrimsson, sorli: see _hamðismál_ spenser, starkad, , stephens, george, sometime professor in copenhagen, stevenson, r.l., _catriona_, n sturla of hvamm (hvamm-sturla), founder of the house of the sturlungs, his life (_sturlu saga_) - sturla (_c._ a.d. - ), son of thord, and grandson of hvamm-sturla, nephew of snorri, author of _sturlunga saga_ (_q.v._) and of _hákonar saga_ (_q.v._) , , _sturlunga saga_ (more accurately _islendinga saga_), of sturla, thord's son, a history of the author's own times, using the forms of the heroic sagas, , _sq._, _sq._ suanihilda: see _swanhild_ _svarfdæla saga_, the story of the men of swarfdale (_svarfaðardalr_), _sveidal, ungen_, danish ballad, on the story of svipdag and menglad, , sverre, king of norway (_ob._ ), his _life_ (_sverris saga_) written by abbot karl jónsson at the king's dictation, ; quotes a volsung poem, _svipdag and menglad_, old northern poems of, , _sq._: see _sveidal_ swanhild (o.n. svanhildr), daughter of sigurd and gudrun, her cruel death; the vengeance on ermanaric known to jordanes in the sixth century, : see _hamðismál_ tasso, , ; his critical essays on heroic poetry, tegnér, esaias, ; his _frithiofs saga_, tennyson, _enid_, theodoric (o.n. Þióðrekr), a hero of teutonic epic in different dialects, , , ; fragment of swedish poem on, inscription on stone at rök, : see _gudrun_ thersites, thidrandi, whom the goddesses slew, _Þidreks saga_ (thirteenth century), a norwegian compilation from north german ballads on heroic subjects, , thomas: see _tristram_ thor, in old northern literature, his fishing for the world serpent (_hymiskviða_), , , ; the winning of the hammer (_Þrymskviða_), , , , danish ballad of, the contention of, and odin (_harbarzlióð_), , thorarin, in _eyrbyggja_, the quiet man, thorgils and haflidi (_Þorgils saga ok hafliða_), , , _sq._ thorkell hake, in _ljósvetinga saga_, thorolf bægifot: see _eyrbyggja_ thorolf, kveldulf's son: see _skallagrim_ _Þorsteins saga hvíta_, the story of thorstein the white, points of resemblance to _laxdæla_ and _gunnlaugs saga_, _Þorsteins saga stangarhöggs_ (thorstein staffsmitten), a short story, thrond of gata (_færeyinga saga_), _Þrymskviða_: see _thor_ thrytho, thurismund, son of thurisvend, king of the gepidae, killed by alboin, _tirant lo blanch_ (tirant the white, romance of), n; a moral work, trissino, author of _italia liberata dai goti_, a correct epic poem, _tristram and iseult_, , anglo-norman poems, by béroul and thomas, ; of chrestien (lost), _ibid._ troilus, _sq._ _troy, destruction of_, alliterative poem, ufeig: see _bandamanna saga_ uistean mor mac ghille phadrig, uspak: see _bandamanna saga_ _vafþrúðnismál_, mythological poem in 'elder edda,' , , vali: see _bandamanna saga_ _vápnfirðinga saga_, the story of vopnafjord, , _vatnsdæla saga_, story of the house of vatnsdal, vemund: see _reykdæla saga_ _vergi, la chastelaine de_, a short tragic story, _sq._ _víga-glúms saga_, : see _glum_ víga-styrr: see _heiðarvíga saga_ _n.b._--the story referred to in the text is preserved in jón olafsson's recollection of the leaves of the ms. which were lost in the fire of (_islendinga sögur_, , ii. p. ). it is not given in mr. william morris's translation of the extant portion of the saga, appended to his _eyrbyggja_. vigfusson, gudbrand, , n, n _viglund, story of_, a romantic saga, _sq._ villehardouin, a contemporary of snorri, _volospá_ (the sibyl's song of the doom of the gods), in the 'poetic edda,' , , ; another copy in hauk's book, , _volsunga saga_, a prose paraphrase of old northern poems, , , , _volsungs, old lay of the_, _wade, song of_, fragment recently discovered, (see _academy_, feb. , ) _waldere_, old english poem (fragment), , _sq._, , : see _walter of aquitaine_ _walewein, roman van_, dutch romance of sir gawain; the plot compared with the gaelic story of mac iain direach, , - walter of aquitaine, , , _sq._, _waltharius_, latin poem by ekkehard, on the story of walter of aquitaine, _q.v._ _wanderer, the_, old english poem, ward, h.l.d., his catalogue of ms. romances in the british museum, wealhtheo, _weland_, represented on the franks casket in the british museum, mentioned in _waldere_, , _lay of_, in 'poetic edda,' , _well at the world's end_, widia, weland's son, , _widsith_ (the traveller's song), old english poem, , , wiglaf, the 'loyal servitor' in _beowulf_, william of orange, old french epic hero, : see _coronemenz looïs_, _charroi de nismes_, _prise d'orange_, _aliscans_, _rainouart_; cf. j. bédier, _les légendes épiques_ ( ) printed in great britain by r. & r. clark, limited, edinburgh. none generously made available by the internet archive.) the folk-lore society, for collecting and printing relics of popular antiquities, &c. established in the year mdccclxxviii. [illustration: alter et idem.] publications of the folk-lore society. . xxiii. list of officers of the society. - . president. the right hon. the earl of strafford. vice-presidents. andrew lang, m.a. w. r. s. ralston, m.a. edward b. tylor, ll.d., f.r.s. director. g. l. gomme, f.s.a., , beverley villas, barnes common, s.w. council. the hon. j. abercromby. a. machado y alvarez. the earl beauchamp, f.s.a. edward brabrook, f.s.a. dr. g. b. brinton. james britten, f.l.s. loys brueyre. miss c. s. burne. edward clodd. professor d. comparetti. g. laurence gomme, f.s.a. a. granger hutt, f.s.a. sir john lubbock, bt., f.r.s. rev. dr. richard morris. alfred nutt. edward peacock, f.s.a. z. d. pedroso. professor a. h. sayce, m.a. captain r. c. temple. henry b. wheatley, f.s.a. auditors. g. l. apperson. john tolhurst, f.s.a. local secretaries. ireland: g. h. kinahan, r.i.a. south scotland: william george black, esq. north scotland: rev. walter gregor. india: captain r. c. temple. china: j. stewart lockhart. honorary secretaries. a. granger hutt, f.s.a., , oxford road, kilburn, n.w. j. j. foster, , alma square, st. john's wood, n.w. studies on the legend of the holy grail. _works by the same author._ =the aryan expulsion and return formula among the celts.=--_folk-lore record_, vol. iv. _s._ _d._ "interessante étude de mythographie comparée."--_revue celtique._ =mabinogion studies, i. the mabinogi of branwen, daughter of llyr.=--_folk-lore record_, vol. v. _s._ _d._ "eingehendes und sehr beachtenswerthes studium."--prof. ernst windisch, in _ersch und gruber_. "these careful and searching studies deserve to be honourably mentioned."--mons. henri gaidoz, in the _academy_. studies on the legend of the holy grail _with especial reference to the hypothesis_ of its celtic origin. by alfred nutt. "welchem volke das märchen (von parzival's jugendgeschichte) angehörte, welches die schriftliche oder mündliche ueberlieferung mit der gralsage in verbindung brachte, ist schwer zu bestimmen, doch würde dasjenige volk den meisten anspruch darauf haben, bei welchem sich dies märchen ausserhalb jenes zusammenhangs nachweisen liesse."--k. simrock. "the celtic hero who in the twelfth century became perceval le chercheur du basin ... in the end became possessed of that sacred basin le saint graal, and the holy lance which, though christian in the story, are the same as the talismans which appear so often in gaelic tales ... the glittering weapon which destroys, and the sacred medicinal cup which cures."--j. f. campbell. "in all the fenian stories mention is made of fionn's healing cup ... it is the same as the holy grail of course."--j. f. campbell. london: david nutt, - , strand. . harrison and sons, printers in ordinary to her majesty, st. martin's lane, london. dedication. to the memory of j. f. campbell, from whom i first learnt to love celtic tradition. contents. chapter i. description of the leading forms of the romance: conte del graal--joseph d'arimathie--didot-perceval--queste del saint graal--grand saint graal--parzival--perceval le gallois-- mabinogi of peredur--sir perceval--diu crône--information respecting date and authorship of these works in the mss. page chapter ii. summaries--conte du graal: pseudo-chrestien, chrestien, gautier de doulens, manessier, gerbert--wolfram--heinrich von dem türlin--didot-perceval--mabinogi of peredur--thornton ms. sir perceval--queste del saint graal--grand saint graal-- robert de borron's poem, joseph of arimathea page chapter iii. the legend formed of two portions: early history of grail, quest--two forms of each portion distinguished--grouping of the various versions--alternative hypotheses of development-- their bearing upon the alleged celtic origin of the grail-- closer examination of the various accounts of the grail: the first use made of it and its first possessor; its solace of joseph; its properties and the effect produced by it; its name; its arrival in england; the grail-keeper and his relationship to the promised knight--three different stages in the development of the queste--the work and the qualification of the promised knight--conclusions: priority over early history of quest--chronological arrangement of the versions page chapter iv. sketch of the literature connected with the grail cycle. villemarqué--halliwell--san marte (a. schulz)--simrock-- rochat--furnivall's reprint of the grand st. graal and of borron--j. f. campbell--furnivall's queste--paulin paris-- potvin's conte du graal--bergmann--skeat's joseph of arimathea--hucher: grail celtic, date of borron--zarncke, zur geschichte der gralsage; grail belongs to christian legend--birch-hirschfeld develops zarncke's views: grand st. graal younger than queste, both presuppose chrestien and an earlier queste, the didot-perceval, which forms integral part of borron's trilogy; mabinogi later than chrestien; various members of the cycle dated--martin combats birch-hirschfeld: borron later than chrestien, whose poem represents oldest stage of the romance, which has its roots in celtic tradition--hertz--criticism of birch-hirschfeld page chapter v. relationship of the didot-perceval to the conte du graal--the former not the source of the latter--relationship of the conte du graal and the mabinogi--instances in which the mabinogi has copied chrestien--examples of its independence-- the incident of the blood drops in the snow--differences between the two works--the machinery of the mabinogi and the traces of it in the conte du graal--the stag hunt--the mabinogi and manessier--the sources of the conte du graal and the relation of the various parts to a common original--sir perceval--steinbach's theory--objections to it--the counsels in the conte du graal--wolfram and the mabinogi--absence of the grail from the apparently oldest celtic form page chapter vi. the lay of the great fool--summary of the prose opening--the aryan expulsion and return formula--comparison with the mabinogi, sir perceval, and the conte du graal--comparison with various gaelic märchen, the knight of the red shield, the rider of grianaig--originality of the highland tale-- comparison with the fionn legend--summary of the lay of the great fool--comparison with the stag hunt incident in the conte du graal and the mabinogi--the folk-tale of the twin brethren--the fight against the witch who brings the dead to life in gerbert and the similar incident in the folk-tale of the knight of the red shield--comparison with the original form of the mabinogi--originality of gerbert page chapter vii. the various forms of the visit to the grail castle in the romances--conte du graal: chrestien; gautier-manessier; gautier-gerbert--didot-perceval--mabinogi--conte du graal; gawain's visit to the grail castle--heinrich von dem türlin--conte du graal: perceval's visit to the castle of maidens--inconsistency of these varying accounts; their testimony to stories of different nature and origin being embodied in the romances--two main types: feud quest and unspelling quest--reasons for the confusion of the two types--evidence of the confusion in older celtic literature-- the grail in celtic literature: the gear of the tuatha de danann; the cauldron in the ultonian cycle; the mabinogi of branwen; vessel of balsam and glaive of light in the contemporary folk-tale--the sword in celtic literature: tethra; fionn; manus--parallels to the bespelled castle; the brug of oengus, the brug of lug, the brug of manannan mac lir, bran's visit to the island of women, cormac mac art, and the fairy branch; diarmaid and the daughter of king under the waves--unspelling stories: the three soldiers; the waiting of arthur; arthur in etna; the kyffhäuser legend, objections to martin's views concerning it--gawain's visit to the magic castle and celtic parallels; the son of bad counsel; fionn in giant land; fionn in the house of cuana; fionn and the yellow face--the vanishing of the bespelled castle--comparison with the sleeping beauty cycle--the "haunted castle" form and its influence on heinrich's version--the loathly grail messenger page chapter viii. the fisher king in the conte du graal, in the queste, and in borron and the grand st. graal--the accounts of latter complete each other--the fish is the salmon of wisdom-- parallel with the fionn saga--the nature of the unspelling quest--the mabinogi of taliesin and its mythological affinities--brons, bran, cernunnos--perceval's silence: conte du graal explanation late; explanation from the fionn saga-- comparison of incident with _geasa_; nature of latter; references to it in celtic folk-tales and in old irish literature, book of rights, diarmaid, cuchulainn--_geasa_ and _taboo_ page chapter ix. summing up of the elements of the older portion of the cycle--parallelism with celtic tradition--the christian element in the cycle: the two forms of the early history; brons form older--brons and bran--the bran conversion legend--the joseph conversion legend, joseph in apocryphal literature, the evangelium nicodemi--the bran legend the starting point of the christian transformation of the legend--substitution of joseph for bran--objection to this hypothesis--hypothetical sketch of the growth of the legend page chapter x. the moral and spiritual import of the grail-legend universally recognised--popularity of the arthurian romance-- reasons for that popularity--affinities of the mediæval romances with early celtic literature; importance of the individual hero; knighthood; the _rôle_ of woman; the celtic fairy and the mediæval lady; the supernatural--m. renan's views--the quest in english literature, malory--the earliest form of the legend, chrestien, his continuators--the queste and its ideal--the sex-relations in the middle ages-- criticism of mr. furnivall's estimate of the moral import of the queste--the merits of the queste--the chastity ideal in the later versions--modern english treatments: tennyson, hawker--possible source of the chastity ideal in popular tradition--the perceval quest in wolfram; his moral conception; the question; parzival and conduiramur--the parzival quest and faust--wagner's parsifal--the christian element in the legend--ethical ideas in the folk-tale originals of the grail romances: the great fool; the sleeping beauty--conclusion page appendix a.: the relationship of wolfram to chrestien page appendix b.: the grand st. graal prologue and the brandan legend page index i. the dramatis personæ of the legend page index ii. page introduction. the present work is, as its title states, a collection of "studies." it does not profess to give an exhaustive or orderly account of the grail romance cycle; it deals with particular aspects of the legend, and makes no pretence of exhausting even these. it may be urged that as this is the case the basis of the work is too broad for the superstructure, and that there was no need to give full summaries of the leading forms of the legend, or to discuss at such length their relation one to another, when it was only intended to follow up one of the many problems which this romance cycle presents. had there existed any work in english which did in any measure what the writer has here attempted to do, he would only too gladly have given more space and more time to the elaboration of the special subject of these studies. but the only work of the kind is in german, _birch-hirschfeld's die gralsage_. many interested in the arthurian romances do not know german; and some who profess an interest in them, and who do know german, are not, to judge by their writings, acquainted with birch-hirschfeld's work. it seemed worth while, therefore, to present the facts about the cycle with greater fulness than would have been necessary had those facts been generally accessible. the writer felt, too, that whatever judgment might be passed upon his own speculations, his statements of fact might give his book some value in the eyes of students. he also wished to give all who felt an interest in the line of investigation he opened up the opportunity of pursuing it further, or the means of checking his assertions and conjectures. the writer has taken his texts as he found them. he has studied the subject matter of the romances, not the words in which they have been handed down. those who seek for philological disquisitions are, therefore, warned that they will find nothing to interest them; and those scholars who are well acquainted with the printed texts, but who are on the search for fresh ms. evidence, must not look here for such. on the other hand, as the printed texts are for the most of such rarity and price as to be practically inaccessible to anyone not within reach of a large library, the writer trusts that his abstract of them will be welcome to many. he has striven to take note of all works of real value bearing upon the subject. he endeavoured, though unsuccessfully, to obtain a copy of m. gaston paris' account of the arthurian romances which, though it has been for some months in print, is not yet published. the writer has done his best to separate the certain from the conjectural. like m. renan, in a similar case, he begs the reader to supply the "perhaps" and the "possibly's" that may sometimes have dropt out. the whole subject is fraught with difficulty, and there are special reasons why all results must for some time to come be looked upon as conjectural. these are glanced at here and there in the course of these studies, but it may be well to put them together in this place. firstly, whatever opinions be held as to which are the older forms of the legend, it is certain that in no one case do we possess a primary form. all the versions that have come down to us presuppose, even where they do not actually testify to, a model. two of the forms which there is substantial agreement in reckoning among the oldest, the poems of chrestien de troyes and robert de borron, were never finished by the authors; sequels exist to both, of a later date and obviously affected by other forms of the legend. a reconstruction of the original story is under these circumstances a task of great uncertainty. so much for the difficulty inherent in the nature of the evidence, a difficulty which it is to be feared will always beset the student of this literature, as no new texts are likely to be found. secondly, this evidence, such as it is, is not accessible in a form of which the most can be made. the most important member of the group, the conte du graal, only exists in one text, and that from a late and poor ms. it is certain that a critical edition, based upon a survey of the entire ms. evidence, will throw great light upon all the questions here treated of. the mabinogi of peredur has not yet been critically edited, nor have the mss. of the other romances yielded up all that can be learnt from them. thirdly, whatever opinion be held respecting the connection of the north french romances and celtic tradition, connection of some kind must be admitted. now the study of celtic tradition is only beginning to be placed upon a firm basis, and the stores of celtic myth and legend are only beginning to be thrown open to the non-celtic scholar. were there in existence a celtic parallel to grimm's great work on german mythology, the views for which the writer contends would have been, in all likelihood, admitted ere now, and there would have been no necessity for this work at all. whilst some of the reasons which render the study of the grail legends so fascinating, because so problematic, will probably always remain in force, others will vanish before the increase of knowledge. when the diplomatic evidence is accessible in a trustworthy form; when the romances have received all the light that can be shed upon them from celtic history, philology, and mythology, the future student will have a comparatively easy task. one of the writer's chief objects has been to excite an interest in these romances among those who are able to examine the celtic elements in them far more efficiently than he could do. welsh philologists can do much to explain the _onomasticon arthurianum_; cymric history generally may elucidate the subject matter. but as a whole welsh literature is late, meagre, and has kept little that is archaic. the study of irish promises far better results. of all the races of modern europe the irish have the most considerable and the most archaic mass of pre-christian traditions. by the side of their heroic traditional literature that of cymry or teuton (high and low), or slav is recent, scanty, and unoriginal. a few words must be said in defence of the free use made of conjecture in the course of these studies. this is well nigh unavoidable from the way in which the texts we have to deal with have come down to us. what m. renan has said about the hebrew historical scriptures is excellently exemplified in the grail romances. there was no fixed text, no definite or rounded sequence of incidents, of which scribes respected the integrity. on the contrary, each successive transcriber was only anxious to add some fresh adventure to the interminable tale, and those mss. were most thought of which contained the greatest number of lines. the earlier mss. have, therefore, almost entirely disappeared, and we are dealing with works which we know to have been composed in the twelfth century, but of which we have only thirteenth or fourteenth century transcripts. inconsistencies in the conduct of the story are the inevitable consequence in most cases, but sometimes the latest arranger had an eye for unity of effect, and attained this by the simple process of altering the old account so as to make it fit with the new. in dealing with the text of an _individual_ author, whether ancient or modern, it would be in the last degree uncritical to explain difficulties by such hypotheses as the loss of an earlier draft, or the foisting into the work of later and incongruous incidents and conceptions. not so in the case of the romances; this method of explanation is natural and legitimate, but none the less is it largely conjectural. the writer may be blamed for not having presented his subject in a more engaging and more lucid form. he would plead in excuse the circumstances under which his work has been carried on. when the only hours of study are those which remain after the claims, neither few nor light, of business and other duties have been met, it is hard to give an appearance of unity to a number of minute detail studies, and to weld them together into one harmonious whole. the fact that the work has been written, and printed, at considerable intervals of time may, it is hoped, be accepted as some excuse for inconsistency in the terminology. the writer has many acknowledgments to make. first and chief to dr. birch-hirschfeld, but for whose labours, covering well nigh the whole field of the grail cycle, he would not have been able to take in hand his work at all; then to dr. furnivall, to whose enthusiasm and spirit the publication of some of the most important texts are due. in these two cases the writer acknowledges his gratitude with the more readiness that he has felt compelled to come to an opposite conclusion from that arrived at by dr. birch-hirschfeld respecting the genesis and growth of the legend, and because he has had to differ from dr. furnivall's estimate of the moral value of the galahad romances. to m. hucher, to mons. ch. potvin, the editor, single-handed, of the conte du graal, to m. d'arbois de jubainville, to professor ernst martin, to the veteran san-marte, to herr otto küpp, and to herr paul steinbach, these studies owe much. professor rhys' hibbert lectures came into the writer's hands as he was preparing the latter portion of the book for the press; they were of great service to him, and he was especially gratified to find opinions at which he had arrived confirmed on altogether independent grounds by professor rhys' high authority. the writer is also indebted to him, to mr. h. l. d. ward, of the british museum, and to his friend mr. egerton phillimore for help given while the sheets were passing through the press. lastly, the writer desires to pay an especial tribute of gratitude and respect to that admirable scholar, j. f. campbell. of all the masters in folk-lore, jacob grimm not excepted, none had a keener eye or surer, more instinctively right judgment. although the writer admits, nay, insists upon the conjectural character of his results, he believes he is on the right track, and that if the grail romances be worked out from any other point of view than the one here taken, the same goal will be reached. it should be said that some of the conclusions, which he can claim as his own by right of first mention, were stated by him in a paper he read before the folk-lore society in (afterwards reprinted, celtic magazine, , august-october); and in a paper he read before the honourable society of cymmrodorion, in . these studies have been a delight and a solace to the writer; had it been otherwise, he would still feel himself amply repaid for his work by the thought that he had made a contribution, however slight, to the criticism of the legend of the holy grail. errata. [the reader is kindly begged to mark in these corrections before using the book.] page , line , _for_ corbièrc _read_ corbière. " , line , _insert_ passion _before_ week. " , lines from bottom, _for_ avallon _read_ avalon. " , line , _for_ percival _read_ perceval. " , line , _for_ percival _read_ perceval. " , lines from bottom, _for_ pelleur _read_ pelleans. " , line , _for_ seems _read_ seem. " , line , _for_ _read_ . " , line , _for_ bron _read_ brons. " , line , _insert_ comma _after_ specially. " , line , _for_ henessey _read_ hennessy. " , note, _i.e._, _for_ graal _read_ gaal. " , line , _insert_ comma _after_ more. " , line , _for_ euphemerised _read_ euhemerised. " , line , _for_ invasion _read_ invasions. " , line , _for_ mystic _read_ mythic. " , line , _for_ lxxvii _read_ lxxxii. " , note, _for_ carl the great _read_ karl the great. " , line , _insert_ comma _after_ plight; _dele_ comma _after_ love. " , line from bottom, _insert_ late _before_ mediæval. " , note, _for_ percival _read_ perceval. " , line , _for_ mystic _read_ mythic. studies on the legend of the holy grail. chapter i. description of the leading forms of the romance: conte del graal--joseph d'arimathie--didot-perceval--queste del saint graal--grand saint graal--parzival--perceval le gallois--mabinogi of peredur--sir perceval--diu crône--information respecting date and authorship of these works in the mss. the following are the forms in which the legend of the holy grail has come down to us:-- a.--=le conte del graal=, a poem of over , verses, the major part of which ( , verses) was printed for the first time by potvin: le conte del graal, six volumes, vo. (vols. ii.-vi. containing our poem), mons, - , from a ms. preserved in the mons library.[ ] the portion of the poem which is not printed in full is summarised by potvin in the sixth volume of his edition. the poem, so far as at present known, is the work of four men: a i. chrestien de troyes, who carried the work down to verse , . a ii. gautier de doulens, who continued it to verse , . a iii. manessier, who finished it in , verses. a iv. gerbert, to whom are due over , verses, mostly found interpolated between gautier de doulens and manessier. a ms. preserved in the library of montpellier[ ] differs in important respects from the mons one as far as gautier de doulens and manessier are concerned. it intercalates verses between verses , and , of the mons ms., and gives a different redaction of verses , - , in agreement with the aforesaid intercalation. it likewise mentions two visits of gawain to the grail castle. the intercalation in gautier may be called a ii_a_, and the variant in manessier a iii_a_. b.--=joseph d'arimathie, merlin=, exists in two forms: ( ) a fragmentary metrical version entitled in the sole existing ms. (bibliothèque nationale, no. , . fonds st. germain, no. , ) li r(o)manz de l'est (o)ire dou graal, and consisting of , verses, , for the joseph, the remainder, for about one-fifth of the merlin. first printed by francisque michel: le roman du st. graal. bordeaux, . secondly by furnivall: seynt graal or the sank ryal. printed for the roxburghe club, two volumes, to., london, - , where it is found in an appendix at the end of vol i. ( ) a prose version of which several mss. exist, all of which are fully described by e. hucher: le saint-graal, ou le joseph d'arimathie, three volumes, mo., le mans, - , vol. i., pp. - . the chief are: the cangé ms. (_circa_ ) of which hucher prints the joseph, vol. i., pp. - , and the didot ms., written in , of which hucher prints the joseph, vol. i., pp. - . hucher likewise gives, vol. i., pp. - , variants from the huth ms. (_circa_ ). these different versions may be numbered as follows:-- b i. the metrical version, which i shall always quote as metr. jos., from furnivall's edition. b ii. the prose versions: b ii_a_, cangé jos.; b ii_b_, didot jos.; b ii_c_, huth jos., all quoted from hucher, vol. i. c.--=perceval=, prose romance found in the already-mentioned didot ms. at the end of the merlin, printed by hucher, vol. i., pp. - , from which it will be quoted as didot-perceval. d.--=queste del saint graal=, prose romance commonly found in the mss. in combination with lancelot and the mort artur. edited by furnivall: la queste del st. graal. printed for the roxburghe club, to., london, . the introduction contains a full account of the existing mss. a different redaction from that of any of the known french mss. is preserved in a welsh translation, printed, with a modern english version by the editor, from a fifteenth century hengwrt ms., by the rev. robert williams: y seint graal, london, vo., . i shall quote-- d i. queste, from furnivall's edition. d ii. welsh quest, from williams' edition. e.--the so-called =grand saint graal=, prose romance found in the mss., both preceding the merlin and the queste, and preceding the queste and the mort artur. printed by furnivall from cambridge and brit. mus. mss., together with a metrical english adaptation by henry lonelich, of about the time of henry the vith, in the already-mentioned seynt graal; and by hucher, vols. ii. and iii., from a le mans ms.; will be quoted as grand st. graal, from furnivall's edition. f.--=parzival=, by wolfram von eschenbach, german metrical romance, critically edited from the mss. by karl lachmann, wolfram von eschenbach, vierte ausgabe, vo., berlin, , from which it will be quoted as wolfram. g.--=perceval le gallois=, prose romance, first printed by potvin, vol. i. of his conte del graal, from a mons ms., with variants from a fragmentary berne ms. (as to both of which see pp. , etc.). a welsh translation, with modern english version by the editor, made from a ms. closely allied to the berne fragments, and representing a superior text to that printed by potvin, in williams' already-mentioned y seint graal. besides these works there exist two versions of the perceval legend in which the holy grail, as such, does not appear. these are:-- h.--=the mabinogi of peredur, the son of evrawc=, welsh prose romance found in the red book of hergest, a ms. of the end of the fourteenth century, and in mss. a hundred years older. i shall quote it as peredur, from lady guest's english translation of the mabinogion, vo., london, . i.--=sir perceval of galles=, english metrical romance, printed for the first time from the thornton ms., of _circa_ , by halliwell: the thornton romances, printed for the camden society, small to., london, ; from which i shall quote it as sir perceval. finally there exists an independent german version of certain adventures, the hero of which in the conte du graal, in wolfram, and in the mabinogi, is gawain. this is-- k.--=heinrich von dem türlin.= diu crône. edited by g. h. f. scholl. bibliothek des litterarischen vereins, vol. xxvii., stuttgart, . the positive information which the different mss. of the above mentioned works afford respecting their authors, date of composition, sources, etc., is as follows:--in the prologue to his poem, chrestien (potvin i., pp. - ) dedicates his work to "li quens felippes de flandres," who as he states (verse ), "li bailla le livre," which served him as model, and whom he praises at great length as surpassing alexander. we know that count philip of flanders took the cross in , set out for the holy land in , and died on the st of june, , before akkon.[ ] as chrestien says not a word about the crusading intentions of philip, it may be inferred that he wrote his prologue before , and began the poem in at the latest. gautier de doulens (probably of that ilk, in picardy, some miles from amiens)[ ] has only left his name, verse , , gautiers de dons qui l'estore, etc. manessier the next continuator has been more explicit; he describes himself as completing the work at the command of ... jehanne la comtesse qu'est de flandre dame et mestresse. (potvin, vi., p. .) this joan, daughter of baldwin the vith, ruled flanders _alone_ during the imprisonment of her husband after the battle of bouvines ( - ), and manessier's words can only apply to her during this period, so that his continuation must have been written between - .[ ] the third continuator, gerbers, only mentions his name (potvin, vi., p. ). the author of version b, names himself, b i, verse , , messires roberz de beron; verses , - state that no mortal man had told the story, until he had it from mon seigneur gautier en peis qui de mont belyal estoit. verse , gives the name somewhat differently, meistres robers dist de bouron. the prose versions follow the poem with additions, thus cangé jos. (p. ); messires roberz de borron lou restrait à mon seigneur gautier, lou preu conte de mobéliart. walter of montbeliard, brother to count richard of montbeliard, went to the holy land in , became constable of jerusalem, regent of cyprus, and died in . the date of his birth is uncertain, but as his elder brother died in , walter could hardly have been born before . his father, amadeus, died in , in which year he received the countship of montfaucon. it may only have been after he thus became independent that robert entered his service. in any case robert could not have spoken of him as "mon seigneur," before . that year may, therefore, be taken as a _terminus a quo_, and the year as a _terminus ad quem_ for dating these versions. the grand st. graal is likewise ascribed in the mss. to robert de borron, and it is further stated that he translated from latin into french--et ensi le temoigne me sires robiers de borron qui a translatee de latin en franchois cheste estoire (ii. p. ). the queste ascribed in the mss. to walter mapes, is said to have been compiled by him for the love of his lord, king henry--maistre gautiers map les extrait pour l'amor del roy henri son seignor, qui fist l'estore translater du latin en francois[ ]--walter mapes, born before (he presided at the assizes of gloucester in ), died in . if we may believe the mss., the queste would probably fall within the last twenty-five years of the twelfth century. the author of perceval le gallois describes himself (potvin, i., ) as writing the book for the "seignor de neele," whose christian name, "johan," is given four lines lower down, at the command of the "seingnor de cambresis," _i.e._, the bishop of cambray. this john of nesle is probably the one who in the year sold the lordship of bruges to countess joan of flanders.[ ] wolfram von eschenbach, of that ilk, in north bavaria, born in the last thirty years of the twelfth century, died about . he knew chrestien's poem well, and repeatedly refers to it, but with great contempt, as being the wrong version of the story, whereas he holds the true version from kyot, the singer, a "provenzal," who found the tale of parzival written in heathen tongue at dôlet (toledo), by flegetanis, a heathen who first taught concerning the grail, put it into french, and after searching the chronicles of britain, france, and ireland in vain, at length found information in the chronicles of anjou (pp. and ). nothing is stated in the works themselves respecting the authors of the mabinogi and the thornton sir perceval. heinrich von dem türlin frequently quotes chrestien as his authority, _e.g._, verses , , , , , . if these various statements are to be accepted, it follows that in the course of fifty years ( - ) a great body of romance came into existence, partly in france, chrestien, his continuators, and robert de borron; partly in england, walter mapes; and partly in germany, wolfram von eschenbach, and heinrich von dem türlin. of this body of romance only a portion has come down to us, the work of kyot and the latin originals of the queste and the grand st. graal having disappeared. furthermore, it is only possible to date with any accuracy three or four of the works, viz., chrestien, manessier, wolfram (whose poem falls certainly within the first ten years of the thirteenth century), though it may also be taken as certain that r. de borron wrote after , and the anonymous author of perceval le gallois before . of the dated works chrestien's is the oldest, - , and it postulates the existence of previous versions. the object of the present investigation being to determine, as far as possible, the age and relationship to one another of the different versions which have come down to us, to exhibit the oldest form of the story as we have it, and to connect it with celtic traditional belief and literature, it will be well, before proceeding to further discuss the various points left doubtful by the evidence gathered from the mss., to give clear and detailed summaries of the most important versions. chapter ii. summaries--conte du graal: pseudo-chrestien, chrestien, gautier de doulens, manessier, gerbert--wolfram--heinrich von dem türlin--didot-perceval--mabinogi of peredur--thornton ms. sir perceval--queste del saint graal--grand saint graal--robert de borron's poem, joseph of arimathea. =the conte du graal.=--pseudo-chrestien.[ ]--the story tells of the "graal," whose mysteries, if master blihis lie not, none may reveal; it falls into seven parts, and shows how the rich land of logres was destroyed. ( ) in the wells and springs of that land harboured damsels who fed the wayfarer with meat and pasties and bread. but king amangons did wrong to one and carried off her golden cup, so that never more came damsels out of the springs to comfort the wanderer. and the men of king amangons followed his evil example. thereafter the springs dried up, and the grass withered, and the land became waste, and no more might be found the court of the rich fisher, which had filled the land with plenty and splendour. ( ) the knights of the table round, learning the ill done to the damsels, set forth to protect them; they found them not, but fair damsels wandering in the woods, each with her knight; with the latter they strove, and when they overcame them sent them to arthur. thus came blihos bliheris to arthur's court conquered by gauvain; he knew goodly tales and he told how the wandering damsels were sprung from those ravished by king amangons. so long would they wander till god gave them to find the court, whence joy and splendour would come to the land. ( ) arthur's knights resolved to seek the court of the rich fisher--much knew he of black art, more than an hundred times changed he his semblance, that no man seeing him again recognised him. gauvain found it, and had great joy therefrom; but before him a young knight, small of age, but none bolder of courage--percevaus li galois was he--he asked whereto the grail served, but nought of the lance why it dripped blood, nor of the sword one half of which was away whilst the other lay in the bier. but he asked surely concerning the rich cross of silver. now in the room three times there arose such great sorrow that no man who heard it, so bold he might be but feared. afterwards the room filled and the king came in, full richly dressed, so that he might hardly be known of them that had seen him the day before, fishing. and when all were sat down the grail came in, and without serjeant nor seneschal served all present, and 'twas wonder what food it gave them. and then came the great marvel which has not its like. but perceval will tell of this, so i must say no more; it is a great shame to tell beforehand what is in a good tale. when the good knight shall come who found the court three times you shall hear me tell of grail and lance, and of him who lay in the bier, of the sword, of the grief and swooning of all beholders. ( ) now the court was found seven times, and each time shall have a fresh tale:-- the seventh (the most pleasing) tells of the lance wherewith longis pierced the side of the king of holy majesty; the sixth of warlike feats; the fifth of the anger and loss of huden; the fourth of heaven, for he was no coward, the knight mors del calan, who first came to glamorgan; the third of the hawk whereof castrars had such fear--pecorins, the son of amangons, bore all his days the wound on his forehead; the second has not yet been told; it tells of the great sorrows lancelot of the lake had there where he lost his virtue; and the last is the adventure of the shield, never a better one was there. ( ) after this adventure the land was repeopled; court and grail were found; the streams ran again; the meadows were green, the forests thick and leafy; so that all folk marvelled. but there came back a folk, the same that came out of the springs (save they were not cooks), a caitiff set, and built for their damsels the rich maidens' castel, and the bridge perillous, and castel orguellous, and warred against the table round. in the castle were , each sire of knights. and not till after four years did arthur overcome them and was there peace. _(here beginneth the story of the grail.)_ ( ) there were in the land of wales twelve knights, of whom bliocadrans alone survived, so eager were they in seeking tournament and combats. after living for two years with his wife, childless, bliocadrans set forth to a tournament given by the king of wales and cornwall against them of the waste fountain. at first successful, he is at length slain. a few days after his departure his wife has borne a son. when at length she learns her husband's death, she takes counsel with her chamberlain, and pretending a pilgrimage to st. brandan, in scotland, withdraws to the waste forest far removed from all men. here she brings up her son, and though she allows him to hunt in the forest, warns him against men covered with iron--they are devils. he promises to follow her counsel, and thenceforth he goes into the forest alone. =the conte du graal.=--(_a_) chrestien.--( ) when as trees and meadows deck themselves with green, and birds sing, the son of the widow lady goes out into the wood. he meets five knights, and, as their weapons shine in the sun, takes them for angels, after having first thought them to be the devils his mother had warned him against. he prays to them as his mother has taught him. one of the knights asks if he has seen five knights and three maidens who had passed that way, but he can but reply with questions concerning the arms and trappings of the knights. he learns of arthur the king who makes knights, and when he returns to his mother tells her he has beheld a more beautiful thing than god and his angels, knights namely, and he too will become one. in vain his mother tells him of his father's and his two elder brothers' fates, slain in battle. nothing will serve, so the mother makes him a dress of coarse linen and leather, and before he leaves counsels him as follows: if dame or damsel seek his aid he is to give it, he is to do naught displeasing to them, but to kiss the maiden who is willing, and to take ring and girdle of her if he can; to go for long with no fellow-traveller whose name he knows not, to speak with and consort with worthy men, to pray to our lord when he comes to church or convent. she then tells him of jesus christ, the holy prophet. he departs clad and armed in welsh fashion, and his mother swoons as though dead. ( ) perceval comes to a tent in the wood, and, taking it for a convent, goes in and finds sleeping on a bed a damsel, whom the neighing of his horse wakes. in pursuance of his mother's counsel he kisses her more than twenty times, takes her ring from her, and eats and drinks of her provisions. thereafter he rides forth, and her lover returning and hearing what has taken place, swears to avenge himself upon the intruder, and until such time the damsel, whose tale he disbelieves, is to follow him barefoot and not to change her raiment. ( ) perceval learns the way to carduel from a charcoal-burner; arrived there, he sees a knight coming forth from the castle and bearing a golden cup in his hand, clad in red armour, who complains of arthur as having robbed him of his land. perceval rides into the castle hall and finds the court at meat. arthur, lost in thought, pays no attention to the first two salutations of perceval, who then turns his horse to depart, and in so doing knocks off the king's hat. arthur then tells him how the red knight has carried off his cup, spilling its contents over the queen. perceval cares not a rap for all this, but asks to be made knight, whereat all laugh. perceval insists, and claims the red knight's armour. kex bids him fetch them, whereat the king is displeased. perceval greets a damsel, who laughs and foretells he shall be the best knight in the world. for this saying kex strikes her, and kicks into the fire a fool who had been wont to repeat that the damsel would not laugh till she beheld the best of knights. ( ) perceval tarries no longer, but follows the red knight, and bids him give up his arms and armour. they fight, and perceval slays his adversary with a cast of his dart. yonès, who has followed him, finds him put to it to remove the knight's armour--he will burn him out of it if need be--and shows him how to disarm the dead man and to arm himself. perceval then mounts the knight's steed and rides off, leaving the cup to yonés to be given to the king, with this message: he, perceval, would come back to avenge the damsel of the blow kex struck her. ( ) perceval comes to a castle, in front of which he finds an old knight, to whom he relates what has befallen him, and of whom he asks counsel as his mother bade him. the knight, gonemans of gelbort, takes him into his castle, teaches him the use of arms, and all knightly practices. in especial he is to avoid over-readiness in speaking and in asking questions, and to give over his habit of always quoting his mother's counsels. he then dubs him knight, and sends him forth to return to his mother. ( ) after a day's journey perceval comes to a town defended by a castle, and, being allowed entrance therein, finds all waste and deserted, even the very convents. the lady of the castle, a damsel of surpassing beauty, welcomes him and bids him to table. mindful of gonemans' counsels he remains silent, and she must speak to him first. she turns out to be gonemans' niece. at night the young stranger is shown to his chamber, but the damsel cannot sleep for thought. weeping she comes to perceval's bedside, and in reply to his wondering questions tells him how the forces of king clamadex encompass the castle, and how that on the morrow she must yield, but rather than be clamadex's she will slay herself. he promises to help her, and bids her to him in the bed, which she does, and they pass the night in each other's arms, mouth to mouth. on the morrow he begs for her love in return for his promised aid, which she half refuses, the more to urge him on. he fights with and overcomes aguigrenons, clamadex's marshal, and sends him to arthur's court. clamadex hearing of this tries afresh to starve out the castle, but a storm luckily throws a passing ship ashore, and thereby reprovisions the besieged ones. clamadex then challenges perceval, is overcome, and sent to arthur's court, where he arrives shortly after his marshal. they relate wonders concerning the red knight, and the king is more than ever displeased with kex for having offended such a valiant warrior. after remaining for a while with blanchefleur, perceval takes leave of her, as he longs to see his mother again. ( ) he comes to a river, upon which is a boat, and therein two men fishing. one of them, in reply to his questions, directs him for a night's shelter to his own castle hard by. perceval starts for it, and at first unable to find it reproaches the fisher. suddenly he perceives the castle before him, enters therein, is disarmed, clad in a scarlet mantle, and led into a great hall. therein is a couch upon which lies an old man; near him is a fire, around which some four hundred men are sitting. perceval tells his host he had come from biau-repaire. a squire enters, bearing a sword, and on it is written that it will never break save in one peril, and that known only to the maker of it. 'tis a present from the host's niece to be bestowed where it will be well employed. the host gives it to perceval, "to whom it was adjudged and destined." hereupon enters another squire, bearing in his hand a lance, from the head of which a drop of blood runs down on the squire's hand. perceval would have asked concerning this wonder, but he minds him of gonemans' counsel not to speak or inquire too much. two more squires enter, holding each a ten-branched candlestick, and with them a damsel, a "graal" in her hands. the graal shines so that it puts out the light of the candles as the sun does that of the stars. thereafter follows a damsel holding a (silver) plate. all defile past between the fire and the couch, but perceval does not venture to ask wherefore the graal is used. supper follows, and the graal is again brought, and perceval, knowing not its use, had fain asked, but always refrains when he thinks of gonemans, and finally puts off his questions till the morrow. after supper the guest is led to his chamber, and on the morrow, awakening, finds the castle deserted. no one answers his calls. issuing forth he finds his horse saddled and the drawbridge down. thinking to find the castle dwellers in the forest he rides forth, but the drawbridge closes so suddenly behind him that had not the horse leapt quickly forward it had gone hard with steed and rider. in vain perceval calls: none answer. ( ) he pricks on and comes to an oak, beneath which sits a maid holding a dead knight in her arms and lamenting over him. she asks him where he has passed the night, and on learning it tells him the fisher who had directed him to the castle and his host were one and the same; wounded by a spear thrust through both thighs his only solace is in fishing, whence he is called the fisher king. she asks, had perceval seen the bleeding lance, the graal, and the silver dish? had he asked their meaning? no; then what is his name? he does not know it, but she guesses it: perceval le gallois; but it should be perceval the caitiff, for had he asked concerning what he saw, the good king would have been made whole again, and great good have sprung therefrom. he has also a heavy sin on his conscience in that his mother died of grief when he left her. she herself is his cousin. perceval asks concerning the dead knight, and learning it is her lover offers to revenge her upon his slayer. in return she tells him about the sword, how it will fly in pieces if he have not care of it, and how it may be made whole again by dipping it in a lake, near which dwells its maker, the smith trebucet. ( ) perceval leaves his cousin and meets, riding on a wretched horse, a scantily and shabbily clad woman of miserable appearance, lamenting her hard fate and unjust treatment. she is the lady of the tent whose ring perceval had carried off. she bids him fly her husband, the orgellous de la lande. the latter appears, challenges perceval, but is overcome by him, convinced of his wife's innocence, compelled to take her into favour again, and both must go to arthur's court, relate the whole story, and renew perceval's promise to the damsel whom kex had struck, to avenge her. arthur, when he hears of the deeds of the young hero, sets forth with his whole court to seek him. ( ) snow has fallen, and a flock of wild geese, blinded by the snow, has had one of its number wounded by a falcon. three blood drops have fallen on the snow, and perceval beholding them falls into deep thought on the red and white in his love's face. arthur and his knights come up with him. saigremors sees him first, bids him come, and, when he answers no word, tilts against him, but is overthrown. kex then trys his luck, but is unhorsed so rudely that arm and leg are broken. gauvain declares that love must be mastering the strange knight's thoughts, approaches him courteously, tells his own name and learns perceval's, and brings the latter to arthur, by whom he is received with all honour. perceval then learns it is kex he has overthrown, thus fulfilling his promise to the damsel whom kex had smitten, and whose knight he offers himself to be. ( ) perceval returns on the morrow with the court to carlion, and the next day at noon there comes riding on a yellow mule a damsel more hideous than could be pictured outside hell. she curses perceval for having omitted to ask concerning the lance and graal; had he done so the king would have been healed of his wound and ruled his land in peace; now maidens will be put to shame, orphans and widows made, and many knights slain. turning to the king she tells of the adventures to be achieved at the castel orgellous, where dwell five hundred and seventy knights, each with his lady love. he, though, who would win the highest renown must to montesclaire to free the damsel held captive there. she then departs. gauvain will forth to the imprisoned damsel, giflès to the castel orgellous, and perceval swears to rest no two nights in the same place till he have learnt concerning graal and lance. ( ) a knight, guigambresil, enters and accuses gauvain of having slain his lord. the latter sets forth at once to the king of cavalon to clear himself of this accusation. ( ) on his way he meets the host of melians, who is preparing to take part in a tournament to approve himself worthy the love of the daughter of tiebaut of tingaguel, who had hitherto refused his suit. gauvain rides on to tingaguel to help its lord. on arriving at the castle the eldest daughter jeers at him, whilst the youngest takes his part, declaring him a better knight than melians, whereat her sister is very indignant. on the first day of the tournament melians shows himself the best knight, but the younger sister still declares her faith in gauvain, and has her ears boxed in consequence. she appeals to gauvain to be her knight and avenge the injury done her. he consents, overcomes melians, whose horse he sends to his little lady, and all other knights; then, after telling his name, rides forth. ( ) he meets two knights, the younger of whom offers him hospitality, and sends him to his sister, bidding her welcome him. she receives him kindly, and when, struck with her beauty, he asks her favours, grants them at once. they are interrupted by a steward, who reproaches her with giving her love to her father's murderer, and calls upon the castle folk to attack gauvain. the latter defends himself until the return of guigambresil, who reproaches the lord of the castle for letting gauvain be attacked, as he had expressed his readiness to do single combat. gauvain is then allowed to go, and is excused the combat if within a year he can bring back the bleeding lance. he sets off in search of it. ( ) the tale returns to perceval, who has wandered about for five years without thinking of god, yet performing many feats. he meets three knights accompanied by ladies, all clad in penitents' dress. 'twas a good friday, and the eldest knight rebukes perceval for riding fully armed on such a day. he must confess him to a holy hermit who lives hard by. perceval goes thither, accuses himself of having forgotten god through his great grief at not learning the use of the graal. the hermit reveals himself as his uncle, tells perceval that he is in sin as having caused his mother's death, and for that reason he could not ask concerning lance and graal; but for her prayers he had not lived till now. perceval remains two days with his uncle, receives absolution, and rides forth. ( ) the story turns to gauvain, who, after escalavon, finds beneath an oak a damsel lamenting over a wounded knight; the latter advises gauvain to push on, which he does, and comes upon a damsel who receives him discourteously, and when at her bidding he has fetched her horse from a garden hard by, mocks at him and rides off. he follows, and culls on the way herbs with which he heals the wounded knight. a squire rides up very hideous of aspect, mounted on a wretched hack. gauvain chastises him for discourteous answers; meanwhile the wounded knight makes off with gauvain's steed, making himself known as griogoras, whom gauvain had once punished for ill-doing, gauvain has to follow the damsel upon the squire's hack, comes to a river, on the other side of which is a castle, overcomes a knight who attacks him, during which the damsel vanishes, is ferried across the stream, giving the vanquished knight to the ferryman as toll; ( ) comes on the morrow to the magic castle, wherein damsels are held fast, awaiting a knight full of all knightly virtues to restore their lands to the ladies, marry the damsels, and put an end to the enchantments of the palace. upon entering, gauvain sees a magnificent bed, seats himself therein, is assailed by magic art, overcomes a lion, and is then acclaimed lord of the castle. he would then leave the castle, but the ferryman says he may not, whereat gauvain is moved to anger. on the morrow, looking forth, gauvain beholds the ( ) damsel who led him to the ford, accompanied by a knight. he hastens forth, overcomes the knight, seeks again the damsel's love, but is sent by her to the ford perillous. here he meets guiromelant, who loves gauvain's sister, clarissant, a dweller in the magic castle. a combat is arranged to take place after seven days. upon his return to the damsel, named orgellouse de logres, he is now well received by her. she hates guiromelant for having slain her lover, and has long sought a good knight to avenge her. guiromelant on his side hates gauvain for having, as he says, treacherously killed his father. gauvain and orgellouse return to the magic castle. one of the queens who dwells there is mother to arthur; the second one, his daughter, mother to gauvain. the latter gives his sister clarissant a ring guiromelant had begged him, unknowing who he was, to bring to her. he then sends a knight to arthur to bid him and his whole train come witness the fight 'twixt him and guiromelant. the messenger finds arthur plunged in grief at gauvain's absence.... * * * * * here chrestien's share breaks off abruptly in the middle of a sentence, and the poem is taken up by (_b_) gautier de doulens.[ ]--( ) arthur and his court accept gauvain's invitation and make for the castle of wonders, the queen whereof has meantime made herself known to gauvain as ygène, arthur's mother. the duel between gauvain and guiromelant is hindered, and the latter weds gauvain's sister. (montp. ms. here inserts a first visit of gawain to grail castle, which is substantially the same as the one it repeats afterwards in the same place as the mons ms.) adventures of arthur and gauvain against brun de branlant follow, of gauvain with a maiden in a tent and her brother brandalis, of carduel of nantes, whose wife is beloved of the magician garahiet, and of their son carados, and the magic horn (verses , - , ). ( ) (a fresh series of adventures begins) arthur sets forth to seek giflet, son of dos; gauvain meets again with brandalis, whose sister has meanwhile borne him a son; castel orgellous, where giflet is imprisoned, is captured; gauvain's son by brandalis' sister is lost. ( ) an unknown knight comes to arthur's court; keie, who demands his name, is unhorsed; gauvain brings the unknown to the court, but the latter is slain by a javelin cast by invisible hands. gauvain equips himself in the unknown's armour and starts forth to learn the latter's name. after praying in a chapel, in which he beholds a light on the altar quenched by a black hand, he rides through brittany and normandy, and comes to a castle where, owing to his armour, he is at first hailed as lord. in one of the rooms stands a bier, whereon lies a knight, cross and broken sword upon his body, his left hand bleeding. a crowned knight enters and goes to battle with gauvain; canons and clerks come and perform the vigil of the dead; whilst at table gauvain sees the rich grail serving out bread and wine to the knights. gauvain remains alone after the meal; he sees a lance which bleeds into a silver cup. the crowned knight again enters, bearing in his hand a broken sword which had belonged to the unknown knight, over whom he mourns. he hands the sword to gauvain and asks him to put the pieces together. gauvain cannot, whereupon the knight declares him unfit to fulfil the quest (_li besoin_) on which he came. later he may try again. gauvain asks concerning lance, sword, and bier. the lance, he is told, is the one wherewith the son of god was pierced in the side, 'twill bleed till doomsday. the tale of the broken sword which brought so much woe upon the kingdom of logres will also be told, but here gauvain falls fast asleep.[ ] on the morrow he wakes, and finds himself on the sea strand. he rides off, and behold the country has burst into green leaf, and the reason thereof is his having asked concerning the lance. the countryfolk both bless and curse him for having so far delivered them and for not having completed the deliverance by asking concerning the grail. ( ) he meets a young knight who turns out to be his son. ( ) (adventures in which carahiès, gauvain's brother, is chief actor.) ( ) the story returns to perceval, who, after leaving the hermit, rides for three days and comes to a castle, over the door of which hangs a horn. perceval blows therein, overcomes the knight who answers the challenge, and sends him to arthur's court. ( ) on his way to the castle of mont orgellous, to the pillar of which only an accomplished knight might tie his horse, he comes to the stream on whose banks he had previously met the fisher king. seeking for a bridge he meets a damsel on a mule, who, under pretence of showing a way across the river, tries to drown him. he then comes to a castle, which entering he finds untenanted. in the hall stands a chessboard. perceval plays, is beaten, seizes the board and makes as if to throw it in the moat. hereupon a damsel rises from the water to stay his hand, and coming into the room reproaches him. overcome by her beauty he asks her favours. she will grant them if he bring the head of the stag which roams in the castle park. thereto she lends him her hound, bidding him be sure he return it. the hunt follows; perceval overtakes the stag, slays it, and cutting off its head prepares to bring it back, when a maid of ill-chance (_pucelle de malaire_) takes and carries it off. perceval claiming it is reproached by her for having slain her stag, but told he may win again the hound if he go to a mound whereon a knight is painted and say, "vassal, what doest thou here?" the combat with the knight of the tomb follows, during which hound and stag's head are carried off by another knight, whom perceval can only follow when he has overcome the knight of the tomb and driven him back therein. now this knight, hight the black knight, had dwelt there summer and winter five years, striving with all-comers for the sake of his love. perceval, following up the robber knight, meets the damsel who had carried off the hound, but she only mocks him for answer to his questions. ( ) after an adventure with a discourteous knight, perceval meets at length a brother of the red knight whom he had formerly slain, who tells him he had seen the daughter of the fisher king, and she had told him of a knight who had carried off a hound and stag's head belonging to a good knight who had been at her court, and had omitted to ask concerning the grail, for which reason she had taken his hound and refused him help to follow the robber knight. ( ) perceval is directed by the red knight's brother to the fisher king's castle, but misses his way, and after an adventure at a castle, where he slays a lion, overcomes abrioris and sends him to arthur; finds a damsel mourning over a knight slain by a giant, whom he kills, achieves the feat of the ford amorous, meets and fights with gauvain's son until they learn who each other is, and at length comes to belrepaire. ( ) at first unrecognised by blanchefleur he makes himself known, stays with her three days, and then rides off, in spite of her entreaties. ( ) he meets rosette (the loathly damsel) and le biaus mauvais, laughs at the former, is challenged by the latter, whom he overcomes and sends to arthur. ( ) he comes to his mother's house, enters without making himself known, learns from his sister that his mother died at his departure ten years before, tells her who he is, and both set forth to their uncle, the hermit. on the way perceval slays a knight who offers violence to his sister. they come to their uncle, sleep there, and on the morrow perceval reveals himself, confesses, is reproved for having slain the knight the day before. perceval, after mentioning his desire to learn more concerning lance, grail, and sword, and receiving good advice from the hermit, leaves with his sister, with whom he stays three days and then quits her, despite her piteous entreaties. ( _a_) perceval comes to the castle of maidens, where he falls untimely asleep, and on the morrow finds himself in the forest, far from any castle. ( ) perceval finds the damsel who had carried off the hound, fights with her knight, garalas, overcomes him, learns that the knight of the tomb is his brother, who had lived for ten years with a fay in a magic invisible castle, and had met no one to overcome him until perceval came. perceval sends both knight and damsel to arthur. ( ) perceval meets with a white mule led by a damsel; he joins her, although she entreats him not to do so. suddenly struck by a great light in the forest, he turns to ask his companion what it might mean, but finds her gone. a violent storm comes on. the morrow he meets the damsel with the mule, who had felt no storm. she tells him about the great light: it came from the "gréaus," which was given by the king of kings as he hung on the cross; the devil may not lead astray any man on the same day he sees it, therefore the king has it carried about. perceval asks further, but is told only a holy man may speak of these mysteries. perceval relates his adventure with the lady of the chessboard, and the damsel gives him the white mule, which will lead to her castle, together with a ring giving the possessor power over the mule. he is to give both back when he meets her. ( ) the mule brings perceval across a river, over a glass bridge, on the other side of which he meets with brios, who persuades him to join in a tournament held by arthur at the castel orguellous, as he must win the prize of knighthood before coming to the castle of the fisher king. perceval leaves stag's head and hound at brios' castle, carries off the prize at the tournament, remaining unknown. ( ) proceeding thence he frees a knight imprisoned beneath a tombstone, who, in return, shuts him up in the tomb, but, being unable to make the mule go forward, is obliged to release him, and returns to his prison, telling perceval he knows him for the best knight in the world. ( ) perceval meets the damsel of the mule, to whom he returns ring and mule, and who asks him if he has been at the fisher king's court; on his saying, no, she hurries off. perceval prays god to direct him to the castle of the chessboard. a voice tells him to follow the hound; he does so, reaches the castle, is greeted by the maiden, to whom he gives stag's head and hound, and who in return tells him concerning the chessboard which _morghe la fée_ had had made at london, on the thames, and grants him her favours as she had promised. on the morrow perceval rides forth, accompanied awhile by the damsel, who will show him his onward way. ( ) they come to a river, on which is a boat tied to an oak tree. perceval is to enter it, cross the river, and on the other side he will find a road leading to the fisher king. on his way perceval releases a knight whom he finds hanging by his feet from a tree; 'tis bagommedes whom keie had treated thus, and who returns to arthur's court, challenges keie, and is only hindered by arthur from slaying him. all arthur's knights then start forth for the mont dolorous and in search of perceval. the adventures of gauvain alone are related in detail until the tale returns to perceval. ( ) after freeing bagommedes, perceval, wandering in the woods, comes to a tree, in whose branches sits a child, who can tell nothing of the fisher king, but tells perceval he will come on the morrow to the mont dolorous. this he does, and binds his horse to the pillar. a damsel on a white mule tells him of arthur's birth, and how merlin had made castle and pillar to prove who should be the best of knights. she was merlin's daughter. ( ) perceval rides on, and towards evening sees afar off a tree upon which burn many lights; as he draws near he finds only a chapel, upon the altar of which lies a dead knight. a great and sudden light is followed by the appearance of a black hand, which puts out the candle on the altar. on the morrow he meets first a huntsman, who tells him he is near the castle, then a damsel, who explains the child in the tree, the chapel, and the black hand as having connection with the holy grail and the lance. ( ) perceval comes at last to the castle of the fisher king, whom he finds on a couch as heretofore. he tells him his adventures, and asks concerning the child on the tree, the tree full of lights, and the chapel with the dead knight. meanwhile a damsel enters a hall bearing the grail, another follows with the bleeding lance, then comes a squire with a sword broken in two. again perceval puts his questions, and will not eat until they are answered. first, he is told of the child which would not speak to him on account of his many sins, and which climbed ever upwards to show man's thoughts should be raised to the creator. before learning aught further perceval is to try and weld the broken sword together; none but a true knight lover of god, and of god's spouse, holy church, may accomplish it. perceval succeeds, save that a little crack still remains. the fisher king embraces him and hails him as lord of his house. here the section which goes under the name of gautier ends. [a portion of gautier's section of the conte du graal is found in the berne ms., partly edited, partly summarised, by rochat in his work, _ein unbekannter percheval li gallois_ (_vide_ _infra_ p. ). this version offers some remarkable peculiarities. it has a short introduction of thirteen lines; then follows line , of gautier in potvin's text (mons ms.). an incident follows, omitted in the mons ms., but found in montpellier and in paris, : perceval meets a huntsman who upbraids him for having been at the fisher king's court, and failed to ask about grail and bleeding lance. then follow incidents , ( is absent so far as one can judge from rochat's summary), to (in which perceval does not apparently send garalas and his love to arthur), and to end, the following finish being then tacked on: the fisher king is father to alain le gros, husband to enigeus, sister to that joseph who, when christ's body was taken down from the cross, had it from pilate as a reward for his services. joseph had the vessel prepared to catch in it the blood from the body; it was the same jesus had made the sacrament in on the thursday before. the fisher king dies on the third day and perceval reigns in his stead.][ ] the conte du graal is continued by-- (_c_) manessier.--( ) perceval, full of joy, sits down to table; after the meal, lance, grail, and a goodly silver dish pass before the royal table away into the next room. perceval, sighing, asks concerning these objects and the maidens bearing them. ( ) the king tells as follows: the lance is that wherewith longis pierced god's side that day he hung on the cross (montpellier ms.: when longis withdrew the spear the blood ran down to feet, so that joseph of barimacie turned black from sorrow, and he collected the blood in the holy vessel). on perceval's asking further, the grail is the vessel wherein the holy precious blood of our lord was received. then perceval asks how it came thither; ( ) joseph brought it when he departed from the prison whence he was freed by vespasian. he baptized forty of his friends, and wandered forth with them till they came to sarras, where, as the tale tells, they found the king in the temple of the sun. joseph helped the king against his enemies by means of a red cross which he fixed on the king's shield. evelac, such was the king's name, won the battle thereby, was baptized, and renamed noodrans. it went so likewise with his brother-in-law, salafrès, renamed natiien. joseph departed thence, ever bearing the grail with him, till at length he came hither, converted the land, and i, of his seed, am keeping manor and grail, the which shall never dwell elsewhere, god willing. (montpellier ms. merely says, how joseph was put into a dark prison, and kept there forty years, but the lord sent him the sweetness of the grail twice or thrice a day. tiberius and vespasian deliver him and bring him to rome, whence he carries away the lance.) ( ) to perceval's questions concerning the damsels: the grail-bearer is of royal blood, and pure maid, or god might not let her hold it, she is my child; the dish-bearer is also of high lineage, daughter to king goon desert. ( ) the king would then go to sleep, but perceval would know about the broken sword: in quiquagrant dwelt goon desert, the king's brother. besieged by espinogre he made a sally and slew him. espinogre's nephew swore revenge; donning the armour of a knight of goon desert, he slew him, but the sword broke when the traitrous blow was struck. goon desert's body was brought to his brother's castle, whither came, too, his daughter with the broken sword, foretelling that a knight should come, rejoin the pieces, and avenge the foul blow. the fisher king taking up the fragments incautiously was pierced through the thigh, and the wound might not be healed until his brother's death was avenged. the murderer's name is partiniaus, lord of the red tower. perceval vows to avenge this wrong, but first, despite the king's strong hints that it is bed-time, must learn ( ) about the candles on the trees, how they are fay trees, and the lights deceiving ones, but they might not deceive perceval, he being destined to achieve the wonders of the earth, and he has put an end to this illusion; ( ) how the black hand haunted a chapel wherein pinogres had slain his mother, and over four thousand knights had been slain by it. ( ) perceval starting on the morrow in search of partinal meets with saigremors, and with him delivers a damsel from ten robber knights. perceval, wounded, stays a month at the damsel's castle, and ( ) the story tells for some fifteen hundred verses ( , - , ) of saigremors; how he pursues the robber knights, comes to the castle of maidens, delivers the dame thereof from a knight, calides, who wars upon her, and afterwards delivers another maiden, to whom two knights were offering violence; ( ) then, for over two thousand verses of gauvain; how he prepares to set forth again in search of the fisher king; how a maiden comes to him whose brother had been slain in his service, reproaches gauvain for his conduct at the fisher king's castle, and carries him off; how he saves a maid going to be burnt; how after other adventures he slays king margon, returns to arthur's court, fights with kex to avenge the brother of the damsel, etc. ( ) meanwhile perceval, leaving the damsel who has tended him right well, rides forth into a wood, where he is overtaken by a great storm of thunder and hail, after which he comes to the chapel where lies the body of the knight slain by the black hand. perceval strives with the devil to whom this belongs, overcomes, and with the help of a hermit who tells him the tale of all the knights who had fallen there, buries the body. he then confesses to the hermit, who warns him not to think of acquiring fame, but rather to save his soul. ( ) perceval, riding forth on the morrow, is met by the devil, who throws him from his horse; he finds another, mounts it, but coming to a stream luckily crosses himself, when it disappears; it was the devil. ( ) a damsel passes by with a bark, wherein perceval mounts; she minds him of blanchefleur, and desire masters him, but again he crosses himself in time, and ship and damsel vanish. ( ) a hermit comes who instructs him concerning all these things, brings him where he finds a fresh steed, and to a fair castle. perceval overcomes a knight who would bar his passing, delivers the lady love of dodinel from a felon knight; is appealed to for help by a damsel of blanchefleur's, oppressed by arides of cavalon. ( ) setting off to the succour of his lady love, his horse falls lame, he comes to a smith who tells him his name is tribuet, the forger of the broken sword. tribuet makes the sword whole, and bids perceval guard it well, never had king or conqueror a better one. ( ) perceval reaches bel repaire, overcomes arides, whom he sends to arthur's court, bidding him announce his own arrival for whitsuntide. he then quits blanchefleur, and ( ) meets with the coward knight, who will not fight even when he sees two damsels carried off by ten knights. perceval attacks the ravishers, the coward knight is drawn into the struggle, and quits himself valiantly. the rescued damsels bring the knights to their castle, where perceval, sore wounded, remains for two months. ( ) meanwhile saigremors has announced perceval's arrival at camelot. whitsuntide passing, all the knights set forth in search of him, and, amongst others, boort; he meets his brother lyonel led, bound and naked, by six knights, who scourge him, and at the same moment he hears the plaint of a maid to whom a knight is doing violence. her he succours, then hurries after his brother, whom, meanwhile, gauvain has rescued. lyonel bitterly reproaches his brother for abandoning him, and falls upon him, sword in hand; boort offers no defence, and would be slain but for a passing knight, calogrinant, who pays for his interference with his life. finally, heavenly intervention appeases lyonel. calogrinant is buried by a hermit. ( ) perceval, healed, leaves the castle together with the coward knight, is present with him at a tournament, at which he distinguishes himself above all others, leaves his companion, to whom he gives the name le hardis, and ( ) meets hector, who challenges him. the two fight, and well-nigh kill each other. to them, lying on the field of combat, appears an angel with the grail, and makes them whole. ( ) perceval rides on to partinal's castle, before which stands a fir tree whereon hangs a shield. perceval throws this down, whereupon partinal appears and a desperate combat ensues, ended by the overthrow of partinal, and, as he will submit to no conditions, his death. perceval cuts off his head and makes for the grail castle, but only after a summer's seeking, lights upon it chancewise. ( ) as he nears the castle, the warders come to the king, telling him a knight is coming with a head hanging at his saddle-bow; hereupon the king leaps to his feet and is straightway made whole. partinal's head is stuck on a pike on the highest tower of the castle. after supper, at which the same mystic procession of talismans takes place as heretofore, the king learns perceval's name, and thereby finds that he is his own sister's son. he would hand him his crown, but perceval has vowed not to take it, his uncle living. ( ) he returns to arthur's court, overcoming on the way seven knights, and tells his adventures, which arthur has written down and kept in a box at salisbury. the grail damsel appears and tells perceval his uncle is dead. perceval goes to corbière accompanied by all the court, who assist at his crowning and remain with him a month, during which time the grail feeds all with the costliest foods. he marries his cousins, the two grail-bearers, to two valiant kings, and reigns in peace for seven years. ( ) after which time he follows a hermit into the wilderness, accompanied by grail, lance, and holy dish. he serves the lord for ten years, and, when he dies, grail, lance, and dish were doubtless carried up to heaven, for since that day no man saw them. (_d_) gerbert.--(according to birch hirschfeld interpolated between gautier and manessier, and joining on therefore to the last incident in gautier.)[ ] ( ) perceval's sin in having indirectly caused the death of his mother disables him from making whole the broken sword, and he must set forth again in search of the grail. in the night he dreams a danger threatens his sister, and on the morrow he wakes up in open field, the grail castle having vanished. ( ) he comes to a fair castle in the midst of a meadow, and, finding the door shut, knocks at it with his sword till the latter breaks. an old man appears, and tells him the broken sword will cost him seven years more wanderings until he come again to the grail castle. all he can do for perceval is to give him a letter which heals the wounded and makes the wearer invincible. ( ) perceval riding thence through country that the day before was waste and folkless, finds it now well cultivated and peopled; all press round him and bless him for the change wrought by his asking concerning the grail. ( ) he comes to a castle wherein is a forge guarded by two serpents, and on it was a sword forged for a year, and it might not be broken, save in a certain danger, or mended save at the same forge. perceval, after resisting the devil in the shape of a fair maid, attacks and overcomes the two serpents, and has his sword mended by the blacksmith, who tells him how he broke it at the gate of paradise. ( ) after making whole by his letter two knights of the round table who had lost their wits in castle dolorous, perceval comes to carlion, to arthur's court, and accomplishes the adventure of the perillous seat which a fairy had sent to arthur. only the destined grail-finder might sit in it. six knights who had previously essayed the feat had been swallowed up by the earth; they reappear when perceval is successful. ( ) perceval is called away from the court by a forsaken damsel, whose false lover he compels to marry her; then, after overcoming fresh temptation in damsel-shape, he comes to his sister's castle, overcomes her adversary, who turns out to be mordret, and reaches the castle of maidens, where he is healed of his wounds by the lady of the castle, his cousin. she tells him of his mother, philosofine, and how the grail was taken from the ken of man owing to the sinfulness of the world. perceval leaves his sister in this castle where dames are chaste and damsels maids. ( ) returning to court, whither mordret had preceded him in sorry plight, perceval is mocked at by kex, whom he overcomes, and afterwards meets gauvain and tristan. ( ) leaving the court, he meets with four knights carrying their father, mortally wounded, accompanies them to their castle, recognises in the wounded knight, gornumant, who had knighted him, swears to avenge him, tells all that has befallen himself, and learns that the cause of his successive failures is his forsaking his betrothed, blanchefleur, whom he knows to be gornumant's niece. he is told that if he listen heedfully to mass and marry the damsel all will be well, and he will learn the secrets of lance and grail. but first perceval overcomes a hideous hag, who by night brings to life gornumant's enemies slain during the day. she has a potion, whereof christ made use in the sepulchre, and with it she quickens the dead. she recognizes perceval and acknowledges him as her conqueror, yet while she lives he shall know nought of the grail; she works by order of the king of the waste city, who hates all christian folk. perceval tries the virtue of the potion on the most valiant of his enemies, with whom he engages in a fresh and desperate struggle, heals gornumant with it, and sets off to marry blanchefleur, as he is wishful to live cleanly and fly deadly sin. ( ) she is overjoyed at his arrival; preparations are made for the marriage; the night before, she comes to his bedside in smock and mantle, and they pass the night side by side, but with the sheet between them. the wedding follows, and then, fearful of losing the heavenly joy for sake of carnal longing, they resolve to resist the devil and live virgin-wise, for virginity surpasseth aught else, even as the topaz does crystal. perceval, in a dream, is assured that of his seed shall be the swan knight and the deliverer of the holy sepulchre. meanwhile he is still to search after lance and grail. ( ) on the morrow he quits blanchefleur, "maid she laid her to bed, maid she arose;" frees a maiden pursued by a brutal knight; ( ) comes to a castle where the wayfarer must first fight against four knights and then against the lord of the castle; does away with this custom; ( ) comes to cross roads, whereof one is safe and easy, the other adventurous and full of danger; meets a knight all on fire; sees two hermits, one kneeling at a cross, the other scourging it; then a wonderful beast, a doe followed by fawns, which assail and devour her; ( ) is presented at a hermit's with a shield none but the grail-winner may wear, after which the table heretofore meanly spread is covered with rich fare, and learns the meaning of the mystic scenes he has witnessed. ( ) he is summoned by a damsel, who tells him of the dragon king, lord of a heathen folk dwelling in mid-sea, possessor of a shield whereon is painted a dragon that belches forth flame. perceval sets forth to attack him, resists the devil who dwells in the dragon head, thanks to his miraculous shield whereon the cross is painted, and forces him to flee; continues the fight against the dragon knight without his shield, and slays him, but not till he has repented him of his sins. ( ) meanwhile a thief has made off with the shield, in pursuing whom perceval comes to an abbey, where he learns the story of joseph of arimathea. some forty years after the crucifixion lived a heathen king, evelac, in sarras, wherefrom the saracens have their name, sore pressed by tholomes, king of syria. but joseph of barimaschie, who had been five years in pilate's service, comes to him, and with him his brother-in-law, seraphe; he promised the king victory if he would let himself be baptized. the king consented, and received the name of mordrach. joseph then came to this land, and with him sixty folk and two fair ladies, whereof the one, philosophine, bore a plate, the other an ever-bleeding lance, whilst joseph had a vessel, never saw man a fairer one. but king crudel flung joseph and his companions into prison, where they dwelt forty days, but it harmed them not, as through the holy grail they were filled with great plenty and had every wish fulfilled. now, mordrains, learning this, brought together a great host, invaded king crudel's lands, attacked and slew him. mordrains, disarming, was found to be covered with wounds, none of which he had felt. on the morrow joseph put up a table, altar-wise, and thereon laid the grail, which mordrains seeing, pressed near to. but an angel with a fiery sword kept him back, and a voice assured him he had laid such a burden on his shoulders as he might not pass away, nor would his wounds be healed until should come the true knight, loved of christ, sinless, and in his arms he, mordrains, should die. and till then the host should be his only food. since then three hundred years have passed, and the monks have heard that the knight is in the land who shall ask concerning lance and grail, and thereby heal the king. ( ) perceval leaves on the morrow and comes to a castle wherein is a coffin, brought thereto in a boat drawn by a swan; none save the best knight in the world may open it. all have tried, even gauvain, and failed. perceval succeeds, and finds in the coffin the body of a knight, former lord of the castle, and a letter setting forth that he who should open the coffin was his murderer. perceval, attacked in consequence by the dead man's sons, defends himself by making a buttress of the youngest son's body. afterwards he overcomes the folk of the castle, and delivers gauvain, held prisoner therein. ( ) perceval, after confessing his sins to a hermit, has an adventure with the devil, who comes out of a tomb, but whom he forces back therein. ( ) he then succours a maiden whom her jealous lover has thrown into a fountain; ( ) punishes a damsel who tempts him in traitrous-wise; ( ) meets with and is sore pressed by a giant, whom he overcomes; ( ) has a fresh and victorious encounter with kex, and, finally, ( ) arrives at crossways, is directed by the cross to the fisher king's court, reaches it, asks straightway for the grail, is questioned by the king and relates his allegorical adventures. at table the grail appears, followed by lance and sword. perceval pieces together the sword, and the king, full of joy, embraces him. =wolfram von eschenbach's parzival.=--gahmuret, parzival's father, goes to the east, takes service with baruc, wins the love of the heathen queen belakane, but after remaining with her a short time forsakes her, promising to return if she become christian. she bears a son, and names him feirefiz. gahmuret by his prowess at a tournament wins the love of herzeloyde, whom he marries on condition he may go a tourneying every month. hearing his old lord baruc is in danger, he hastens to his aid, and is slain. herzeloyde on receipt of the news resolves to withdraw to the wilderness, and bring up her son in ignorance of knighthood. [from this point up to and including the adventure with orgeuilleuse, where chrestien's share of the conte du graal breaks off, wolfram agrees very closely with chrestien. it has been much debated in germany whether he really had any other model but chrestien, and whether his alleged model kyot be not a feigned source to justify his departure from the story as found in the conte du graal. a brief outline of the arguments for and against this view will be found in appendix a. the chief points of difference in the portion common to the two poets are: the more important position in the narrative assigned to perceval's cousin, whom wolfram names sigune, who is fed from the grail by the grail messenger, the loathly damsel, and about whose loves with schianatulander wolfram has left fragments of another poem, titurel. parzival meets her immediately after his adventure with the lady of the tent. parzival's love is named condwiramur. on the first night of their marriage he leaves her maid (as in gerbert's version). but the most important peculiarity of wolfram's poem is his account of the grail itself, a stone which yields all manner of food and drink, the power of which is sustained by a dove, which every week lays a host upon it, given, after the fall of the rebel angels, in charge to titurel and his dynasty, by them preserved in the grail castle, montsalvatch, guarded by a sacred order of knighthood whom it chooses itself. the knights are vowed to virginity, the king alone being allowed marriage. the cause of the maimed king's (amfortas) hurt is his having taken up arms in the cause of worldly and unlawful love. when parzival leaves the grail castle after the first visit, he is mocked at by the inmates for having omitted the question. more stress is laid on the broken sword, connected with which is a magic spell parzival must master before he can become lord of the grail castle. the "loathly damsel," kundrie, is also a much more important person with wolfram than with chrestien, and she is brought into contact with parzival's cousin, sigune. parzival's love for his wife is dwelt upon at length, and he is urged by the hermit rather to rejoin her than to seek the grail.] after the adventure with orgueilleuse, wolfram continues as follows:--the lord of the magic castle, wherein are kept prisoners arthur's mother and the other queens, is clinschor, nephew of virgilius of naples, who took to magic after his unmanning at the hands of king ibert, whose wife, iblis, he loved. gawain overcomes the magician, and, both unknowing, fights with parzival. the latter, after many lesser adventures, meets his half-brother feirefiz, and sustains with him the hardest of all his fights. at length recognition is brought about, the two embrace, and repair to arthur's court. cundrie nears once more, tells parzival he has been chosen grail king, that his wife and twin sons, loherangrin and kardeiz, have been summoned to the grail castle, and that the question will now free amfortas and his land. with cundrie and feirefiz, parzival rides to the grail castle, meets his wife, together they all behold the talismans, save feirefiz, to whom as a heathen the sight of the grail is denied. but he is baptised, weds repanse de schoie, the grail damsel, the two return to india, and from them is born prester john. parzival rules over his grail kingdom. of his son loherangrin it is told how he is led to the aid of the duchess of brabant by a swan, how he marries her on condition she inquire not as to his origin, and how, on her breaking the command, the swan carries him away from her. =heinrich von dem türlin.=--_the gawain episodes of diu crône._--the parallelism of heinrich's poem with those of wolfram and chrestien begins about verse , with an adventure of gawain's corresponding to inc. in chrestien (tournament for the hand of tiebaut of tingaguel's daughter, episode of the two sisters, combat with melians de lis). in heinrich the father is named leigamar, the eldest daughter fursensephin, (fleur sans epine ?), the youngest quebelepluz, where heinrich has taken a french phrase setting forth the greater fairness of the damsel for a proper name. inc. in chrestien then follows with these differences: the name of the castle is karamphi; gawain and the facile damsel are surprised by the latter's brother, and it is her father who, to avenge the wrong done his house, makes gawain swear that within a year he will either seek out the grail or return as prisoner to karamphi. chrestien's inc. is of course missing, the story going straight on to inc. , meeting with the wounded knight (here lohenis) and his lady love emblie, who by treachery deprive gawain of his steed; then the arrival at the castle of wonders, and the night passed in the enchanted bed, where the hero is overwhelmed with crossbolts shot at him by invisible foes. the plucking of the flower from the enchanted garden at the bidding of a damsel (orgueilleuse in chrestien and wolfram, here mancipicelle), and the meeting with and challenge by giremelanz follow. arthur's court comes to the castle of wonders to witness the combat. gawain and giremelanz are reconciled, the latter marries gawain's sister, and gawain himself sets off to search for the grail. [adventures then follow which correspond to nothing in chrestien or wolfram, in which gawain wins talismans destined to aid him in his search.] gawain sets forth on his quest accompanied by kay, lancelot, and calocreant. they part at crossways. gawain comes to the sister of the magician (anonymous in chrestien, klinschor in wolfram, here gansguoter) of the castle of wonders. she bids him take heed, if he wish to see the grail, he be not overcome by sleep, and for this that he drink not overmuch; as soon as he saw it and its accompanying damsels, he was to ask about it. if he neglected this, all his past and any future toil would be useless. on his way to the grail castle, the hero meets with all sorts of dangers, and obstacles, and wonders; amongst others, passing the night in a castle where he is tended by invisible hands. after month-long wanderings he meets with lancelot and calocreant, and learns that kay, in a vain attempt to penetrate to the grail, has been flung into prison. the three comrades then come to the grail castle. they are led into a hall which passes in splendour aught earthly eye ever saw. the floor is strewn with roses, on a bed lies an old man in gold-embroidered garments, and watches two youths playing at chess. towards night the hall fills with knights and dames, a youth enters bearing a sword which he lays before the old man. gawain is pressed to drink; but refuses, not so his two companions, who straightway fall asleep. then enter two damsels bearing lights, followed by two knights with a spear, and two more damsels with a "toblier" (? tailleor, plate) of gold and jewels. after them comes the fairest woman ever god created, and with her a maiden weeping. the spear is laid on the table, by it the "toblier" wherein are three drops of blood. in the box borne by the fair lady is a piece of bread, one third part of which she breaks off and gives to the old man. gawain recognising in her gansguoter's sister, stays no longer, but asks what these wonders mean. straightway knights and dames all with mighty shout leap from table, and great joy arises. the old man says what he has seen is the grail; none saw it before save parzival, and he asked not. by his question gawain has delivered from long waiting and suffering both those which are dead and those which live. the old man himself and his companions are really dead, though they seem it not, but the lady and her damsels are living; for their unstained womanhood god has granted them to have the grail, and therewith yearly to feed the old man. all gawain's adventures latterly have come from the grail. now he has ended all, he is to take as prize of his knighthood the sword which will help him in every danger. after him no man shall see the grail; further concerning it he must not ask, nor may know more. at daybreak the old man's tale ends, and he with his whole court vanish, leaving only the lady with her five damsels. [after releasing kay, and undergoing other adventures, gawain returns to arthur's court.] =the petit saint graal or didot-perceval.=[ ]--_prologue._--after the choosing of arthur to be king, merlin comes to the court, and tells how arthur is uther-pendragon's son, brought up by antor as his son. all rejoice at this, especially gauvain, son of lot. after dinner the barons bring merlin to arthur, and tell him how he was the prophet of uther-pendragon, and had made the round table. arthur promises to honour merlin. the latter calls him apart with gauvain and key, and tells him how, in the time of uther-pendragon, the round table was made after the pattern of one joseph constructed when he separated the good from the evil. two kings of britain before had been kings of france, and conquered rome; queen sibyl and solomon had prophesied arthur should be third, and he, merlin, was the third to assure him of it. but this could only be if arthur established the round table as merlin directed. now the grail had been given joseph by our lord himself, and at his command joseph led a great folk into the desert. and when evil befell them joseph, at our lord's command, made a table; whereat one place was left empty in remembrance of judas. but moyses, a false disciple, sat therein, but sank into the abyss, whereout he shall not come until the time of antichrist. our lord made the first table; joseph, the second; he, merlin, the third. the grail was given into the keeping of the rich fisher king; but he was old, full of sickness, and should not win health till a knight came, having sat at the round table, true man of god and of holy church, and the best knight in the world for feats of arms. he must ask the rich fisher of what use is the grail; then the king would be cured of his infirmity, the enchantments of britain would cease, and the prophecy be fulfilled. should arthur do this, great good would come of it; he, merlin, must go, as he could not often show himself to the people. whereupon he departs to ortoberland, to blaise, his master, who writes down these things, and by his writings we know them. the son of alein le gros is a child named percevaux, and as alein is dying he hears the voice of the holy ghost saying, know thou art near thy end, and wilt soon come into the fellowship of jesus christ. brons, thy father, dwells in these isles of ireland, and with him is the grail. and he may not die until thy son finds him, to whom he shall commend the grace of the vessel, and teach the secret words joseph taught him, then shall he be cured of his infirmities. and i command thy son that he go to the court of arthur, where he shall be taught how he may find the house of his grandfather. alein dies, and percevaux mounts his horse and comes to arthur's court, and asks arms from him, and stays there and is much loved. ( ) arthur proposes holding a tournament at easter, the greatest the world had seen, to honour the round table. perceval at first takes no part in the tournament; but afterwards, for love of aleine, niece of gauvain, who incites him thereto, and sends him a suit of red armour, he enters the lists unknown, and overbears all opponents, so that all say he should fill the empty place at the round table. perceval claims the empty place from the king, and when refused threatens to return to his land and never visit the court again. arthur yields, and perceval seats himself. then the rocks and the earth groan dolorously, and a voice reproaches arthur with having disobeyed merlin's command. were it not the goodness of alein le gros perceval had died the death of moys. now should arthur know the vessel our lord gave joseph was in the keeping of the rich fisher, and he was ill and infirm, and until the best knight in the world should come might not die. and when that knight should come to the rich fisher and ask concerning the vessel, then should he be cured, but die within three days after giving the vessel to that knight, and teaching him the secret words handed down by joseph. thus the enchantments of britain should cease. ( ) perceval swears not to lie one night where he had lain the night before till he find the rich fisher. gauvain, sagremors, beduers, hurgains, and erec swear the same. the knights set forth amid general lamentation. they part at a chapel, and the story follows perceval. ( ) he comes, after two days, upon a damsel weeping over a knight, hurganet, one of the round table, who had gone forth on the grail quest. he had delivered her from a giant, and ridden with her into a tent where they found knights and ladies, who warned them not to await the owner, the "orgoillos delandes," who would kill him. and whilst speaking a dwarf entered, scourge in hand, who threw down the tent. the lord of the tent then appeared, clad in red armour, and slew hurganet. perceval determines to avenge his death; rides to the tent with the damsel; is warned of its inmates; is surprised by the dwarf, who smites the damsel with his scourge, whereupon perceval fells him to the ground. the knight of the tent appears; after a desperate struggle perceval overcomes him and sends him with the damsel to arthur's court. she had fain stayed with him, but he thought of other things. ( ) perceval comes to the finest castle in the world, enters, and finds no inhabitant. only a chessboard he finds. he begins to move the pieces, and they play against him, and he is checkmated three times running. full of anger he prepares to throw the chessmen into the castle moat--suddenly a damsel shows herself and reproaches him. he will abstain if she comes to him. she consents, and after her squires and maidens have disarmed perceval he joins her. overcome by her beauty he requests her love. she will grant it him if he capture the white stag of the wood. she lends him her hound, and recommends him to take the utmost care of it. perceval chases the stag, captures it, and, having cut off its head, starts back. but meanwhile an old woman has carried off the hound. she will only give it up if perceval will go to a grave whereunder is a knight painted, and say: "felon, he that put you there." perceval complies; whereupon appears a knight on a black horse armed in black. they strive, and perceval overcomes him. but meantime a second knight has carried off both the stag's head and the hound from the old woman. perceval's adversary flees to the tomb, which closes upon him, and perceval follows the second knight after a vain attempt to get help from the old woman. ( ) him he found not; but after feats longer than i can tell, comes to his father's house, where he was born. he only finds his sister and a niece. the former tells him concerning her brother, who went to arthur's court; whereupon their mother died of grief. perceval reveals himself, and is amazed at what she relates concerning the grail and its guardian, and asks if he may come to behold it. she answers, yes; whereupon he vows not to rest till he have found it. she attempts to dissuade him, but he remains firm. she then urges him to go to their uncle, who is a hermit, to whom he may confess the sin of his mother's death, and who will advise him concerning the quest. ( ) both proceed thither. he rejoices to see them, and asks if perceval has been to the house of his father, guardian of the vessel named grail, and, on hearing that he has not, tells him how at the table which joseph and himself had made, the voice of the holy ghost had come to them, telling them to go westward, and ordering the rich fisher, his father, to come to that land where the sun goes down (_avaloit_), telling him he should not die till the son of alein had become the best knight in the world. perceval had been chosen to do his lord's service; he is to slay no knight nor to lie with any woman, that being luxurious sin. his sins have prevented his reaching brons. he is to be careful to keep himself from sin and felony, being of a race our lord so loved that he committed his blood to their keeping. much else he says, and on the morrow perceval and his sister ride forth. ( ) they meet a knight who challenges them. perceval, thinking of the damsel who had given him the hound, at first pays no attention, but then overcomes and slays him. perceval is much grieved at having so soon broken his uncle's injunction. on the morrow he leaves his sister, promising to return so soon as he may. ( ) he meets a knight, accompanied by a damsel the most wonderfully ugly nature ever made, whereat he signs himself and laughs. the knight, indignant, challenges him, but is overcome and sent with the damsel to arthur's court. kay makes mock of them; but arthur reproves him and receives them courteously. they remain at the court, and know that she was the most beautiful woman in the world! ( ) perceval comes to a ford and is challenged by its guardian, whom he overcomes. his name is urban of the black thorn; his lady had set him to guard the ford. her castle vanishes with a great noise, and she comes to her lover's aid with her maidens in shape of birds. perceval slays one who becomes a woman, and is carried off by the others to avallon. ( ) perceval comes to a tree at the crossing of four roads, among its branches he sees two naked children of seven years old. they speak to him concerning the grail, and direct him to take the road to the right. they vanish, and a voice tells him to heed their counsel. ( ) perceval comes to a river whereon are three men in a boat, and the master of the boat bids him go down the stream till he should come to his house. perceval rides a whole day without finding it, and curses the fisher. at last he comes to a castle with lowered drawbridge, enters, and is robed in scarlet by two squires. meanwhile four attendants have carried the fisher king, father of alein, and grandfather of perceval, into the hall. the king wished to do perceval what honour he might. they eat, and whilst at table a squire comes out of a chamber, and brings in both hands a lance, whence flows a drop of blood. him follows a damsel bearing two silver plates and clothes; then a squire with a vessel in which was our lord's blood. all bow as he passes, and perceval had fain asked, but he fears to displease the king, minding him of the worthy man to whom he had confessed, and who forbade his speaking too much and enquiring overmuch--for a man of idle words is displeasing to our lord. all night perceval thinks of the lance and of the grail, and in the morning, on waking, finds neither man nor woman. he sets forth to seek some one, but in vain, and is greatly distressed. ( ) he finds a damsel weeping bitterly, who, seeing him, cries out: "percevaux le gallois, be accursed, unhappier art thou than ever, having been in the house of the rich fisher king, and not having asked concerning the grail. thy lord hates thee; and 'tis wonder the earth do not open beneath thee." had he not seen grail and lance pass? had he asked what one did with them, the king, cured of his infirmity, would have returned to his youth; our lord's prophecy to joseph been fulfilled, and the enchantments of britain undone. but perceval is neither wise, valiant, nor true man enough to have charge of the blood. but he shall come again and ask concerning the grail, and his grandfather shall be cured. ( ) the damsel departs, and perceval, unable to find his grandfather's house, rides on and comes to a tree under which a damsel is sitting, and in whose branches the stag's head, which had been carried off from him, is hanging. perceval takes it, and when his hound following a stag comes up, takes possession of it likewise. but the knight who had taken them appears. perceval fights with and overcomes him; learns that he is the brother of the knight of the tomb, who lives therein with his love, sister of the damsel for whose sake perceval had hunted the stag. to her perceval now returns, gives her hound and stag's head, and then departs refusing the offer of her love, even to stop one night with her. ( ) perceval wanders for seven years achieving many feats, and sending more than one hundred knights prisoners to arthur; but, not being able to find his grandfather's house, he falls into such melancholy as to lose his memory, so that he minds him no more of god, and never enters church. one good friday, fully armed, he meets a knight and ladies in penitents' dress, who reproach him for going armed on a day that our lord was crucified. perceval repents; returns to his uncle, the hermit; learns that his sister is dead, and does penitence. the songmen, in their pleasing rhymes, say nothing of this; but we tell you of it as we find it in the tale merlin made blaise write down. ( ) perceval rides forth and meets seven squires of melianz de liz, who is going to a tournament at the white castle, the damsel of which is to be the victor's prize. all the knights of the round table will be there, having returned that whitsuntide from the quest of the grail without achieving aught. perceval leaves the squires and come to a castle where he puts up. his host urges him to take part in the tournament. the morrow they ride forth and look on; melianz wears the scarf of the lady of the castle; he and gauvain prove themselves the best knights, the onlooking ladies know not to whom to award the prize. the next day, perceval, having resolved upon taking part, accepts the scarf of his host's daughter, overcomes all adversaries, and sends steeds to the lady in return for her scarf. being asked by his host if he will not woo the damsel of the white castle, perceval answers he may not take wife. then appears an old man who reproaches perceval for going to a tournament, and with forgetting his vow to sleep no two nights in the same house till the quest be accomplished. he is merlin, come from hortoblande, to say that owing to the prayers of perceval's uncle, our lord wills that the latter may have his blood to keep. he is to go to his grandfather. perceval asks when he shall get there. "before a year," is the answer. "'tis a long time." "not so," says merlin, who leaves him, and tells all to blaise, from whose writing we know of it. ( ) that same night perceval comes to his grandfather's house, is received by the fisher king, and as they sit at table the grail appears, and the relics with it, and when perceval sees it he asks to what use is the vessel put? forthwith the king is cured, and his being changed. perceval must say first who he is before learning such holy things. upon learning it is his grandson before him, the king leads him to the grail, and tells him with this lance longis pierced the side of jesus christ, whom he knew in the flesh. in this vessel is the blood, joseph caught as it ran to the ground. it is called grail because it is agreeable to worthy men; none may sin in its presence. then brons, kneeling, prays, and the voice of the holy ghost tells him the prophecy will be fulfilled; and he is to teach perceval the secret words our lord on the cross told joseph, and joseph told him. he does, but i cannot and may not say what these words were. then angels carry him off; and perceval remains, and the enchantments of britain and of the whole world cease. and that same day arthur and his knights sitting at the round table are aware of a great noise, and the seat is made whole again which had broken under perceval. merlin appears to blaise, tells him his work is ended, and takes him to perceval, who was right glad of his company. _epilogue._--merlin comes to arthur's court and relates all that had taken place. the knights, finding the quest of the grail is over, and mindful of merlin's former words, urge arthur to invade the continent. he does so, overcomes frollo, king of france; refuses tribute to the emperor of rome, overcomes him, but is recalled to england on learning mordret's treachery. the latter is slain; but arthur, wounded mortally, is carried to avallon to be healed of morguen, his sister. lastly, merlin tells perceval how he will withdraw from the world, and be no more seen of men. and the tale says no more of merlin and the grail. =the mabinogi of peredur ab evrawc.=--evrawc, earl of the north, has seven sons, six of whom, like himself, fall in tournaments and combats. his wife carries off her youngest son, peredur, to the desert, and forbids horses or arms being shown to him. he grows up strong and active, and can outrun his mother's goats and hinds. ( ) one day he sees three knights passing--gwalchmai, the son of gwyar, and geneir gwystyl, and owain, the son of urien. his mother declares them to be angels; whereupon he determines to join them. he questions owain concerning his accoutrements and the use of his weapons. his mother swoons away at the thought of his leaving her; but he picks out a horse and saddles it. before leaving, his mother counsels him to repeat his paternoster wherever he sees a church; to take food and drink if none offer them; to aid when any outcry is, especially a woman's; if he sees a fair jewel to take it and give it to another; to pay his court to fair women whether they will or no. ( ) after two days and nights peredur comes to a tent, where he finds a damsel. half of the food and drink she has he takes, half leaves to her; asks her for her ring at leaving, which she gives him. her lord returning, is jealous, and sets forth to avenge his supposed wrong. ( ) peredur journeys on to arthur's court. a knight has been there before him, and grievously insulted gwenhwyvar by dashing a goblet of wine in her face, and carrying the goblet out, and has dared any to avenge the insult; but all hang their heads. peredur enters the hall and demands knighthood. on kai's protesting he is too meanly equipped, a dwarf, who, with his female companion has been a year at arthur's court without speaking, salutes him as the flower of knighthood. kai strikes him for this, and kicks the female dwarf, who repeats the salutation. kai bids peredur seek the knight and win back the goblet, then shall he have knighthood. peredur does so, and slays the knight. owain, who has followed, shows him how to undo the armour and to clad himself in it, and bids him back to arthur. but peredur refuses, he will not come back to the court till he have avenged the injury done by kai to the dwarf and dwarfess. ( ) peredur overcomes sixteen knights and sends them to arthur with the same message. ( ) peredur comes to a castle by a lake, and sees a venerable man sitting by the lake and his attendant fishing, and the old man is lame. and peredur enters the castle, and is practised in the use of weapons, and learns courtesy and noble bearing; and the old man is his uncle--his mother's brother. he is to leave his mother's habits and discourse, and if he sees aught to wonder at, not to ask the meaning of it. ( ) peredur leaves his uncle and comes to a castle where dwells a second uncle of his--brother likewise of his mother. his strength is tested by his having to cut through an iron staple with a sword. twice he does it and the broken pieces re-unite, but the third time neither would unite as before. he has arrived at two-thirds of his strength, and when he attains his full power none will be able to contend with him. whilst talking, two youths enter the hall bearing a mighty spear with three streams of blood flowing from the point to the ground. all wail and lament; but as peredur is not vouchsafed the meaning of what he sees he forbears to ask concerning it. then enter two maidens with a salver in which a man's head swims in blood. the outcry redoubles. peredur retires to sleep. ( ) on the morrow, with his uncle's permission, he rides forth, finds a beautiful woman lamenting over the corpse of a knight. she reveals herself as his foster-sister; calls him accursed for causing his mother's death by leaving her; and tells him it is her husband she mourns for, slain by the knight of the glade. peredur meets the latter, overcomes him, and makes him take his foster-sister in marriage. ( ) peredur comes to a castle where are eighteen youths and five maidens, and he had never seen one of so fair an aspect as the chief of the maidens. a flask of wine and six loaves are brought by two nuns, and that must suffice for all. the youths press the maiden to offer herself to peredur as his wife or lady love. she refuses; but consents when they threaten leaving her to her enemies. she comes weeping to peredur and relates how she is besieged by an earl who seeks her hand. she implores his aid, and offers to place herself in his hands. peredur bids her go sleep, he will assist her, the next day he overthrows the master of the household of the earl. to save his life the latter must deliver up one-third of the besieged maiden's lands. the second day it fares the same with the earl's steward; the third with the earl himself. peredur thus wins back all his hostess' lands, and tarries with her three weeks; but for her love he would not have stayed so long. ( ) peredur next meets the lady of the tent, ill-entreated of her husband concerning him. him he overcomes, compels to acknowledge her innocence, and sends both to arthur. ( ) peredur comes to the castle of a tall and stately lady, who bids him escape from the sorceresses of gloucester, who will attack the castle that night; but he resolves to remain, and defends one of the watch when overtaken by a sorceress. the latter hails him by his name. she foreknows she is to suffer harm from him. if he will go with her he shall learn chivalry and the use of arms. peredur consents on her promising to refrain from injuring the countess, and stays with her three weeks. ( ) peredur comes to a hermit's cell. in the morning it has snowed. a hawk has killed a fowl in front of the cell, but is scared away by peredur's horse; a raven has alighted on the bird. peredur likens the blackness of the raven and the whiteness of the snow and the redness of the blood to the hair and the skin and the two red spots on the cheeks of the lady he loves best. whilst thus lost in thought, arthur and his household come up with him, but fail to recognise him. a youth accosts him, but receives no answer; whereupon he thrusts at peredur but is struck to the ground. twenty-four youths essay the same, and are repulsed in like manner. kai then comes and speaks angrily, but peredur breaks his arms for him. gwalchmai then approaches him courteously, learns his name, and brings him to arthur, who does him honour. thus all return to caerlleon. ( ) peredur solicits the love of angharad law eurawc, and when she denies him, vows to speak to no christian till she loves him. ( ) peredur comes to the castle of a huge grey man, a heathen, after slaying a lion, his porter. the grey man's daughter warns him of her father, and at his request brings his horse and arms to his lodging. peredur overcomes the vassals, and slays the sons of the grey man, and sends the whole household to arthur to be baptized. ( ) peredur slays a serpent lying upon a gold ring, and wins the ring. for a long time he speaks to no christian, and loses colour and aspect through longing for arthur and his lady love. he returns to arthur's court, but none know him, and he suffers kai to thrust him through the thigh without his saying a word. he overcomes many knights, and at length angharad law eurawc confesses her love for him. he remains at arthur's court. ( ) peredur comes to the castle of a huge, black, one-eyed man. the latter's daughter warns him against her father. but peredur stays, overcomes the latter, and learns how he lost his eye. on the mound of mourning is a cairn, in the cairn a serpent with a stone in its tail, the virtue whereof is to give as much gold to the possessor as he may desire. in fighting the serpent he had lost his eye. he directs peredur to the serpent, and is slain by him. peredur refuses the love of the maidens of the castle, and rides forth. ( ) he comes to the palace of the son of the king of the tortures. every day the addanc of the lake slays them. whilst at discourse a charger enters the hall with a corpse in the saddle. they anoint the corpse with warm water and balsam, and it comes to life. the same happens with two other youths. the morrow they ride forth anew against the addanc, refusing peredur, who would go with them; but he follows and finds seated on a mound the fairest lady, who, if he will pledge her his love, will give him a stone by which he may see the addanc and be unseen of it. he promises, and she gives him the stone, telling him to seek her in india. peredur passes through a valley wherein is a flock of white sheep, and one of black, and when they cross the river flowing through the valley they change colour. he learns of their shepherd the way to the addanc's cave, slays it, meets his three companions of the night before, who tell him it was predicted that he should slay the monster, offers them its head, refuses their sister whom they proffer him in marriage; accepts the services of a youth, etlym gleddyv coch, who wishes to become his attendant, and rides forth. ( ) he comes to the court of the countess of achievements, overthrows her three hundred knights; but learning she loves etlym resigns her to him. ( ) peredur, accompanied by etlym, comes to the mound of mourning, slays two out of the three hundred knights he finds guarding the serpent, slays the latter, repays the remaining hundred knights all they have spent, gives etlym the stone and sends him back to his love. ( ) peredur comes to a valley wherein are many coloured tents, lodges with a miller, from whom he borrows food and lodging, and learns that a tournament is forward. he overcomes all the knights present, and sends their horses and arms to the miller as repayment. the empress of the tournament sends for him, he repels her messengers thrice, the fourth time he yields. she reveals herself as the lady who had helped him against the addanc, and she entertains him for fourteen years. ( ) arthur is at caerlleon-upon-usk, with him his knights, and among them peredur. there enters, riding upon a yellow mule, a maiden of hideous aspect. she greets all save peredur, to whom she reproaches his silence at the court of the lame king; had he asked the meaning of the streaming spear and of the other wonders the king would have regained health and the dominions peace--all his misfortunes are due to peredur. she then tells of a castle where are five hundred and seventy knights, each with the lady he loves best--there may fame be acquired; and of a castle on a lofty mountain where a maiden is detained prisoner, whoso should deliver her should attain the summit of the fame of the world. gwalchmai sets forth to release the imprisoned maiden, peredur to enquire the meaning of the bleeding lance. before they leave a knight enters and defies gwalchmai to single combat, for that he had slain his lord by treachery. ( ) gwalchmai meets a knight who directs him to his own castle, where he is welcomed by his sister. the steward of the castle accuses him to the knight of being the slayer of his, the knight's, father. gwalchmai demands a year to acknowledge or deny the accusation. ( ) peredur, who, seeking tidings of the black maiden, but finding none, has wandered over the whole island, meets a priest who chides him for being in armour on good friday. peredur dismounts, asks the priest's blessing, and learns of a castle where he may gain tidings of the castle of wonders. ( ) peredur proceeds thither, and meets the king of the castle, who commends him to his daughter, by whom he is well received. a little yellow page accuses him to the king of winning his daughter's love, and advises that he should be thrown into prison. but the damsel befriends him, and assists him to take part in a tournament, where, for three days, he overthrows all opponents. the king at last recognises him, and offers him his daughter; but he refuses and sets forth for the castle of wonders. ( ) on arriving there he finds the door open, and in the hall a chessboard and chessmen playing by themselves. he favours one side which loses, whereupon he casts the chessboard in the lake. the black maiden comes in and reproaches him--he may find the chessboard again at the castle of ysbidinongyl, where a black man lays waste the dominions of the empress. him peredur overcomes, but spares his life; this the black maiden chides him for, and he slays him; but the black maiden still refuses him access to the empress unless he can slay a stag, swift as the swiftest bird, with one sharp horn in his forehead. she gives him a little dog belonging to the empress which will rouse the stag. with its aid he slays the latter, but a lady, riding by, carries off the dog, and chides him for slaying the stag. he can only win her friendship by going to a cromlech which is in a grove, and challenging to fight three times a man who dwells there. peredur complies, and fights with a black man clad in rusty armour; but when he dismounts his adversary disappears. ( ) peredur, riding on, comes to a castle where sits a lame grey-headed man, and gwalchmai by him. a youth enters the hall and beseeches peredur's friendship--he had been the black maiden who came to arthur's court, and who had chid peredur concerning the chessboard; he was the youth who came with the bloody head in the salver, and the head was that of peredur's cousin slain by the sorceresses of gloucester, who also lamed peredur's uncle, and he, the speaker, was peredur's cousin. peredur seeks aid of arthur, and they start against the sorceresses. one of the latter slays three of arthur's men; whereupon peredur smites her, and she flees, exclaiming this was peredur, who had learnt chivalry of them, their destined slayer. she and all her companions are slain. thus is it related concerning the castle of wonders. =the thornton ms. sir perceval.=--( ) percyvelle is son of percyvelle and acheflour, arthur's sister. his father is slain in a tournament by the red knight whom he had previously overcome in a former tournament. his mother takes to the woods, brings up her son without instruction till he is fifteen years, when she teaches him to pray to god. ( ) he then meets with three knights of arthur's court--ewayne, gawayne, and kay. he takes them for gods. learning that they are knights, he determines to go to arthur's court and become a knight himself, catches a wild horse, and, returning to his mother, announces his attention. she counsels him to be always of measure, to salute knights when he meets them, and at his departure gives him a ring for token. ( ) he sets forth, and finding on his way a house makes himself free of it, eats, drinks, and finding a lady sleeping on a bed takes from her her ring, leaving his mother's in its place. ( ) coming to arthur's hall he rides into it and up to the king so that his mare kisses arthur's forehead. he demands knighthood at arthur's hands, threatening to slay him if refused. arthur sees the likeness to his father, laments over the latter's untimely fate, and recalls that books say the son should avenge the father's bane. percyvelle bids him let be his jangling and dub him knight. whilst sitting down to table the red knight comes in, carries off arthur's cup (five years long had he done so) none daring to hinder him. at the king's lament percyvelle engages to slay the red knight, and bring the cup back if knighthood be granted him. the king promises, percyvelle follows the ravisher, who scorns him, but is slain by a dart flung at him. he captures the knight's steed, and not being able otherwise to remove his armour, and recalling his mother's injunction "out of the iron burn the tree" kindles a fire to burn the body. gawayne, who has followed him, shows him how to unlace the armour; when that is removed percyvelle casts the body into the fire to roast. he refuses to return to arthur, looking upon himself as great a lord as the king, but sends the cup back through gawayne and rides on. ( ) he meets an old witch, mother to the red knight, who addresses him as her son; her he spears and casts into the fire. ( ) he meets ten knights, who flee, taking him for the red knight, but on his raising his vizor the oldest knight, reassured, relates how the red knight bore him and his sons enmity, and how, fifteen years before, he had slain his brother. learning that percyvelle had burnt his enemy, he invites him to his castle. ( ) whilst at meat a messenger comes in from the maiden-land begging help from the lady lufamour against a "sowdane," who would have her to wife. percyvelle starts forth with three of the old knight's sons, whom, however, he sends back each after a mile. meanwhile, the king at carebedd, mourning for percyvelle, receives lufamour's messages, gains from him tidings of percyvelle, and sets forth with his court to follow him. percyvelle, coming to the sowdane's camp, is set upon by the guard, but slays them all, and then lays him down to rest under the castle wall. in the morning lufamour's men make her aware of the slaughter wrought upon her enemies. she perceives percyvelle and sends her chamberlain, hatlayne, to bid him to her chamber. whilst at table together tidings are brought that the enemy have nearly taken the town. percyvelle sallies forth alone and soon leaves not one alive. he is then ware of four knights--arthur, ewayne, gawayne, kay. he pricks against them and gawayne receives his onslaught. they recognise each other, and all proceed to lufamour's castle. the next day the sowdane challenges all comers; percyvelle, dubbed knight by arthur, slays him, and thereafter weds lufamour. ( ) after a year he thinks on his mother's loneliness, and sets forth to seek her. hearing a damsel lamenting in the wood, he finds her bound to a tree, for that a year before, while sleeping, a stranger had robbed her of a ring leaving his own in its stead. now her ring was of a stone of such virtue that neither death nor hurt could come to the wearer. he releases her, overcomes the black knight who had bound her, reconciles them and claims his own ring for the ring he had taken. but the black knight has given it to the lord of the land--a giant. ( ) percyvelle slays the giant, and claims the ring of the porter. the latter tells him how his master, loving a fair lady, had offered her that same ring, but she, exclaiming that he had killed her son, rushed into the forest and was since then bereft of her senses. percyvelle puts on a goat's skin, and after nine days search finds her. a magic drink of the giant's throws her into a three days' sleep, after which, restored to her right mind, she goes home with her son. he afterwards goes to the holy land, and is there slain. =the queste del saint graal.=--[_furnivall's text (f.) has been taken as the basis of the present summary. words and passages not found in the welsh translation (w) are italicised; words or passages found in the welsh translation instead of those in furnivall are in parentheses. the variants from birch-hirschfeld's summary (b. h.) are given in the notes._] ( ) on whitsun eve the companions of the round table being assembled at camelot, a _damsel_ (youth) comes in great haste, asks for lancelot and bids him _from king pelles_ (for the sake of whatever he loved most) accompany her to the forest. notwithstanding guinevere's opposition he does so, and comes to a nunnery where he finds his two cousins, boort and lionel. three nuns then bring galahad, a child the like of whom might scarce be found in the world; one asks lancelot to knight him, he consents, and on the morrow lancelot and his companions return to camelot; his cousins think the child must be lancelot's son, but lancelot answers no word. ( ) at the round table the seat of each knight is marked, but on the seat perillous it is written that _four hundred and fifty-four_ (four hundred and fifty) years have passed since the lord's passion, and that on this whitsun day the seat shall find its master. lancelot covers these words, and, whilst at kay's reminding, the court awaits an adventure before sitting down to meat, a youth tells them of a stone floating on the water. it is a block of red marble, in which sticks a sword, and upon it written that none may draw the sword save the best knight in the world. lancelot declares that the wonders of the holy grail are about to begin, and refuses to essay the adventure; gawain, perceval, and others try, but fail; they then sit down to table served by twelve kings; an old man enters, leading a knight in vermeil armour, whom he proclaims the desired knight, of the seed of david and kin of joseph of arimathea, who shall achieve the adventures of the holy grail. he draws near the seat perillous, on which is now written, "this is galahad's seat," sits himself therein, dismisses the old man, _and bids him greet_, "_my uncle, king pelles, and my grandfather, the rich fisher_."[ ] ( ) great honour is done to the new knight, whom lancelot recognises as his son, and bors and lionel as the youth begot by lancelot upon the daughter _of the fisher king_ (king pelles). the queen is told that the knight is come, and her ladies say he _shall end the wonders of great britain, and through him the maimed king shall be healed_. galahad is then urged by arthur to essay the adventure of the sword, consents, easily draws out the sword, and asks for a shield. ( ) a damsel appears, weeps for lancelot as having lost his place as the best knight in the world, and tells the king from nasciens, the hermit, that on that day he would send the holy grail to feed the companions of the round table. a tournament is ordered, in which galahad is held the best, as he overthrows all save lancelot and perceval. after vespers the court sits down to table, a clap of thunder is heard, followed by the brightest of sunbeams, so that all are as if lighted by the holy ghost. none know whence the light comes, and none has power to say a word. the holy grail enters, covered with white samite, but none may see who carries it; the hall is filled with sweet odours, and as the grail passes along the tables each seat is filled with such meat as each one longs for. then it departs, none may say how, and those can now speak who before could say no word. ( ) all return thanks to god for the grace vouchsafed them, and gawain tells them that heretofore no man had been served with whatever he might desire save _at the maimed king's_ (at the court of king peleur). but they could not behold the grail openly, and gawain declares he will go on quest of it for a year and a day. the knights of the round table make a like vow. arthur is much distressed, as he knows many will die on the quest. the queen and her ladies weep likewise, and propose to join their knights, but an old priest tells them from nasciens, the hermit, that no knight entering on the quest of the holy grail is to have with him his lady or damsel--the quest is no earthly one. on the morrow, at king bandamagus' suggestion, all the questers, galahad first, swear to maintain the quest for a year and a day and longer if need be. after the queen has taken leave of lancelot, and arthur has vainly tried to force a shield on galahad, the questers set off together and pass the first night at vagan's castle. on the morrow they ride forth and separate. ( ) after five days galahad comes to an abbey where he finds king bandamagus and ywain "li aoutres." the abbey contains a shield which no knight save the destined one may take and go unslain or unhurt. king bandamagus would take it, but is overthrown by a white knight; galahad then takes it, and his right to do so is admitted by the white knight, who tells him as follows concerning it:--forty-three years after our lord's passion, joseph of arimathea, who took our lord's body down from the cross,[ ] came to the city sarras, where dwelt king evelac, then a saracen, who was at war with his neighbour, tholomes. josephes, joseph's son, warned evelac against going forth to battle unprepared, and, in answer to the king's questions what he should do, told him of the new law and gospel truth and the saviour's death, and fixed on his shield a cross of sandal. he was to uncover this on the fourth day's fighting, and to call on the lord. when he did so he beheld a bleeding, crucified figure. he won the battle, and on his telling the story his brother-in-law, nasciens, received baptism. the shield then restored to a man his lost hand. evelac was baptized, and guarded the shield in lordly fashion. josephes came with his father to great britain, where king crudel threw them with many other christians into prison. mordrains[ ] and nasciens then invaded great britain, released josephes and remained with him in the land. when josephes was on his deathbed, and evelac asked him for a remembrance, then he bade king mordrains bring his shield, and with the blood streaming from his nose marked on it a cross; this would always remain red, and no knight should with impunity unhang the shield till galahad should come, last of nasciens' line. where nasciens lay buried, there the shield was to be kept. ( ) galahad draws near a tomb in the abbey graveyard, whence issues a voice telling him not to approach and drive it out. but he does so, and a smoke in man's form comes out; on opening the tomb a dead knight's body is found lying therein, this is cast out. these things are a symbol: the hard tombstone signifies the _hard-heartedness of the world_ (the hardship which jesus christ had in this world);[ ] the dead body those dead in sin, and as in christ's time when they slew him and were harried out of their land by vespasian as a punishment; the smoke was a devil who fled from galahad because he was a virgin. ( ) on the morrow galahad rides forth accompanied by melians, a youth who had begged to be allowed to serve him, and whom he had knighted. they separate at a cross road, melians takes the left hand road in spite of warning, comes to a tent where hangs a golden crown, seizes it, meets a strange knight who overthrows and had slain him but for galahad coming to the rescue and overcoming first one, then a second assailant. melians is taken to an abbey to be tended, and learns that the two knights who almost overpowered him were his pride in taking the left hand path, his covetousness in carrying off the crown of gold. ( ) galahad enters a hermitage to pray there, and hears a voice bidding him proceed to the castle of maidens and rid it of its bad customs. he encounters on the way seven knights whom he must overcome, such was the custom of the castle. he forces them to flight, and an old priest brings him the keys of the castle. he finds therein numberless maidens, and learns that the former lord of the castle had been, with his son, slain by the seven knights, who had striven beforehand to carry off his daughter. she foretold that as they had gained the castle for a maiden's sake, they would lose it through a maiden, and be overcome by a single knight, whereupon they determined to make prisoner every maiden passing that way. galahad delivers the captives, and puts a daughter of the former duke in possession of the castle. he learns then that the seven brothers have been slain by gawain, gheriot, and ywain. ( ) the story now returns to gawain. he passes by the abbey where galahad found the shield, then that where melians lay ill, is reproached by a friar with being too sinful to be with galahad, meets gheheries, his brother, meets ywain on the morrow, meets the seven brothers who attack them and are slain; then gawain comes alone to a hermitage, confesses for the first time since fourteen years, is admonished by the hermit, learns that the castle of maidens signifies hell, the captives the good souls wrongfully therein confined before christ's coming, the seven knights the seven sins. gawain is pressed, but vainly, to make penitence. ( ) the story returns to galahad. after wandering for awhile without adventures he meets lancelot and perceval. they do not recognise him, not knowing his _arms_ (shield),[ ] and attack him. he overcomes them, but learning from the words of a recluse, who sees the combat, that she really knows him, and, fearing recognition, he hurries off.[ ] ( ) perceval stays with the recluse, and lancelot starts in pursuit of the unknown knight. he comes in the night to a stone cross near which stands (an old)[ ] chapel. he dismounts and enters, but an iron rail hinders his progress; through it he sees an altar whereon _burn seven candles_ (a silver candlestick, a wax taper).[ ] he leaves the chapel, unsaddles his horse, and lies down to sleep by the cross. then comes a sick knight on a bier drawn by two horses, dolourously lamenting. he looks at lancelot, but says no word, thinking him asleep, nor does lancelot say aught, but remains half asleep. and the sick knight laments, "_when may i have solace from the holy vessel for the pain i suffer for such a small fault_ (was ever so much pain as is upon me who have done no evil at all)?"[ ] but lancelot says no word, nor when the candlestick comes towards the cross and the holy grail approaches the sick knight, who prays he may be made whole to join likewise the quest. then crawling to the table whereon the vessel stands, and _touching his eyes with_ (kissing) it, feels relief and slumbers. the grail disappears and lancelot still says never a word, for which aftertimes much mischance was his. the sick knight arises well, a squire appears and _arms_ him (with lancelot's sword and helm),[ ] and brings him lancelot's steed, and the knight swears never to rest till he knows why the holy grail appears in so many places of the kingdom of logres, and by whom it was brought to england. so he departs, and _his squire carries off lancelot's armour_. lancelot awakes wondering whether what he has seen be dream or truth. and he hears a voice saying--harder than stone, bitterer than wood, more despised than the fig tree--he must away, not pollute the spot where is the holy grail. he wanders forth weeping, comes to a hermit, confesses his great sin, his love for guinevere, is admonished to tear it from his heart, when there may still be hope for him. lancelot promises, and has the adventure at the chapel explained to him, and stays with the hermit for penance and instruction. ( ) the story now returns to perceval. the recluse orders he be well taken care of, she loves him well, he is her nephew. she dissuades him from fighting galahad as he wishes, does he wish to die and be killed as his brothers _for their outrages_ (in their combats and tournaments)? he and galahad and bors will achieve the quest. she is his aunt, formerly queen of the waste land. _he asks about his mother whom he fears he has badly treated, and learns she died when he went to arthur's court._[ ] he asks further concerning the knight with the red arms, and is told as follows:--since christ's coming were three chief tables; first, the table at which christ often ate with his apostles; second, the table of the holy grail, established in semblance and remembrance of the first, by which so many miracles were wrought in this land in the time of joseph of arimathea, in the beginning when christianity was brought to this country. he came with four thousand poor companions. one day, wandering in a forest, they had nothing to eat, but an old woman brought _twelve_ (ten) loaves, these they bought and they were wroth with one another when they came to divide them. joseph angry, took the twelve loaves, made the people sit, and by virtue of the holy grail multiplied the loaves to their need. at that table was a seat where josephes, son of joseph, might sit, but none other, for, as the history tells, the place was blessed by our lord himself. now two brothers, relatives of josephes, envied him his leadership, saying they were of as good seed as he, and one sat in josephes' seat, and was straightway swallowed up by the earth, whence the seat was called the dreaded seat. last came the round table, made by merlin's counsel, to show the roundness of the world and of the firmament. and merlin foretold that by companions of this table should the truth of the grail be known, and that three should achieve it, two virgins and one chaste, and the one should surpass his father as man surpasses wolf, and he should be master, and for him merlin made a great and wonderful seat, wherein none might sit unharmed save he, and it was known as the seat perillous. and as at whitsuntide the holy spirit came to the apostles in guise of fire, so at whitsuntide galahad came clad in red armour. and on the day he came the questing for the grail began, which might not cease till the truth concerning it _and the lance_ was known. to find galahad, perceval must first try castle _gher_ (goth) where dwells a cousin of galahad, _and then castle corbenic where dwells the maimed king_. ( ) his aunt then tells how after that her husband fell in war against king laban she withdrew into that wild place. and her son went to serve king pelles, their relative, and since two years she only knows of him that he is following tournaments throughout great britain. ( ) on the morrow perceval comes to a monastery, and seeing mass being performed would enter but cannot, and sees a sick bed with a man or woman lying on it, whom, as he rises when the body of our lord is raised, he sees to be an old man crowned, with his body full of wounds and crying out, "father, forget me not." he seems as if he were over _four hundred_ (one hundred and four) years old. perceval asks concerning these wonders, and is told as follows:--when joseph of arimathea came to this land, the saracen, king crudel, hearing of the grail by which he lived, threw him and his son josephes and some hundred others into prison for forty days, and forbade food to be given them. but they had the holy vessel with them. when mordrains and his brother-in-law, seraphe, heard these things, they assembled their host, landed in britain, overcame crudel, and freed joseph. on the morrow evelac, as he was called before he became christian, desired to see the holy grail plainly, and though warned to desist pressed forward to do so, and was struck blind and helpless. he accepted his punishment submissively, but only prayed to christ that he might survive till _the good knight should come, the best[ ] of his seed_ (the knight who is to achieve the adventures of the holy grail). a voice answered his prayer should be granted, and then he should receive the light of his eyes and his wounds should be made whole. this happened _four hundred_ (one hundred and four) years before, and it was that king evelac whom perceval had seen, and during that while he had fed on nought else save the lord's body. ( ) perceval riding forth on the morrow is attacked by twenty knights, sore pressed, and only rescued by the red knight's help, who then disappears. ( ) perceval, having lost his horse, asks one vainly from a passing squire, from whom it is shortly afterwards carried off by another knight, whom perceval, mounted on the squire's cob, attacks but is overthrown. ( ) at night a woman appears and offers him a horse if he will do her will--she is, in truth, the enemy. he agrees, she mounts him, he comes to a river, and, before essaying to ford it, makes the sign of the cross, whereupon the horse rushes howling into the water. ( ) perceval, rescued from this peril, finds himself on a wild island mountain, full of savage beasts; he helps a lion against a snake and wins its service. he is ill at ease on his island, but he trusts god, and is not like those men of wales where sons pull their fathers out of bed and kill them to save the disgrace of their dying in bed. ( ) that night, sleeping by the lion's side, perceval dreams of two women visiting him, one mounted on a lion, the second on a serpent; this one reproaches him for killing the serpent. on the morrow an old man comes ship-borne, comforts perceval with good counsel, and interprets his dream: the dame on the lion was christ's new law, she on the serpent the old law. ( ) a damsel then appears, warns perceval against the old man, prepares for him a rich banquet with good wine, not british, as in great britain they only drink cervoise and other home-made drinks, and excites his passion. he is on the point of yielding, but seeing the cross-handled pommel of his sword crosses himself, and the damsel disappears in flames. perceval pierces his thigh with his sword in his contrition. the old man reappears, exhorts, explains the various features of his temptation, and finally takes him away with him in his ship. ( ) the story now returns to lancelot. after three exhortations from the hermit he sets forth, and first meets a servant, who assails him bitterly as an unfaithful traitorous knight, in that having openly seen the holy grail doing its wonders before him, he yet moved not from his seat. ( ) he comes to a hermit's hut and finds the hermit lamenting over the dead body of his companion, who, at his nephew, agaran's, request, had left the hermitage to aid him against his enemies, and had been treacherously slain by the latter. these things are told by a devil, which had entered into the dead hermit's body. lancelot is admonished at great length, receives stripes, puts on the dead hermit's hair shirt, and finally leaves with the advice that he should confess every week. ( ) he meets a damsel who encourages him, but tells him he will find no lodging for the night. _he dismounts at the foot of a cross at the cross-ways, and has a vision of a man surrounded with stars, crowned and accompanied by seven kings and two knights, who pray to be taken to heaven; a man descending from heaven orders one of the knights away, whilst to the other he gives the shape of a winged lion, so that he flies up to heaven and is admitted._[ ] ( ) lancelot meets the knight who had carried off his arms, and who attacks, but is overthrown by him. ( ) _he comes to a hermitage, confesses, tells his vision, and learns that it has a great meaning in respect of his lineage, which must be expounded at much length: forty-two years after the passion of christ, joseph of arimathea left jerusalem, came to sarras, helped evelac, who received baptism at the hands of josephes, together with his brother-in-law, seraphe (who took the name nasciens), and who became a pillar of the holy faith, so that the great secrets of the holy grail were opened to him, which none but joseph had beheld before, and no knight after save in dream. now evelac dreamed that out of his nephew, son of nasciens, came forth a great lake, whence issued nine streams, eight of the same size, and the last greater than all the rest put together; our lord came and washed in the lake which king mordrains thus saw flowing from celidoine's belly. this celidoine was the man surrounded by stars in lancelot's vision, and this because he knew the course of the stars and the manner of the planets, and he was first king of scotland, and the nine streams were his nine descendants, of whom seven kings and two knights:--first, warpus; second, chrestiens;[ ] third, alain li gros; fourth, helyas; fifth, jonaans, who went to wales and there took to wife king moroneus' daughter; sixth, lancelot, who had the king of ireland's daughter to wife; seventh, bans. these were the seven kings who appeared to lancelot. the eighth stream was lancelot himself, the elder of the knights of the vision. the ninth stream was galahad, begot by lancelot upon the fisher king's daughter, lion-like in power, deepest of all the streams._[ ] ( ) lancelot comes to a castle with a meadow before it, whereon a throng of black armoured knights is tourneying against knights in white armour. lancelot goes to the help of the former,[ ] but is captured, and on being released rides off lamenting. at night, as he sleeps, a man comes from heaven and reproaches him with his ill faith. a hermitess expounds the allegorical meaning of the adventure. the white knights are those of eliezer, son of king pelles, the black those of argastes, son of king helain; this symbolised the quest, which was a tournament between the heavenly knights and the earthly ones, and in that quest none might enter who was black with sin; and lancelot though sinful, having entered thereon had joined the black knights, and his capture by the others was his overthrow by galahad, and his lamentation his return to sin, and it was our lord who reproached him in his vision; let him not depart from truth. ( ) lancelot comes to lake marchoise, is attacked by a knight in black armour, who kills his horse and rides off; he lays down on the shore and awaits trustfully god's help. ( ) the story returns to gawain. after journeying many days adventureless, he meets hector de mares. neither has heard aught of lancelot, galahad, or bohors. travelling together they come to a deserted chapel, where, passing the night, gawain dreams he sees in a meadow one hundred and fifty bulls all spotted, save three, one being dingy, the two others being pure white. of the one hundred and forty-seven who set off to find better pasture many die and some return, of the three one returns, but two remain between whom strife arises and they separate. hector dreams that he and lancelot, being companions, are attacked by a man who knocks lancelot off his horse and sits him on an ass, after which lancelot, coming to a fair fountain, would drink of it, but it vanishes; he, hector, keeping his horse comes to a castle, the lord of which refuses him admission for that he is too high mounted. whilst telling one another their dreams, a hand with a taper appears and vanishes, and a voice tells them that, poor of belief as they are, they cannot attain the holy grail. on their way to find a hermit who may explain these wonders, gawain is attacked by and kills a knight, ywains the adulterer, son of king urien. they then come to the hermit, nasciens, who explains the bulls as the companions of the round table, the spotted ones those stained by sin, the three unspotted ones are the achievers, two white, virgins--galahad and perceval--one dingy, having once sinned carnally, bors. the last part of the dream may not be explained, as evil might come of it. in hector's dream the two horses are pride and ostentation. lancelot's being seated on an ass signifies the putting off of pride, the fountain is the holy grail. both knights are too full of sin to continue in the quest of the grail. they ride forth and meet with no adventure worth notice. ( ) the story returns to bors. after first coming to a hermit, who exhorts him to abandon the quest if he do not feel himself free from sin, to whom he confesses, from whom he receives absolution, and to whom he vows to eat nought save bread and water till the quest be achieved, he comes to a castle whose mistress is sore oppressed by her sister, against whose champion, priadam the black, she has vainly sought a defender. bors promises to come to help. he passes the night at the castle and will not sleep in the rich bed she offers him, though in the morning he tumbles it as if he had lain in it. he overcomes priadam, and reinstates the lady in her lordship. ( ) on the morrow he meets his brother, naked, bound on a hack, being beaten with thorns by two knights. at the same moment passes a very fair maiden being carried off by a knight, and she cries to him for help. he is in anguish, but goes to the maiden's help, wounds her would-be ravisher, and restores her to her friends. ( ) he then hurries after his brother, but meets a seeming monk who makes him believe his brother is dead, and gives him an explanation of dreams he has had. he then comes to a tower and is welcomed by its inmates. a damsel offers him her love, and when he refuses threatens with twelve other damsels to throw herself from the tower. bors is full of pity, but thinks they had better lose their souls than he his. they fall from the tower, bors crosses himself, and the whole vanishes, being a deceit of the devil. his brother's corpse that had been shown him is also gone. ( ) on the morrow he comes to an abbey, where he learns that his brother lives, and where all his dreams and adventures are allegorically explained. he then meets lionel, his brother, who reproaches him bitterly for his conduct, and falls upon him with intent to kill. first a hermit, then a passing knight, calogrenant, would stop him, but he slays both. bors is at length, in spite of prayers and entreaties, compelled to draw in self defence, but a voice tells him to flee, and a fiery brand comes from heaven between them. bors follows the command of the voice directing him towards the sea, where perceval awaits him. he comes to a ship covered with white samite, and finds therein perceval, who at first does not know him again, and who tells him all that he has passed through. ( ) the story returns to galahad. after countless adventures he finds himself one day opposed to gawain and hector de mares in a tournament; he deals the former such a blow as knocks him out of his saddle. ( ) he is brought to the ship wherein are perceval and bors by a damsel, who accompanies them until, fourteen days' sail from logres, they come to a desert isle off which is another ship, on which is written[ ] that those who would enter should see they were full of faith. the damsel then tells perceval she is his sister, _daughter of king pellehem_. they enter the ship and find a rich bed with a crown at its head, and at its foot a sword six inches out of the scabbard, its tip a stone of all the colours in the world, its handle of the bones of two beasts, the serpent papagast, the fish orteniaus; it is covered with a cloth whereon is written that only the first of his line would grasp the sword. perceval and bors both essay vainly. galahad, on being asked, sees written on the blade that he only should draw who could strike better than others. the damsel tells the story of the sword as follows:--when the ship came to the kingdom of logres there was war between king lambar, father to the maimed king, and king urlain, heretofore saracen, but newly baptised. once urlain, discomfited, fled to the ship, and, finding therein the sword, drew it and slew king laban[ ] with it, and that was the first blow struck with the sword in the kingdom of logres, and there came from it such pestilence and destruction in the land of the two kingdoms that it was afterwards called the waste land. when urlain re-entered the ship he fell down dead. ( ) galahad, further examining the sword, finds the scabbard of serpent's skin, but the hangings of poor stuff. on the scabbard is written that the wearer must surpass his fellows, and the hangings be changed only by a king's daughter and she a maid; on turning the sword over, the other side is found black as pitch, and bearing words that he who should praise it most should blame it most in his greatest need. perceval's sister explains this as follows: forty years after our lord's passion, nasciens, mordrains' brother-in-law, came to the turning isle, and found this ship, and therein bed and sword, this last he coveted, but had not the hardihood to draw it, though he stayed eight days food and drinkless longing for it; on the ninth day a tempest drove him to another island, where, assailed by a giant, he drew the sword, and though it snapped in two and thus fulfilled the inscription, yet he overcame the giant. he afterwards met mordrains and told him of these wonders; mordrains reunited the fragments, then, in obedience to a voice, they left the ship, but in going nasciens was wounded for having dared to draw a sword of which he was not worthy, thus he who praised it most had most reason to blame it. as for the other words, _king pelles,[ ] called the maimed king_ (a lame king who was my, _i.e._, the damsel's, uncle) once came to this ship on the shore of the sea over against ireland, and entering it found the sword, drew but was wounded through the thighs by a lance, _and might not be healed till galahad come_.[ ] ( ) they then examine the bed and find it has three spindles; that in front, snow white; that behind, blood red; that above, emerald green, and lest this be thought a lie the story turns from its straight path to explain about these spindles. after eve, yielding to the devil's advice, had caused adam to sin, and both knew themselves carnal and were ashamed, and were driven forth from paradise, eve kept the branch of the tree of life which she had plucked, and planted it and it grew to a tree with branches and leaves white in token that eve was a virgin when she planted it. sitting one day beneath the tree, god commanded them to know one another carnally, and when they were ashamed to set about such foul work sent darkness over them. abel was thus begotten, and the tree of life turned green. afterwards cain slew abel underneath that same tree and it turned red. at the deluge it remained unharmed and lasted till solomon's time. whilst the wise king was pondering over the malice of his wife and of all women, a voice told him a woman of his line should bring men more joy than her sex had caused sorrow, and that a virgin knight should be the last of his lineage. his wife, whom he consults as to how he shall let this knight know he had foreknowledge of his coming, advised the building of the ship, and the taking of david's sword to be fitted with a new hilt of precious stones, and a new pommel and scabbard, and placed in the ship together with solomon's crown on a rich bed; she furthermore had three spindles made from the tree of life and from trees grown from it. and when all was ready solomon saw in dreams angels coming from heaven and putting the different inscriptions on the sword and ship. ( ) the story speaks now of other things. new hangings had not been put on the sword, this was to be done by a damsel. perceval's sister supplies hangings made of her own hair, and names the sword "the sword of strange hangings," and the scabbard "memory of blood," and galahad girds on the sword. ( ) on the morrow they set sail and come to castle carchelois, in the march of scotland, the inmates whereof attack them but are all slain. galahad is sorry for those he has killed, but a priest tells him they are heathens, and he has done the best work in the world, as the three knights who held the castle had ravished their own sister and wounded their father, count ernous, to death. before the latter dies he urges galahad _to go to the assistance of the maimed king_ (to undertake other adventures).[ ] ( ) on the morrow they meet a white stag led by four lions; these come to a hermitage, hear mass, the stag becomes a man and sits on the altar, the lions a man, an eagle, a lion, and an ox, all winged. ( ) on the morrow perceval takes galahad's sword, which he will wear from henceforth. they come to a castle, the inmates of which demand that perceval's sister should pay the custom of the castle, which is to give a dishful of blood from her right arm. the three companions protect perceval's sister against overwhelming odds till nightfall, when, learning that the blood is asked to heal the lady of the castle suffering from leprosy, perceval's sister sacrifices herself. before dying she gives directions that her body is to be put in a ship and buried in the palace spiritual in sarras. bors then leaves his two companions to succour a wounded knight pursued by a knight and a dwarf;[ ] and perceval and galahad, after seeing the castle they had thus left destroyed by fire from heaven in vengeance of the blood of the good maidens which had there been shed, likewise separate. ( ) the story returns to lancelot. he is at the water of marcoise, surrounded by the forest and high rocks, but he does not lose faith in god; in obedience to a voice he goes on board a passing ship and finds therein perceval's sister, whose story he learns from the letter at her head. after a month's journeying a knight joins them who proves to be galahad, and they pass together half a year achieving marvellous adventures. after easter, at the new time when the birds sing their sweet and varied songs, they come to land, and a knight in white arms bids galahad leave his father, which he does. ( ) after a month's further wandering on the sea, lancelot comes to a castle guarded by two lions,[ ] against whom he would at first defend himself, but is reproved for trusting his strength rather than his creator. entering, he comes to a room wherein are the holy vessel, and a priest celebrating mass; lancelot is warned not to enter, but when he sees that the priest about to raise the body of god has a man put into his hands, he cannot refrain from pressing forward to his aid, but is struck down by a fiery wind and remains fourteen days dumb, food- and drinkless. he finds he is in castle corbenic, and a damsel tells him his quest is ended. king pelles rejoices to see him, at dinner the holy grail fills the tables so that living man could not think of greater plenty; whilst at dinner hector de mares comes to the castle door, but is ashamed to enter, hearing that lancelot is within, and rides off pursued by the reproaches and taunts of those of the castle. lancelot returns to arthur's court, passing on the way the tomb of bandamagus, whom gawain had slain. ( ) the story returns to galahad. he comes to an abbey wherein is king mordrains, who knows his approach, and asks that he may die in his arms; galahad takes him on his breast, mordrains dies and all his wounds are found healed. ( ) galahad cools the boiling fountain by putting his hand in it. ( ) galahad delivers from the tomb where he had been burning three hundred and fifty-four years his relative, symeu, who thus expiated his sin against joseph of arimathea. ( ) galahad rides five years before he comes to the _house of the maimed king_ (the court of king peleur), and during all the five years perceval bears him company, and within that time they _achieve the great adventures of the kingdom of logres_ (cast out the evil adventures of the island of britain). ( ) one day they met bors, who in the five years had not been in bed four times. the three come to _castle corbenic_[ ] (the court of king peleur) _where they are greeted by king pelles, and where eliezer, king pelles' son, brings the broken sword with which joseph had been pierced through the thighs; bors cannot rejoin the pieces, perceval can only adjust them together, galahad alone can make the sword whole, and it is then given to bors_. ( ) at vesper-time a hot wind strikes the palace, and a voice orders all unfit to sit at christ's table to depart, as the true knights were to be fed with heaven's food. all leave save _king pelles, eliezer, his son, and his niece, the most religious maid on the earth_ (a young maiden); to them enter nine knights[ ] and salute galahad: three are from _gaul_ (wales), three from ireland, three from denmark. _then four damsels bring in on a wooden bed a man, crowned, in evil plight, who greets galahad as his long-expected deliverer._ a voice orders out of the room him who has not been a companion of the quest, and straightway _king pelles and eliezer and_ the damsel depart. from heaven comes a man clad like a bishop and borne in a chair by four[ ] angels, who place him before the table upon which stands the holy grail. upon his forehead is written that he was _joseph_ (son of joseph of arimathea) first bishop of christendom, whereat they wonder, as they know that man lived three hundred years before. he kneels before the altar and opens the door of the _ark_ (chamber), and four angels[ ] issue, _two bearing burning lights, the third a cloth of red samite, the fourth a lance bleeding so hard that the drops run into a box he holds in his other hand_ (two with torches, the third with the lance, the fourth holding the box into which the blood drops); the candles are placed on the table, the cloth is placed on the holy vessel so that the blood fell into it. joseph then celebrates the sacrament, and on his raising the wafer, as it were a child descends from heaven and strikes itself into the wafer, so that it takes man's form. joseph then kisses galahad and bids him be fed by the saviour's own hand, and vanishes. but there comes out of the holy vessel, a man with hands bleeding and feet and body, and says he will reveal his secrets, and give the high food so long desired and toiled for. he gives the sacrament to galahad and his companions, and explains that the grail is the dish of the last supper, and galahad shall see it more fully in the city of sarras, whither it is going, britain being unworthy of it, and whither he is to follow it with perceval and bors; _but as he must not leave the land without healing the maimed king he is to take some of the blood of the lance and therewith anoint his legs_.[ ] galahad asks why all may not come with him; but christ says they are twelve who have eaten as the apostles were twelve, and they must separate as the apostles separated. _galahad then heals the maimed king, who goes into an abbey of white monks._ ( ) the three companions, after sending messages to arthur's court _through estrois de gariles and claudius, son of king claudas_,[ ] coming to solomon's ship, herein they find the holy grail, set sail; on landing bury perceval's sister, heal a cripple to help them carry the grail-table, are cast in prison by king _escorant_ for a year, are fed by the holy grail; at _escorant's_ death galahad is made king, fashions a tree of gold and precious stones over the grail and prays before it every morning as do his companions. ( ) on the anniversary of galahad's crowning the three see before the holy vessel a man clad like a bishop, who begins mass and calls galahad to see what he has so longed to see, and at the sight galahad trembles very greatly, and he thanks god for letting him see that which tongue may not describe nor heart think, and he begs that he may pass away from this earthly life to the heavenly one. the bishop then gives him the body of god, and reveals himself as josephus, son of joseph of arimathea. galahad kisses perceval and bors, and sends greetings to lancelot through bors, his soul then leaves his body and angels take it away. a hand from heaven then comes to the vessel and takes it and the lance, and bears it heavenwards, so that since there was no man bold enough to say he has seen the holy grail (except gwalchmai once). ( ) _galahad's body is buried. perceval goes into a hermitage, where bors stays with him for a year and two months; perceval dies, and is buried by bors in galahad's tomb; bors left alone in a place as strange as babylon, sets sail for britain, and comes to camelot, when all are greatly joyed to see him; he tells the adventures of the holy grail; they are written down and kept in the abbey of salisbury, and from these master walter map drew to make his book of the holy grail for the love of king henry his lord, who had the story translated from latin into french. the story now is silent and tells no more concerning the adventures of the holy grail._[ ] =grand st. graal.=--( ) the writer salutes all who have faith in the holy trinity. he does not name himself for three reasons: lest his declaration that he received the story from god himself be a stumbling block; lest his friends pay less honour to the book if they know the author; lest if he have made any blunder all the blame fall upon him. ( ) in the year after the passion of christ, as the writer lies in his hut in one of the wildest parts of white britain, on good friday eve and doubts of the trinity, christ appears to him and gives him a little book not larger than a man's palm, and this book will resolve all his doubts; he himself has written it, and only he who is purified by confession and fasting may read it. on the morrow the writer opens it and finds therein four sections, headed each as follows: this is the book of thy lineage; here begins the book of the holy grail; here is the beginning of the terrors; here begin the marvels. as he reads lightning and thunder come and other wonders. on good friday, as he is celebrating the service, an angel raises him in spirit to the third heaven, and his doubts concerning the trinity are set at rest. when his spirit returns to his body he locks up the book; but on easter sunday, when he would read further, finds it gone; a voice says he must suffer to have the book back again, must go to the plains of walescog, follow a wonderful beast to norway, and there find what he seeks. he obeys, the beast leads him first to a hermit's, then past the pine of adventures to a knight's castle, on the third day to the queen's lake and a nunnery. after exorcising a hermit possessed of the devil, he finds the book, and on his return christ commands him to make a fair copy before ascension day. he sets to work at once, on the fifteenth day after easter.[ ] the book begins as follows: few believe on christ at his crucifixion, among whom is joseph of arimathea, as the holy scripture of the grail testifies. he is in all things a good man. he lives in jerusalem with his wife and a son, josephes (not the same josephes who so often quotes the scripture, but not less learned than he), he it was who passed his father's kin across sea to white britain, since called england, without rudder or sail, but in the fold of this shirt. joseph, having much loved the lord, longs after his death to possess somewhat having belonged to him; goes to the house of the last supper, and carries off the dish wherein he had eaten. having been a knight of pilate's for seven years, he craves a boon of him, which is christ's body. pilate grants it; joseph descends the body from the cross, places it in a sepulchre, and, fetching the dish from his house, collects in it the blood flowing from the body,[ ] and finishes laying the body in the tomb. the jews hear of this, are angered, seize joseph, throw him into prison in the most hideous and dirtiest dungeon ever seen, feed him at first on bread and water, but when christ is found to have arisen, caiaphas, joseph's jailor, lets him starve. but christ brings the holy dish that joseph had sent back to his house with all the blood in it. joseph is overjoyed. christ comforts him, and assures him he shall live and carry his name to foreign parts. joseph thus remains in prison. meanwhile his wife, though often pressed to marry, refuses until she shall have had sure tidings of her husband; as for his son he will only marry holy church. ( ) forty years go by; after christ's death tiberius cæsar reigned ten years, then caius, one year; then claudius, fourteen years; then noirons, in whose reign s.s. peter and paul were crucified, fourteen years; then titus, and vespasian, his son, a leper. the freeing of joseph befalls in the third year of titus' reign and in this wise: titus has vainly sought a leech to heal vespasian. at last a strange knight from capernaum promises his help and tells how he in his youth had been healed of the leprosy by a prophet. the emperor on hearing this sent to judea to seek out that prophet; his messenger comes to felix, and orders him to have proclamation made for aught christ has touched; hereupon an old woman, marie la venissienne, brings the cloth upon which the saviour's likeness had painted itself when she wiped his face. the messenger returns to rome with this cloth and the mere sight of it heals vespasian, who straightway resolves to avenge christ's death. he goes to jerusalem, joseph's wife appears before him, accuses the jews of having made away with her husband; none of the jews know where he is save caiaphas, who reveals the secret on condition that he is to be neither burnt or slain. vespasian himself goes down into the prison and finds it as light as though one hundred candles had burnt in it. he tells joseph who he is, whereat the latter wondered, not thinking he had been longer than from friday to sunday, not once had it been dark. a voice tells joseph not to fear, and that he will find the holy vessel at his home. joseph returns to jerusalem with vespasian, and points out to him the abettors of christ's death, whom vespasian has burnt. caiaphas is set adrift in a boat. ( ) the night before vespasian returns to rome, christ appears to joseph and commands him to go forth and fill foreign lands with his seed; he must be baptised, and must go forth without money or aught but the dish; all heart can want or wish he shall have, all who accompany him must be baptised likewise. joseph is baptised by st. philip, then bishop of jerusalem, as is also vespasian, concerning whom the story is now silent. ( ) joseph preaches to his friends and relatives and converts seventy-five of them. they leave jerusalem and come to bethany, where the lord appears to joseph, promises him aid as once to the jews in the wilderness, commands him to make a wooden ark for the dish, which he is to open when he wants to speak to him, but no one is to touch it save joseph and his son josephes; joseph does as commanded, his troop is miraculously fed, and on the eleventh day they come to the town of sarras, between babilone and salavandre, whence the saracens have their name, and not from sara. ( ) joseph and his seventy-five companions enter the city and go to the temple of the sun, to the seat of judgment, where the saracens are assembled with their lord, evalach the unknown: he had been a man of prowess in his youth, but was now old; seven days before, the egyptians had beaten his army, and the council is now devising how vengeance may be taken therefor. joseph is greatly joyed at these events, and when the council advises peace assures the king of victory, but he must destroy his images and believe on him who died on the cross. evalach asks how one who could not save himself could save another. joseph, in answer, tells of christ's birth, life, death, descent into hell, resurrection, ascension, and of the sending of the holy ghost. evalach cannot understand either the incarnation or the trinity, and although joseph explains that the virgin conceived by the overshadowing of the holy ghost through her ear, and that her virginity was no more hurt than is water when a sunbeam enters it, remains stubborn and calls his learned men to his aid, but joseph confounds these, and evalach lodges the christians for the night and gives them good beds. ( ) evalach dreams of a tree-stock whence spring three equal trunks and though three yet are truly one, also of a room with a secret door of marble, through which a child passes without opening it; a voice tells him this is a type of the miraculous conception of christ. ( ) meanwhile, joseph, unable to sleep, prays for comfort and adjures the lord by all his mercies to help evalach; he is told by a voice he shall be sent for to explain the king's dream. joseph then goes to sleep with his wife, helyab, but not as lustful folk do, for there was nothing between them till the lord commanded the begetting of galahad, and then, so full of love to the saviour were they that they had no desire. from galahad came the high race which honoured the land of white britain, now called england. ( ) the morrow morning joseph and his company worship before the ark (now the place wherein they were had been called the spiritual palace by daniel) when a soft sweet wind comes and the holy ghost descends and christ speaks and urges all to love him; he tells josephes to draw near and take charge of his flesh and blood; josephes opens the door of the ark and sees a man all in red, and with him five angels, each six winged, all in red, each with a bloody sword in his left, and in their rights severally, a cross, nails, lance, sponge, and scourge; josephes sees christ nailed to the cross, and the blood running down from his side and feet into the dish; he would enter the ark but angels restrain him. joseph, wondering at his son's state, kneels before the ark and sees therein an altar covered with white cloths, under which is a red samite one, covering three nails, a lance head all bloody, and the dish he had brought, and in the middle of the altar an exceeding rich vessel of gold and precious stones; seven angels issue from the ark with water and watering pot ( ), gold basins and towels ( ), and gold censers ( ), an eighth carrying the holy dish, a ninth a head so rich and beautiful as never mortal eye saw, a tenth a sword, three more with tapers, lastly jesus. the company of angels go over the house sprinkling it with holy water, because it had heretofore been dwelt in by devils. christ tells josephes he is to receive the sacrament of his flesh and blood, and be made sovran shepherd over his new sheep; bishop's vestments are brought out of the ark. josephes is seated in a chair, which afterwards made a saracen king's eyes fly out of his head, is consecrated, an angel keeps the holy oil wherewith all kings of britain were anointed till the time of uther pendragon, of whom none of the many that have told his history have rightly known why he was so called; the meaning of the episcopal vestments is explained to josephes, and his duties set forth. ( ) josephes then goes into the ark and celebrates the sacrament using christ's words only, whereat bread and wine become flesh and blood, and in place of the bread a child, which, though as bidden, he divides into three parts yet is eaten as one whole; an angel puts patina and chalice into the dish; joseph and his company receive the sacrament in the form of a child; christ bids josephes celebrate the sacrament daily; tells him that he and joseph are to go with evalach's messengers now nigh at hand. leucans, josephes' cousin, is appointed guardian of the ark. ( ) joseph and his son go before the king and overcome all the heathen clerk's objections; josephes tells evalach he will be given over to his enemies for three days, and shall only escape by believing on christ; the heathen idols are smashed by a devil at the compelling of josephes' two angels. a messenger brings the news that king tholomes has entered and is capturing the land, and he will not rest till he be crowned at sarras. josephes tells the king this ill-hap is to mind him of his lowly origin, he is son of a shoemaker in an old city of france, meaux, and was one of a tribute of one hundred youths and one hundred maidens claimed by augustus cæsar from france, as here dwelt a prouder folk than elsewhere, and the two daughters of the count of the town, sevain, were among the tribute, and evalach was among their servants. when felix was named governor of syria by tiberius he had taken evalach with him, and held him in high honour until one day, angry with felix's son, evalach slew him and had to fly, after which he entered the service of tholome cerastre, king of babylon, who had given him the land he now ruled. josephes further explains the king's dreams, and when the latter declares himself willing to believe, asks for his shield, upon which he fixes a red cross and tells him to look on it in his need and pray to god and he shall be saved. ( ) evalach marches with his army against tholomes, is joined by his brother-in-law, seraphe (whom he thought hated him most of any man in the world) at the queen's entreaty; numerous combats ensue between the two armies; seraphe performs prodigies of valour; evalach is taken prisoner, and in his need looks on the shield, sees thereon christ crucified, prays to god for help, a white knight appears, overcomes tholomes, who is taken prisoner, and evalach's army is victorous. ( ) meanwhile josephes, remaining in sarras, has been counselling queen sarraquite, secretly a christian, since her mother was cured of a bloody flux, and since christ appeared to her when she was afraid of the hermit her mother had led her to for baptism because he had such a long beard; she dares not avow her faith for fear of her husband. josephes tells her of the battle which has taken place and of the white knight. ( ) evalach and seraphe return; the king asks at once after the christians, and learns that he owes his victory to the lord to whom also seraphe owed his strength in battle; the shield is uncovered, a man with a wounded arm is healed by it, and then the cross vanishes; seraphe turns christian, is baptised and receives the name nasciens, he is straightway healed of his wounds, exhorts evalach to believe, and tells of tholomes' death. evalach is baptised, and re-christened mordrains, or slow-of-belief. after baptising the town and destroying all images, josephes leaves three of his companions in charge of the grail ark, and goes with the rest to orcanz, turns out of an image a devil who had slain tholomes, and converts more of the heathen folk. ( ) meanwhile mordrains has ordered his people to be baptised or to leave his land; many take the latter course and are met outside the town by a devil who wounds them grievously, whereupon josephes hurries to their aid, but is met by an angel with a lance and smitten through the thigh for having left his baptising work to trouble himself about contemners of god's law, and the mark of the wound should stay with him all his life, and the iron spear head remain in the wound so that ever after he limped, and he had later to smart for it, as the tale will show in due season. many more people are converted, bishops are left in the land and holy relics at sarras. ( ) josephes brings mordrains, sarraquite, and nasciens to the holy shrine, and shows them the vessel wherein is christ's blood. nasciens thinks he has never seen aught to match it, and he gives it a name that since it has never lost. for, says he, nothing he had seen before but somewhat displeased him (li degraast), but this pleases him (li grée) entirely; he further tells how once when a young man, hunting, as he stood deep in thought a voice made itself heard, saying "thou shall't never accomplish what thou thinkest on until the wonders of the grail are disclosed," and he knows now this must be the grail as every wish of his heart is accomplished. and he draws nearer and lifts the vessel's lid and looks therein, but straightway falls to trembling, feeling he can no longer see. and he knew that the blindness was to punish his curiosity, and turning to josephes tells him that the iron shall not be drawn out of that wound inflicted by the angel at orcanz, nor he himself recover his sight until josephes, wounded, himself comes to draw out the iron. so they stand lost in thought, till a voice is heard, "after my vengeance my healing" and an angel appears, touches josephes' thigh with the lance shaft, whereupon the head comes out, and from it drop great drops of blood which the angel collects in a vessel, and wherewith he anoints josephes' wound, making it whole, and nasciens' eyes, restoring to him his sight. and the angel tells them that the meaning of the lance is that of the beginning of the wonderful adventures which shall befall in lands whither god purposes leading them; when the true knights should be separated from the false ones, and the earthly knighthood become a heavenly one. and at the beginning of those adventures the lance would drop blood as then, but beforehand none; and then wonders would happen all over the world where the lance was, great and terrible wonders, in recognition of the holy grail and of the lance; and the marvels of the grail should never be seen save by one man alone; and by the lance wherewith josephes was struck should but one other man be struck, and he a king of josephes' kin, and the last of the good men; he should be struck through the two thighs, and only healed when the grail wonders were disclosed to the good knight, and that one should be last of nasciens' kin. thus, as nasciens was the first to behold the wonders of the grail, that one should be the last; so saith the true crucified one, adding, "upon the first and last of my new ministers will i spend the vengeance of the adventurous lance in token of myself having received the lance stroke whilst on the cross." and so many days as josephes had born the lance head in his wound so many days should the marvellous adventures last. now these days (_years_)[ ] were twenty-two. ( ) josephes explains mordrains' vision, and makes him destroy the image of a woman he had kept in a secret chamber, known, so he thought, only to himself. ( ) josephes and his company go forth from sarras, but the tale tells nothing of them in this place, but keeps straight on. on the following night mordrains dreams that, sitting in sarras at table, of a sudden a thunderbolt strikes crown from his head and the first mouthful from his lips; a great wind carries him up into a far land where he is fed by a lion and lioness, and after a while an eagle carries off nasciens' son to a land whereof the inhabitants bow down before him, and out of this nephew's belly comes a great lake giving rise to nine streams, eight of equal breadth and depth, the ninth as wide and deep as the remainder put together, and rushing and turbulent, and at first foul and muddy, but afterwards clear and pure as a precious stone; then comes down from heaven a man in likeness of one crucified, who bathes hands and feet in the lake and eight streams, but in the ninth his whole body. ( ) mordrains tells his vision to nasciens and confesses to former treacherous and jealous feelings he had against him; they seek counsel of the priests, but none can expound the vision, and as they sit together a great tumult is heard and the sound of a horn announcing "the beginning of dread," and they fall senseless to the ground; but mordrains is caught up by the holy ghost and borne off. ( ) meanwhile nasciens is accused by kalafier, a christian-hater, of having made away with mordrains, and is cast into prison with kalafier for gaoler. ( ) meanwhile mordrains has been carried off by the holy ghost to an island lying between babylon, scotland, and ireland, a high land from which the western sea can be looked over as far as spain; it was once a pirates' lair, but pompey drove them thence. to mordrains comes a noble man who gives his name as tout-entour, comforts him, and exhorts him to steadfastness in the faith; when he leaves a fair woman appears and tempts the king, who luckily does not pay heed to her, and well for him, as he learns from the noble man that she is lucifer in disguise. he is assailed by many temptations; storm, thunder, and lightning affright him; the wonderful bird phoenix attacks him and snatches the bread from his lips; lucifer again visits him and shows him nasciens' dead body, but it is only an invention; finally, all these trials withstood, the noble man comes again and expounds the dream of the nine streams: the lake is a son of nasciens, from whom descend nine kings, all good men and true, but the ninth surpassing all in every virtue; he is the knight to whom the wonders of the grail shall be shown, and christ shall bathe himself wholly in him. ( ) meanwhile nasciens has been kept in prison together with his son, celidoine (heaven-given) by kalafier. but a miraculous hand appearing from out a cloud strikes off nasciens' fetters, and carries him out of the dungeon; kalafier pursues but is struck down by the hand; on his death bed he orders that celidoine be cast from the battlements, but nine hands bear him up in mid air, whilst kalafier, slain by fire from heaven, goes to eternal death. sarraquite, overjoyed to hear of her brother's escape, sends out messengers to meet them. meanwhile nasciens' wife, flegentyne, has set out in search of her husband accompanied by the old knight, corsapias, and his son, helicoras. ( ) now nasciens has been carried fourteen days journey off to the turning isle (concerning which many wonders are told); all of these things are true, as christ himself has written the book of the holy grail, and he never wrote aught else save the lord's prayer for the disciples and the judgment upon the woman taken in adultery. and no man is bold enough to say that since the resurrection christ wrote aught else save this "haute escripture del s. graal." ( ) a ship comes to nasciens' isle which he would enter but for words warning him against it unless he be full of faith. however, crossing himself he enters [and finds therein the same wonders as those described in queste, inc. , , , viz.:--the sword and the three spindles, precisely the same story about which is told as in the queste]. ( ) nasciens deeming there must be magic in this, the ship splits in twain, and had well nigh drowned him, but he regains the isle swimming, and on the morrow an old man comes in a ship and gives him an allegorical explanation of what has befallen him. ( ) meanwhile celidoine, carried off by the hands to the land of the heathen king label, wins his favour by expounding a dream, converts him, but at his death is cast adrift by the heathen barons in a boat with a lion, and after three days comes to nasciens' island. ( ) the two rejoice on their meeting, and leave the island together in solomon's ship, come after four days to another island, where nasciens, attacked by a giant, seizes solomon's sword but it breaks in his hand, nevertheless, with another sword he overcomes the giant. he chides solomon's sword, but celidoine says it is some sin of his made it break. thereafter they see a ship approaching wherein is mordrains. there is rejoicing between the three, and much telling of past adventures. nasciens shows the broken sword to mordrains, who, taking it in his hands, joins it together, whereupon a voice bids them leave the ship; nasciens, not obeying fast enough, is wounded in the shoulder by a fiery sword in punishment of his having drawn solomon's sword. ( ) the messengers sent out by sarraquite in search of nasciens have, meantime, had many adventures, have come across the daughter of king label, suffered shipwreck, and been thrown upon a desert isle formerly the home of the great physician, ypocras (of whom a long story is told how he was tricked by a roman lady), been tempted in divers fashions, but at last they are led to mordrains, nasciens, and celidoine. ( ) on the third night a priest clad in white comes walking on the sea, heals nasciens' wound, and sends off celidoine in another ship. the remainder come to land, mordrains and sarraquite are reunited; nasciens' wife, flegentyne, is sent for; and label's daughter is christened by petrone, a holy man and kinsman of joseph. she was after celidoine's wife, as my lord robert of borron testifies, who translated this history from latin into french after the holy hermit to whom our lord first gave it. ( ) nasciens sets forth in search of his son, his knights follow on his track, and two are struck dead for their sins. nasciens comes again to solomon's ship, is tempted by the devil in the shape of a fair damsel, goes on board the ship and dreams as follows:--celidoine is in the promised land with all those who had left sarras; he, nasciens, shall go thence likewise and never depart thence, nor shall the ship until it take back the last of his line to sarras, together with the holy grail, and that shall be after three hundred years; and thereafter celidoine leads before him nine persons, all in guise of kings, save the eighth who was like a dog, and the ninth turns into a lion, and at his death the whole world mourns over him. and the names of these, nasciens' descendants, are: celidoine, marpus, nasciens, alains li gros, ysaies, jonans, lancelot, bans, lancelot, like unto a dog until his end, galahad, foul at the source, but afterwards clear, in whom christ shall bathe himself wholly, and who shall end all the adventures. on the morrow it is explained to nasciens that the eighth of his descendants likens a dog on account of his sins, and the ninth is foul at the beginning as engendered in fornication and not as holy church wills. ( ) the story, after touching on flegentyne, who retires to her own land, returns to joseph, who, with his son, josephes, and his companions, has been wandering about. joseph is ordered by a voice from heaven to beget a son, whose name shall be galaad. at length the company comes to the sea shore and laments that it has no ships; joseph rebukes them, and says those may pass who have kept chaste, whereupon four hundred and sixty come forward to confess their lechery. josephes is told to put forward the grail-bearers, to take the shirt off his back, and having spread it on the water, all the pure companions shall find place on it. this happens, and all find place save symeu and his son, who are not as they should be, and who sink and are well nigh drowned. the chosen company arrive on the morrow in great britain, then full of saracens and infidels. josephes then prays for the remainder of the company; a heavenly voice says they shall come in good time, and that this is the promised land in which they shall multiply and become the worthiest race anywhere. ( ) meantime nasciens has been led in solomon's ship to those of joseph's followers who had been left behind, as the history of the holy grail testifies. after being warned against fresh falling into sin they are brought over to joseph, and are fed with as much meat as they could want. but the fifth day the company, not having eaten for a day, come to the tent of a poor woman, wherein are twelve loaves about which they dispute. josephes, referred to, breaks each loaf in three, and having placed the holy grail at the head of the table by its power the bread suffices for more than five hundred people. ( ) hereafter the company comes to castle galafort, where celidoine is found disputing with the saracen wise men. the christians are well received by ganort, and shortly afterwards he and his people are baptised, one hundred and fifty who refuse being drowned. over their bodies a tower is built, the tower of marvels, and thereafter, it is prophesied, a king named arthur should reign, and from one blow of a sword adventures should arise, lasting twelve years, until the last descendant of nasciens should end them, and till that time no knight of arthur's house should enter the tower without having to fight as good a man as himself; thus should it be till he who was to end the adventures appeared. so they build the tower, and it lasts until lancelot destroys it, as the "tale of arthur's death" relates. ( ) joseph's wife bears a son, who receives the name of galahad, of the castle of galafort. ( ) the king of northumberland, hearing of ganort's conversion, summons him to the court, and on his refusal attacks him, but is defeated and slain by the christians. ( ) josephes, his father, and one hundred and fifty of the christians, leaving galafort, come to norgales, and are thrown into prison by king crudel, who says, "let them be for forty days, and see if their vessel will feed them." our lord comes to comfort them, and bids them be of good cheer, he will send an avenger to slay these dogs. ( ) our lord, in the likeness of one crucified, then appears to mordrains, bids him set forth with wife and children and king label's daughter and nasciens' wife and go to great britain, there to avenge him on king crudel. mordrains hearkens, and shortly after sets forth with all his household, leaving his land in charge of duke ganor. on the way a devil carries off the captain of the ship, who had lusted after queen flegentyne. they arrive in britain and rejoin their friends; great is the joy; nasciens' queen is like to have died of joy, and swoons twelve times. ( ) mordrains sends word to crudel to set the christians free, and on his refusal marches against, overthrows, and slays him, but is grievously wounded, though he suffers no pain. josephes and his companions are freed, and thanksgivings are made before the grail. on the morrow, as josephes is officiating before the holy vessel, mordains presses near to see it, in spite of a warning voice; he loses his sight and the power of his body; he confesses his folly, but prays he may not die till the good knight's coming, the ninth of nasciens' descendants. a voice promises him this, and that when the good knight comes he shall recover his sight and his wounds be healed; but three hear this promise beside mordrains himself, joseph, josephes, and nasciens. ( ) mordrains is brought to galafort, where celidoine marries king label's daughter and begets a son, nasciens. mordrains then, after giving his wife and shield into nasciens' keeping, retires to a hermitage, and builds a monastery of the white monks, and stays there till perceval sees him and galahad, too, as the "tale of the holy grail" tells. ( ) josephes leaves galafort, and, coming to camelot, converts many of the people, whereat king agrestes, being grieved, is baptised with false intent, and after josephes' departure persecutes the christians, and is punished by madness and death. josephes returning, buries the martyrs, whose blood had blackened a cross, which keeps the name of the "black cross," till the good knight, lancelot of the lake's son comes. ( ) josephes comes to a hill called hill of the giant; 'tis a friday, and brons is sitting next him at the grail-table, but between the two is space for a man to sit, and brons, josephes' kinsman, asks him why he does not invite some one to fill it. josephes answers, only he who is a holier man than any present can fill that place, as it typifies christ's seat at the last supper, and is empty waiting his coming, or whom he shall send. such of the company as are in mortal sin take this saying as presumption and fable, and moys declares his willingness to sit in it if his companions will ask josephes' leave. they do so, and though josephes minds them how moys might hardly come to britain, and though he solemnly warns moys himself, he gives his leave. moys takes the seat, and at once seven flaming bands from heaven seize upon him and carry him off to a far place burning like a dry bush. the people repent, and, in answer to their enquiries, josephes tells them the day shall come when they shall know where moys is. ( ) after the meal josephes, at brons' request, has the latter's twelve sons up before him, and asks them whether they will be wedded or not. eleven choose wedding, but the twelfth virginity and the service of the holy grail. josephes, overjoyed, having married the other eleven, appoints him guardian of the grail at his death, and he might leave the guardianship afterwards to whom he would. ( ) josephes and his companions pass through britain converting the heathen. now the grail only gives food to such as are not in sin, and once as the troop is encamped by a lake, peter, a kinsman of josephes', bears it through the ranks, and all are fed with the best food, save the sinners; these complain, and beg josephes to pray for them, whereupon he bids brons' youngest son, the same he had chosen as grail-keeper, alains le gros (not that alains, celidoine's son, _he_ was king and wore a crown, but this one never) take the net from the grail-table and fish with it in the pond. alains does so and catches one fish, a big one, but say they, 'twill not be enough; however, alains, having shared it in three, and having prayed it might suffice, all are fed. alains is called in consequence the rich fisher, and all the grail-keepers after him bear this name, but they were more blessed than he, being crowned kings whereas he never wore crown. ( ) joseph, leaving his companions, comes into the forest of broceliande, meets a saracen who would lead him to his sick brother, but is himself slain by a lion. joseph is thrown in prison and wounded in the thigh by the men of the sick knight's castle, but, obtaining leave to visit the sick knight, heals him, and brings back to life the saracen slain by the lion; both brothers are baptised; a fragment of the sword remaining in the wound, joseph draws it out, and laying it with the remainder of the sword prophecies it shall not be made whole till he come who shall achieve the adventures of the holy grail. ( ) joseph, returning to his companions, finds them in doubt as to how they shall cross a great water, they pray for guidance, and a white hart appears, followed by four stags, and leads them across, all save chanaan, who crosses later in a fisherman's boat. josephes, in answer to alain and pierron, explains the hart and lions as christ and the evangelists, and christ would appear in that wise afterwards to arthur, mordred, and lancelot. ( ) the christians come to a house where burns a great fire, out of which is heard a lamentable voice; it is that of moys; at josephes' prayer rain falls from heaven and quenches half the flames, but he may not be wholly delivered until the good knight, galahad, come. ( ) the christians come into the land of king escos, whence scotland has its name. the holy grail refuses meat to chanaan and to symeu, moys' father, whereat enraged, symeu attacks pierre and wounds him, and chanaan slays his twelve brethren. symeu is carried off by devils, whilst chanaan's grave bursts out in flames, which may not quench till lancelot come. ( ) meanwhile pierre's wound having become worse, he is left behind with a priest, who leads him to the sea shore, and, at his request, places him in a boat; this carries him to the isle of the heathen king, orcanz, whose daughter finding him on the sea shore dying, has pity on him and tends him secretly till he is healed. her father requires a champion, pierre offers himself, conquers, converts, and baptises orcanz, who takes the name lamer, and marries his daughter, and king luces comes to the wedding and is overjoyed. from him came gauvain, son of king lot of orcanie. mordred was no true son of lot's, but of arthur's. gauvain is thus of the seed of joseph of arimathea. ( ) josephes after fifteen years' wanderings comes back to galafort, and finds his brother galahad grown up; by josephes' advice the men of hocelice take galahad for their king, and he became the ancestor of ywain, son of urien. once whilst riding he comes to symeu's fiery grave, which may not be quenched till galahad, the good knight, comes. at galahad's death he is buried in an abbey he founds to allay symeu's pains, and the tombstone of his grave may not be lifted until by lancelot. ( ) joseph dies shortly after galahad's crowning, and josephes, feeling death near, pays a last visit to mordrains, who begs for a token from him. josephes asks for the king's shield, and with blood gushing from his nose marks on it a red cross, gives it to mordrains, and says no one shall hang it on his neck without rue till galahad do so; the shield is placed on nasciens' tomb. on the morrow josephes dies; his body is carried afterwards into scotland to still a famine, and is buried in the abbey of glays. ( ) before his death he has confided the grail to alain. the latter comes with his brethren, one of whom, josue, is unmarried, to the terre foraine, converts the king and people, and marries josue to his daughter. here is the resting-place of the holy grail; a lordly castle is built for it, hight corbenic, which is chaldee, and signifies "holy vessel." at josue's wedding, such is the power of the holy grail, that all present are as filled as if they had eaten the finest meats they could think of. and that night the king, baptized alfasem, sleeping in the castle, beholds the holy vessel covered with crimson samite, and a man all flaming tells him no mortal may sleep where the holy grail rests, and wounds him through both thighs, and bids others beware of sleeping in the palace adventurous. and afterwards many a knight essayed the adventure, but lost his life, till gauvain came, and he, though he kept his life, had such shame and mischance as he had not had for the kingdom of logres' sake. ( ) alain and alfasem die; josue becomes king and grail-keeper, and after him aminadap, catheloys, manaal, lambor, all kings and known as the fisher, and lambor fighting with his enemy, bruillant, pursues him to the sea shore, and bruillant finds there solomon's ship and enters it, and finds the sword with which he slays lambor, and this was the first blow struck with that sword in great britain, and such great woes sprang therefrom that no labourers worked, nor wheat grew, nor fruit trees bore, nor fish was found in the waters, so that the land was known as the waste land. but bruillant falls dead for drawing the sword. after lambor, pelleans, wounded in the two thighs in a battle of rome, whence he was always called the maimed king, and he might not heal till galahad the good knight come; and from him descends pelles, and on his daughter does lancelot of the lake beget galahad. ( ) nasciens, flegentyne, and sarraquite die on the self-same day. celidoine reigns, and is followed by marpus, he by nasciens, alain li gros, ysaies, jonas, lancelot, bans, lancelot of the lake. here the story ends of all the seed of celidoine, and returns to speak of merlin, which my lord robert of borron thus begins.[ ] in making up the slips, the summary of borron's poem dropped out. in order not to disturb the page form, which was fixed before the omission was noticed, it has been inserted after the grand st. graal with a subpagination. =robert de borron's poem: joseph of arimathea.=--( ) before christ's coming all folk went to hell, but he came born of a virgin that he might bring them out of hell. he took flesh what time judæa was under rome and pilate governed it. now a soldier of pilate's loved christ but dared not show it. of christ's few disciples one was bad, his chamberlain, and he betrayed him to the jews. ( ) on thursday jesus gathers his disciples; judas' question, the washing of the feet, the kiss of betrayal follow. when the jews carry off jesus, one of them takes the very fair vessel wherein he made his sacrament, and gave it to pilate, who keeps it till he learns jesus' death. ( ) joseph is angry hereat, and claims pay for his and his five knights five years' free service, and his pay is christ's body. pilate grants it him, and joseph hastens to the cross, but the guards deny him, whereon he complains to pilate, who sends nicodemus to see he obtain it, and also gives joseph the vessel. ( ) joseph and nicodemus descend the body, and wash it, which makes the blood flow afresh. joseph puts the blood in the vessel, wraps the body in a fine cloth and entombs it. the descent into hell and the resurrection follow. ( ) the jews are incensed against joseph and nicodemus; the latter escapes, but joseph is thrust into a horrible and dark prison. to him christ appears with his vessel, in a great light, and instructs joseph, telling him for his love to him he shall have the symbol of his death and give it to keep to whom he would; he then gives joseph the great, precious vessel wherein is his holiest blood. joseph wonders, having hidden it in his house. joseph is to yield the vessel to three persons only, who are to take it in the name of the trinity. no sacrament shall ever be celebrated but joseph shall be remembered. but joseph must be taught concerning the sacrament; the bread and wine are christ's flesh and blood, the tomb is the altar; the grave-cloth the corporal, the vessel wherein the blood was put shall be called chalice, the cup-platten signifies the tombstone. all who see joseph's vessel shall be of christ's company, have fulfilment of their heart's wish and joy eternal. (_the author adds_: i dare not, nor could not, tell this but that i had the great book wherein the histories are written by the great clerks, therein are the great secrets written which are called the graal.) christ leaves joseph, who remains in prison, no man heeding him ( ) until, when vespasian, the emperor's son, was a leper, a pilgrim comes to rome and tells of christ's cures, and lays his head vespasian could be cured could anything of christ's be brought to rome. the emperor sends messengers, who hear pilate's story of the crucifixion and about joseph. the jews are called together, and one tells of verrine, who is brought before the messengers, and she relates how she wiped christ's face and thus got the likeness of him. they take her to rome, vespasian is healed, and sets forth to revenge christ's death. he kills many jews, burning some. one jew offers to find joseph, and tells the story of his imprisonment. vespasian is let down into the prison and finds joseph alive, who, to his amazement, welcomes him by name, and reads him a lecture on biblical history and christian faith. vespasian is converted, and sells the jews at the rate of thirty for a penny. ( ) joseph exhorts his kin, among them his sister, enygeus, and brother-in-law, hebron. they agree to believe, and to follow him. he sets off with them and they dwell for long in far-off lands. for awhile things go well, but then all the host does turns to naught; 'tis on account of carnal sin. the host complains to hebron that they and their children die of hunger. ( ) hebron reports this to joseph, who goes weeping and kneels before the vessel and asks why his followers suffer? a voice from the holy ghost answers he is not in fault, but he is to set the vessel before the people, and to mind him how he, christ, had eaten with his disciples, and how the false disciple was detected. in the name of that table whereat christ last ate, joseph is to prepare another, and then to call his brother-in-law, brons, and make him go into the water to catch a fish, and the first he catches joseph is to put it on the table, and then to take the vessel, put it on the table, cover it with a towel, and then place hebron's fish opposite it. the people are then to be called, who will soon see wherein they have sinned. and joseph is to sit where christ sat at the last sacrament, with brons at his right. and brons is to draw back one seat, to signify the seat of judas, and the seat thus left empty is not to be filled until enygeus have a child by brons, her husband, and when that child is born there shall be his seat. the people is then to be bidden sit down to the grace of our lord. joseph does all this; part of the people sit, part do not, the sitters are filled with sweetness and the desire of their heart, the others feel nought. one of the sitters, named petrus, asks if they feel nothing, and tells them it is because they are defiled with sin. the sinners then depart, but joseph bids them come back day by day. thus joseph detects the sinners, and thus is the vessel first proved. ( ) joseph tells the sinners it severs them from the others, as it holds no company with nor has love towards any sinner. the sinners ask the name of the vessel: it is called _graal_, as it is agreeable to all who see it. now all this is verity, hence we call this the story of the grail, and it shall be henceforth known as the grail. ( ) one sinner remains, moyses, a hypocrite (here a gap which can be filled up from the prose versions: moyses seats himself in the empty seat, whereupon the earth opens and swallows him). ( ) joseph prays to christ that as he came to him in prison, and promised he would come to his aid when in trouble, so now he would show him what has become of moyses. the voice tells joseph again about the empty seat, and how that the one at joseph's table was not to be filled until the third man come, whom hebron should beget and enygeus bear, and _his_ son should fill the seat. moyses had stayed behind only to deceive, he had his deserts, no more should be heard of him in fable or song until _he_ come who should fill the empty seat. ( ) in course of time brons and enygeus have twelve sons and are greatly bothered with them, and ask joseph what is to be done with them. joseph prays before the vessel; eleven will marry, one remain single; this one is alain. joseph is told by the voice when he consults the vessel about this nephew, to relate all about christ's death and about the vessel, to tell alain that from him shall issue an heir who is to keep the vessel; alain is to take charge of his brethren and sisters and go westwards. an angel will bring a letter for petrus to read, telling him to go whither he lists; he will say: the vale of avaron; thither shall he go and wait for the son of alain, and shall not pass away until that one come, and to him shall petrus teach the power of the vessel, and say what has become of moyses, and then may he die. ( ) all happens as foretold by the voice; the letter comes for petrus, who declares his intention of departing for the vale of avaron, bidding the host pray god he may never go against his will. alain leaves with his brethren, and, as joseph taught him, preaches the name of jesus christ. ( ) petrus stays one day more; it is, says an angel, the lord sends to joseph, that he may see and hear the things of the vessel. the angel continues: the lord knows brons for a worthy man, and 'twas, therefore his will he should go fishing; he is to keep the vessel after joseph, who must instruct him properly especially concerning the holy words which god spake to joseph in the prison, which are properly called the secrets of the grail; brons is to be called the rich fisher from the fish he caught; all the people are to go westwards; brons is to wait for the son of his son, and to give him the vessel, then shall the meaning of the blessed trinity be made known; after the vessel has been given to brons, petrus is to go, as he may then truly say he has seen hebron, the rich fisher, put in possession of the vessel; when all this is done, joseph is to go to perfect joy and life pardurable. ( ) on the morrow joseph tells them the angel's message, save the words of christ in the prison, which he tells to the rich fisher alone. the latter is then put in possession of grail and headship; joseph stays three days with him, then the good fisher goes away--in the land where he was born--and joseph remains.[ ] master robert de borron should doubtless tell where alain went, hebron's son, and what became of him; what life petrus led, and what became of him; what became of the long-lost moyses; where the rich fisher went, and where he stayed. it were well to assemble these four things, but this no man could do save he had first heard tell the greatest history of the grail, which is all true; and in this time i tell it to my lord walter, never had the great history of the grail been told by mortal man. if god gives me strength i will assemble these four parts if i can find them in a book, meanwhile i must go on to the fifth and forget the four. (then follows the merlin). =robert de borron's poem: merlin.=--(in order to give all the materials for the discussion of birch-hirschfeld's theory of the grail legend in the next chapter, a brief summary of the merlin is added. a full one may be found in birch-hirschfeld, pp. , _et seq._) the devil, incensed at christ's victory over him, in revenge begets by fraudful malice upon a virgin, a son, who is to be the wisest of mankind, and to oppose christ's teaching. this is merlin, who at eighteen months is able to save his mother, threatened with the doom of unchastity. afterwards he is brought to king vortigern, to whom he expounds the mystery of the unfinished tower. vortigern is driven from his throne by pendragon, with whom merlin stands in high honour; equally so with his successor, uter pendragon, for whom he builds the round table, leaving one place empty to be filled in the time of uter's successor. he then helps the king to satisfy his passion for yguerne, and takes charge of arthur, their son. when the latter grows up to be a youth he fulfils the adventure of the sword in the anvil, and is proclaimed king. "and i, robert of borron, writer of this book, may not speak longer of arthur till i have told of alain, son of brons, and how the woes of britain were caused; and as the book tells so must i what man alain was, and what life he led, and of his seed and their life. and when i have spoken of these things i will tell again of arthur." (then follows in one solitary ms., the didot-perceval summarised above, p. . as will be seen, it does not tell what man alain was, nor does it refer to him at all save in the most passing way). chapter iii. the legend formed of two portions: early history of grail, quest--two forms of each portion distinguished--grouping of the various versions--alternative hypotheses of development--their bearing upon the alleged celtic origin of the grail--closer examination of the various accounts of the grail: the first use made of it and its first possessor; its solace of joseph; its properties and the effect produced by it; its name; its arrival in england; the grail-keeper and his relationship to the promised knight--three different stages in the development of the queste--the work and the qualification of the promised knight--conclusions: priority over early history of quest--chronological arrangement of the versions. the information afforded by the summaries enables us to take a general view of the legend as a whole, and to attempt a more accurate chronological classification of its varying forms. it will have been seen that the legend is formed of two distinct portions: the one dealing with the origin and wanderings (early history) of the grail, the other with its quest. the two portions are found combined in the joseph and didot-perceval and in the grand st. graal and queste considered each as one organic whole. versions a, chrestien and his continuators; c, didot-perceval taken by itself; d, queste; f, wolfram, and g, perceval le gallois, treat only of the quest. versions b, metrical joseph, and e, grand st. graal, only of the early history. but in nearly all the versions, no matter of which portion, references are to be found to the other, and when the versions are carefully examined, it is found that of each portion there exist two entirely different forms. taking the early history first, versions a, b, c, d, e, and g, in so far as they deal with it at all, relate much as follows: the grail is the vessel which our lord used at the last supper, which, given by pilate to joseph, served the latter to receive the blood flowing from the body of the dead christ, sustained him miraculously during his captivity, was, after his release, used by him to test the faith of his followers, and was brought to england by joseph (a, d, e), by brons (b, c), and was finally confided by joseph to his brother-in-law, brons, to be kept until the coming of the latter's grandson (versions b and c), or was left in charge of alain, son of brons, from whom it passed to his brother josue, in whose line it remained until the good knight should come (version e). but f, wolfram makes the grail a vessel of "lapsit exillit" (_i.e._, lapis herilis, or lapsus ex coelis, or lapis electrix), which, after the fall of the rebel angels, was given in charge to titurel and his dynasty, and by them preserved in the grail castle, montsalvatch, guarded by a sacred order of knighthood whom it chooses itself. so far, therefore, as the early history is concerned all the versions, save one, are in the main of the same class, the differences between them being, apparently, ones of development and not of origin. turning now to the quest, two classes are likewise to be distinguished: in the first the hero is perceval, in the second there are three heroes, galahad, perceval, and bors, chief of whom is galahad. to the first class belong versions a, chrestien, etc., c, didot-perceval; f, wolfram; and g, perceval le gallois; whilst d, queste, alone of the versions which recount the quest only, belongs to the other class. it is followed, however, by e, grand st. graal, in so far as the latter has any reference to the quest. in the other early history version, namely b, metrical joseph, the name of the hero who is to achieve the quest is not mentioned, but the indications concerning him agree more closely with the march of the story in c, didot-perceval, than with those of d, queste; it must therefore be ranged in the first class. the main incident in the versions of this class is the hero's visit to the castle of a sick king, his beholding there the grail in company with other relics, his neglect on the first visit to ask the meaning of what he sees, his punishment, second visit to the grail castle, and attainment of his end, whether healing of the sick king or winning of the grail kingship. the two versions, h, peredur, and i, sir perceval, which belong to the grail cycle, though they do not mention the grail, and although i, sir perceval, does not contain the above-mentioned incident, must likewise be placed in this class, as must also the gawain episodes of diu crone. in the second class this main incident is missing, though several of its less important features are present in altogether different connection. the story in d, queste, is largely made up of adventures tallying often detail for detail with those in the early history version, e, grand st. graal, with which it shares similarity in the quest form. whilst each portion of the legend exists in two forms, the great majority of versions in both cases belong to one form. looking for the moment upon d and e as one whole, there is in both cases only one minority-version, viz., for the early history, f, wolfram, for the quest d-e, queste, grand st. graal. and each of these is only in a minority as far as one portion of the legend is concerned, d-e, agreeing with the majority in the early history, and f in the quest. taking the average of all the versions there results what may be called the _joseph of arimathea form_ as the type of the early history; the _perceval form_ as the type of the quest. as a rule, it may be confidently assumed that the larger number of versions represent an older form, an assumption strengthened so far as the early history is concerned by the fact that the minority version, f, wolfram, can historically be proved to be one of the latest in date of all the versions, and, so far as the quest is concerned, by the following considerations:--the minority version, d-e, has three heroes, of whom perceval is second in importance only to the chief hero, galahad, indeed he occupies as large a space in the narrative. this position can be due only to his being the original achiever of the quest. it is obviously inadmissible that seven or eight versions should have conspired to pick out one only, and that one the second, of the three heroes of the queste, and should have made him the sole hero, whilst it is easy to understand that the author of d, queste, dissatisfied for certain reasons with the older forms of the story, yet not daring to alter it so far as to entirely burke the original hero, should have taken the course he did. two alternative hypotheses now naturally suggest themselves. the two parts of the legend may really form one organic whole, although more frequently found asunder than combined, or the one part may be an explanatory and supplementary after-thought. if the first hypothesis be accepted, it is natural to look upon the metrical joseph and the didot-perceval as the first and last parts of a trilogy, which, as presenting the legend in its fullest and most orderly shape, has a claim to being the oldest form of the story, and the main, if not the only, source of all other versions. if, on the other hand, the second hypothesis be exact, if one part of the legend be later than the other, and has been artificially welded into one with it, that version in which this fusion is most perfect, instead of being the earliest is, with greater likelihood, one of the latest forms. how do these alternative hypotheses affect the special object of these studies--the investigation of the alleged celtic element in the grail romances? in this way. if the early history be an integral part of the romance, the probabilities in favour of a purely christian legendary origin for the grail itself are immensely increased, and the utmost the celtic partisan could hope to show was that a christian legend had somehow or other been strongly influenced by celtic popular traditions. but if the reverse be true the probabilities are at once in favour of the christian legendary element being the intruding one, and the chief aim of the celtic partisan will be to disengage the present versions of the quest from the traces left upon them by the early history, and to accumulate as many parallels as possible between the residuum and admittedly genuine celtic tradition. it by no means follows, however, that the acceptance of the second hypothesis involves the acceptance of the celtic origin of the grail. the romance as we have it--quest, early history--may be the fusion of two elements, one of which, the christian legendary, may claim _all_ that is connected with the mystic vessel. were it otherwise our task would be greatly simplified. for the mere fact that what may be called the non-grail members of the cycle, _i.e._, h, peredur, and i, sir perceval, know nothing of the early history, gives no uncertain hint as to which portion of the romance is the original, and which the accretion. two points have then to be investigated--the relationship one to the other of early history and quest; and, if the quest is found to be the older portion, whether the grail really belongs to it, or whether its presence in the various forms of the story as we now have them may not be due to the early history. an examination of the various passages in which the grail is mentioned will furnish material towards settling the first point. such an examination may profitably omit all reference to wolfram, to the prose perceval le gallois, from which little is apparently to be gained respecting the oldest forms of the legend, and to heinrich von dem türlin's version of the gawain episodes. it must also neglect for the nonce the two non-grail members of the cycle (the mabinogi and sir perceval) as their testimony is either of little or of the highest value according as the quest is or is not found to be the oldest portion of the romance. with these exceptions all the versions furnish elements of comparison, though little is to be got, as far as the point under discussion is concerned, from what is apparently the latest section of the conte du graal, gerbert's poem. the consideration of the second point will necessitate comparison of the various quest forms among themselves, and the examination of numerous celtic stories which present analogies with them. _the grail: the first use made of it and its first possessor._ we learn nothing from chrestien respecting the early history of the grail, nor is gautier more communicative if the mons ms. version be followed. the intercalation, a iia, however, and manessier give full details. according to the former: ... c'est icel graal por voir que nostre sires tant ama que de son saint sanc l'anora au jor que il fu en croix mis. ( - ) according to the latter: c'est li vassiaus, ce saciés-vous, Ù ens li sains sans présious nostre segnor fu recéus quant de la lance fu férus. ( , - ) we learn from the former that "josep le fist fère" (v. ), and that he used it to collect the blood that flowed from each foot of our lord as he hung on the cross (verses - ), whilst the latter leaves it uncertain who the first possessor was, and who held the grail to receive our lord's blood. the information given in versions b, is as might be expected, much fuller. b i, metr. jos., which calls it "un veissel mout gent," tells how christ used it, he "feisoit son sacrement" in it; how it was found by a jew, who delivered it up to pilate, by whom it was given to joseph, and by him used to receive the blood which bursts forth again from christ's wounds when the body has been taken down from the cross.--c, didot-perceval: brons, after relating how longis pierced the lord's body as it hung on the cross, says of the grail, "en cest vessel gist le sanc que joseph recueilli qui decoroit par terre" (p. ).--e, grand st. graal: joseph himself finds the vessel out of which christ had eaten, takes it home, and when he has received the body from pilate, fetches the vessel and collects in it all the blood flowing from the wound he can (i, pp. , ). curiously enough, the very ms. which gives this version has an illustration of joseph sitting under the cross and collecting the blood as it drops from the wounds in side and feet. three different accounts of how the grail came into joseph's possession and to what use he put it thus exist:-- ( ) the grail is the vessel in which christ's blood was received as he hung upon the cross (pseudo-gautier, manessier, didot-perceval, and an illustration in a ms. of the grand st. graal); joseph had had it made (pseudo-gautier). ( ) the grail is the vessel which had been used by christ at the last supper. it is used as a receptacle for the blood of christ after his body has been taken down from the cross (metr. jos.). ( ) same as no. , with minor alterations, such as that it was joseph who found the holy vessel himself (grand st. graal). _the grail: its solace of joseph._ chrestien and gautier are again silent, but from a iia, pseudo-gautier, we learn that joseph was wont to pray before the grail, that he was, in consequence, imprisoned in a high tower by the jews, delivered thence by the lord, whereupon the jews resolve to exile him with nicodemus, and that sister of his who had a likeness of christ (verses - ). manessier, in the mons ms. version, passes this over, but a iiia, has the following important passage:-- en une charte orrible et lède fu mis joseph sanz nul arreste; * * * * xl ans ilecques estut c'onques ne menja ne ne but; mais damediex li envoioit le saint graal que il véoit ii foiées ou iii le jor; (v. pp. - .) in the b versions this episode is one of capital importance. b i., joseph is put into prison, because the jews suspect him of having stolen away christ's body. to him in the dungeon, "qui estoit horrible et obscure" (v. ), appears christ, who hands him the grail, whereat he is surprised, as he had hidden it in a house where none knew of it (v. ), and addresses him as follows:-- en ten povoir l'enseigne aras de ma mort et la garderas et cil l'averunt à garder a cui tu la voudras donner. ( - ) these will be three-- joseph, bien ce saras garder, que tu ne le doiz commander qu'a trois persones qui l'arunt. ou non dou père le penrunt et dou fil et dou saint-esprit ( - ) the offices joseph rendered to christ's body were symbolical of the sacrament: the sepulchre is the altar; the sheet in which the body was wrapped the corporal; the vessel in which the blood was received shall be called chalice; and by the patina upon which it rests is signified the tombstone (v. - ). finally christ promises joseph that:-- tout cil qui ten veissel verrunt, en ma compeignie serunt; de cuer arunt emplissement et joie pardurablement. ( - ) the prose versions repeat this account in the main, but with some important additions, thus: b ii, cangé ms., adds after christ's last words, "lors li aprant jhésu christ tex paroles que jà nus conter ne retraire ne porroit," etc. (i, ); when christ hands the vessel to joseph, "tu tiens lou sanc as trois personnes en une déité, qui degota des plaies de la char au fil," etc. (i, - ); after the description of the grail, "lou graal c'est à dire sor lou caalice."... in c, didot-perceval, the holy ghost, speaking to brons, commands him to reveal to perceval, "icelles paroles segroies qu'il (_i.e._, christ) aprist à joseph en la prison," which, adds the narrator, "je ne vous puis dire ne ne doi" (i, ). e, grand st. graal: the jews, angry at joseph's having taken christ's body down from the cross, throw him into "la plu hideuse chartre qui onques fust veue" and when they hear of the lord's resurrection propose to starve him; but christ comes to him, brings him for comfort "la sainte esceuele que ostoie en sa maison a tot le sanc qu'il auoit requelli," and comforted him much, and assured him that he should not die in prison but come out safe and sound, and his name be glorified. and joseph "fu en la prison ... tant qu'il demoura xlii ans" (pp. - ).[ ] here again are three distinct accounts:-- ( ) that of pseudo-gautier, which merely mentions joseph's devotions to the grail, and does not connect that devotion with any solace during his captivity. ( ) that of the b versions, in which christ himself brings the holy vessel to the captive, and connects it with certain promises and recommendations which he makes to him; the vessel shall remain with his seed, but it is to be in charge of three persons, a symbol of the trinity. the services rendered by joseph to christ's body are connected with the mass. the late (prose) drafts of this version insist still more upon the sacramental nature of the grail. ( ) the grand st. graal and pseudo-manessier introduce a fresh element--the grail is the material means by which joseph is sustained (forty years according to the one, forty-two years according to the other version) without food or drink. the great importance of the incident in the b versions is most remarkable when contrasted with the comparative indifference displayed by the other versions, and notably by the grand st. graal, which, at the first blush, looks so like a mere amplification of b, still more remarkable the agreement between the prose versions of b, with c, didot-perceval, respecting christ's words to joseph against b i, metr. jos. it is difficult to decide which of the two versions is the older; b i, after christ's words, has the following important passage:-- ge n'ose conter ne retreire, ne je ne le pourroie feire, neis, se je feire le voloie, se je le grant livre n'avoie où les estoires sunt escrites, par les granz clers feites et dites: lá sunt li grant secré escrit qu'en numme le graal et dit. which may either have been the reason why the prose versions, followed by the didot-perceval, speak as they do about the secret words, or may be the versifier's excuse for giving those secret words themselves, _i.e._, the explanation of the mysteries of the grail in its relation to the sacrament, in which case the verse would be later than the prose forms.[ ] finally, it would seem that pseudo-manessier, a iiia, and the grand st. graal drew their information one from the other or from a common source. _properties and effect of the grail._ in chrestien these seem to be of a purely physical nature; the grail is borne uncovered through the hall at every meal ( , - ), it feeds the fisher king's father-- d'une seule oiste li sains hom quant en ce greal li aporte sa vie sostient et conforte tant sainte cose est li graaus. ( , - ) the most direct testimony in chrestien to its sacred nature. in gautier, likewise, the physical properties are insisted upon in the following passages:-- lors vit parmi la sale aler la rice gréail ki servoit et mist le pain a grant esploit. ( , - ) moult mangièrent à grant loisir; adonques véissiés servir le gréail moult honestement. ( , - ) but in verses , - a remarkable spiritual effect is attributed to it-- car li diables ne deçoit nul homme ki le jor le voie, ne ne le met en male voie por faire pécié creminal. in a iia, pseudo-gautier, the physical side alone is insisted upon-- et de quanqu'il lor ert mestiers les fornissoit à tel plenté com s'il n'eust néant cousté; ( - ) et li graaux par tot aloit et pain et vin par tot portoit et autres mès a grant planté. ( - ) manessier makes no special reference to the properties of the grail. in the b versions it is the spiritual power of the grail which is dwelt upon. christ's words to joseph have already been quoted (_supra_, p. ), and the use which the latter puts the grail to, and which is specially indicated to joseph by the holy ghost, is in accordance with them. the grail is to serve him as a touchstone to distinguish the sinners of his company-- car il n'a à nul pecheour ne compaignie ne amour; ( , - ) whereas to those who have not defiled themselves with sin it brings la douceur, l'accomplissement de leur cueurs tout entièrement; ( , - ) so that according to them-- ... cuers ne pourroit, a pourpenser ne soufiroit le grant delit que nous avuns ne la grant joie en quoi nous suns. ( , - ) this testing power of the grail is especially brought into play when the vessel is placed on the table in connection with the fish which brons caught, and which won him the name of the rich fisher. c, didot-perceval, has only one reference, "ne il ne covient mie en sa compagnie pechier" (i, ), agreeing with b and with gautier's lines , - . in d, queste, we revert to the physical gifts of the grail. "and as soon as it entered the door of the hall the whole court was filled with perfumes ... and it proceeded to every place in the hall. and as it came before the tables it filled them with every kind of meat that a man would wish to have." when it comes in, "every one looked at each other, and there was not one that could say a single word;" when it goes out, "every one recovered his speech" (d ii, pp. - ). there is no allusion to a gathering at which the grail is used to test the state of grace of its devotees. e, grand st. graal, shows a curious mixture of the two ideas; the grail feeds its worshippers, but only those who are "de sainte vie," to them it bring "toutes le boines viandes ke cuers d'omme pourroit penser," but "li pecheour n'auoient ke mangier." this version shows itself here, as in so many other passages, one of the latest in date, embodying and reconciling as it does the conceptions of the older versions--conceptions which it is difficult to derive, either from a common source or from one another. if it were not for the solitary phrase of gautier's, lines , , etc. (a passage which affords the strongest proof against the homogeneity of that part of the conte du graal which goes under gautier's name), there would be an unbroken chain of testimony as to the food-giving power of the grail on the part of the earlier a versions, supported by the queste in opposition to the spiritual gifts insisted on by the b and e, grand st. graal, forms. it is in any case difficult to believe that if the writer of the queste, with his strong tendency to mystic allegory, had had before him the highly spiritual presentment of the grail-power found in b, he would have neglected it in favour of the materialistic description he uses. in one point this version differs from all others, the dumbness with which the grail strikes those to whom it appears.[ ] _name of grail._ whilst the majority of versions afford no explanation of the name of the grail, b and c attach a curious punning meaning to it, thus b i, metr. jos.: par droit graal l'apelera; car nus le graal ne verra, ce croi-je, qu'il ne li agrée; ( , - ) and c, didot-perceval, "et por ce l'anpelon-nos graal, qu'il agrée as prodes homes" (p. ). e, grand st. graal, seems to follow these versions in nasciens' words, "car tout mi pense sont accompli, puis ke ie voi chou qui en toutes choses me plaist et m'agrée" (i, ). is such a punning explanation more consonant with the earliness or the lateness of the versions in which it is found? if the meaning of "gréal" as cup or vessel was a perfectly well-established one, it is difficult to see why in the first treatment of the subject it should have been necessary to explain the word at all. _arrival of the grail in england._ neither a i, chrestien, nor a ii, gautier, give any indication how the grail came to england; not until we come to a iia, pseudo-gautier, do we learn anything on the subject. it is there related (v. - ) how joseph and his companions take ship and sail till they come to the land promised joseph by god--the white isle, namely, a part of england; and how (v. - ) joseph, finding that "sa vitaille li falloit," prays god to lend him that grail in which he had collected the holy blood. the prayer is granted and the grail appears and feeds the company. a iii, manessier, simply says that joseph, after leaving sarras, carried the grail about with him, then in a singularly enigmatic passage (the fisher king is speaking):-- et, quant il furent départis, il s'en ala en son païs, et tout partout ù il aloit la loi jhésucrist essauçoit. puis vint en cest païs manoir, od lui le saint gréal, por voir. josep qui en dieu se fia icest païs édéfia. ( , - ) the b versions account is much more elaborate, and demands the most careful analysis. in b i, metr. jos., the first mention of the west is found in christ's words to joseph concerning his nephew, alain, who is to keep the grail, to take charge of his brothers and sisters, and puis s'en ira vers occident es plus loiteins lius que pourra; ( , - ) further that petrus is likewise to go "ès vaus d'avaron" ( , ), it being added that-- ces terres trestout vraiement se treient devers occident. ( , - ) effectively we learn (v. , , etc.) that alain leads his brothers into strange lands. but the grail remains behind, and in v. , , etc., an angel declares it necessary that all the people should go to the west, that brons should have the vessel, that he should go straight to the west, and that petrus, after seeing the grail safe in brons' keeping, is to go likewise. joseph follows the angel's command, and three days after he has committed the grail to brons' hands. ainsi joseph se demoura. li boens pescherres s'en ala (dont furent puis meintes paroles contées, ki ne sunt pas foles) en la terre lau il fu nez, et joseph si est demourez. ( , - ) a puzzling passage, as it is difficult to be sure whether line , refers to the fisher or to joseph, a point of obvious importance, as in the latter case it would indicate that joseph in this version does not go west. on turning to the prose versions, some remarkable variations are found in the corresponding passages; thus b ii, cangé ms. (i, ) after relating how brons finds wives for his children, adds, "mais ancor estoit la crestientez moult tenue et moult novele en ce païs que l'an apeloit la bloe bretaigne que joseph avoit novellement convertie à la créance de jhésu-christ," words which would seem to indicate that the writer imagined joseph and his company _already_ in england. the corresponding passage to v. , - runs thus: ensinc se departirent, si s'en ala li riches peschierres dont maintes paroles furent puis, en la grant bretaigne et ensinc remest joseph et fina en la terre et ou païs où il fu envoiez de par jhésu-crist ( ). b iii, didot ms, accentuates the punning reference to avalon in the angel's message to joseph, "come li monde ... va en avalant covient-il que toute ceste gent se retraie en occident" (p. ). the final passage runs thus: "eynsi se despartirent joseph et bron: et joseph s'en ala en la terre et el pais où il fust nez et ampris la terre" (p. ). thus the testimony of these versions favours the application of v, , in metr. jos. to joseph. from c, didot-perceval, we obtain an account similar in parts to that of the b versions, the most direct reference being in the speech of the hermit, perceval's uncle, "biaus niès, sachès que à la table là où joseph fist et je meismes oïmes la voiz de saint esperit qui nos comenda venir en loingteines terres en occident, et comenda le riche péchéor mon père que il venist en cestes parties, là ou li soleil avaloit" ( - ), where the punning reference to avalon is again prominent, and where, apparently, the passage of joseph himself to england is not indicated. an entirely different form of the legend is found in d and e. in the former (d ii, ) it is briefly stated, "and afterwards it happened to joseph, and joseph his father, and a number of his family with them, to set out from the city of sarras, and they came as far as great britain"; again, p. , perceval's aunt relates how when joseph of arimathea came, and his son joseph with him, to great britain, there came with them about , people, all of whom are fed by ten loaves, placed on the table, on the head of which is the grail. e, grand st. graal, dwells specially upon josephe; he is referred to in i, p. , as having passed "le lignage ioseph son père outre mer iusqu'en la bloie bertaigne qui ore a nom engleterre," and ii, , etc., gives a full account of how the passage is effected; how the grail-bearers are sent first, and supported through the water by its power; how, when josephe takes off his shirt, and his father joseph puts his foot upon it, it swells until it holds persons. these two accounts agree better with that of a iia, pseudo-gautier, than with any of the others; indeed, a passage in the latter (v. - ), which tells how joseph committed the portrait of our lord, made by verrine, to the mercy of the sea, may have given the hint for the miraculous shirt story of the grand st. graal. in this version, too, as in d, queste, we first hear of the passage to england, and then the grail appears at the miraculous feeding of the travellers. the versions thus fall into two clearly-defined groups, joseph being the grail-bearer in the one, brons in the latter. the latter class is represented by the metrical joseph and the didot-perceval alone, if we except the berne ms. form of a portion of the conte du graal, which, in its finish, has obviously copied the metrical joseph. to the former class belong all the other versions. nay, more, one of the prose forms of borron's poems is interpolated, so as to countenance the joseph-account of the bringing of the grail to england. moreover, borron's account of the whole transaction is ambiguous and obscure; at first alain is the destined hero, long passages being devoted to him, and the keeping of the mystic vessel being expressly reserved to him. yet he leaves, quite quietly, nothing more being heard of him, and the same machinery of angelic messages is set in motion for brons, to whom, henceforth, the chief _rôle_ is assigned. does not this show that there were from the outset two accounts of the evangelisation of britain, one, attributing it to joseph, of wider popularity, and followed solely by the majority of the romances, whilst borron, who gave greater prominence to the other account, has maladroitly tried to fuse the two into one? in any case it would be remarkable were the legend of purely christian origin, and were the metrical joseph its earliest form, and source of the other forms, that its testimony on such an important point should be contradicted by nearly every other version. do the foregoing facts throw any light upon the question whether the two sections of the romance are originally independent, and which is the earlier? it is the later forms of the quest alone which mention joseph. but if he be really the older of the two personages to whom, in the early history, the evangelisation of britain is attributed, this would of itself go a long way to proving that the two portions of the romance only came into contact at a late stage of their development, and that the quest is the older. it is otherwise if brons be looked upon as the original grail-bringer; the same causes which led to his exclusion from the other versions of the early history might have kept him out of most versions of the quest, and his presence in one quest version could be claimed as a proof of the homogeneity of the romance. for the present, it is sufficient to mark the fact that what may be called the brons form of the early history is in a minority. _the grail-keeper and his relationship to the promised knight._ in the a versions the grail-keeper is the fisher king, uncle to the hero of the quest, perceval. the relationship is first plainly put in chrestien, where the hermit, speaking to perceval of the grail, says-- cil qui l'en sert, il est mes frere ma soeur et soie fu ta mère, et del rice pescéour croi que il est fius à celui roi qui del graal servir se fait. ( , - ) the origin of his name is fully explained in the passage (v. , - ), which tells of his being wounded in battle by a lance-thrust through his two thighs, of his sufferings, and of his only solace being fishing from a boat. how the grail came into his possession c does not say. gautier has no occasion to mention these facts, but from manessier we learn that joseph, having converted the land, died therein; that the fisher king is of his seed, and that if god wills the grail will never have its dwelling elsewhere than with him ( , - ); that he, the fisher king, had a brother, goon desert, treacherously slain by partinal, who broke his sword in the murderous act. goon's body and the fragments of the sword being brought by his niece to the fisher king, he wounds himself with them, "parmi les gambes en traviers," and may not be healed until a knight should come to weld the fragments together and avenge his brother's death. pseudo-gautier tells how joseph, dying, prays that the grail may remain with his descendants-- si fist il, c'est verité fine, qu' après sa mort n'en ot sésine nus hom, tant fust de son lignage se il ne fu del haut parage. li riches peschéor, por voir, en fu estret et tuit si oir et des suens fu greloguevaus ausi en réfu percevaus. ( - ) manessier disagrees, it will have been noticed, with chrestien respecting the cause of the fisher king's wound, and neither he nor the other continuators of chrestien make any mention of that enigmatic personage the fisher king's father, so casually alluded to by chrestien (v. , - ). perceval according to them is a direct descendant of joseph, brons being as entirely ignored here as in the transport of the grail to england. in the b versions the grail-keeper is brons, and the promised knight is his son or grandson, for a close examination again shows that two varying accounts have been embodied in one narrative. in the passage where the holy ghost, speaking to joseph, tells him of the empty place to be left at the table he is to make, the following lines occur:-- cil lius estre empliz ne pourra devant qu' enygeus avera un enfant de bron sen mari, que tu et ta suer amez si; et quant li enfès sera nez, la sera ses lius assenez; ( , - ) followed closely by the prose versions: b ii, cangé mss., "ne icil leux ne pourra estre ampliz tant que le filz bron et anysgeus ne l'accomplisse" (i, ); b iii, didot ms., "cist leus ne porra mie estre ampliz devant ce que li fist bron l'ampleisse" (i, ). but afterwards a fresh account appears; in the second message of the holy ghost, joseph is told: que cist luis empliz ne sera devant que li tierz hons venra qui descendra de ten lignage et istera de ten parage, et hebruns le doit engenrer et enygeus ta sueur porter; et cil qui de sen fil istra, cest liu méismes emplira. ( , - ) in the corresponding passages both b ii and iii have the following significant addition, "et i. autre (_i.e._, place) avoc cestui qui el nom de cestui sera fondé" (i, ), "raemplira ce leu et i. autre qui en leu decestu isera fondez" (i, ), which effectually disposes of m. hucher's attempt (i, , note) to harmonise the two accounts by the remark that in the first one "il ne s'agit pas de la table ronde où c'est perceval qui remplit le lieu vide." henceforth the legend follows the second account. to alain, son of brons, is revealed that ... de lui doit oissir un oir malle, qui doit venir. ( , - ) petrus is to wait for "le fil alein," brons is to wait for "le fil sen fil," and when he is come to give him the vessel and grail ( , - ). b ii, cangé ms., again makes a characteristic addition to the promise to alain "et si li di que de lui doit issir un oirs masles, à cui la grace de mon veissel doit repairier" (i, ). c, didot-perceval, follows the second account of b. perceval is son to alain li gros, grandson to brons, the rich fisher king, "et cil rois péchéors est en grant enfermetez, quar il est vieil home et plains de maladies" (i, ), and nephew to the hermit, "un des fiz bron et frère alein" (i, ), though curiously enough when he tells brons that he knows him to be father of his father, the latter addresses him as "bieaux niès" (i, ). in any case whether b and c do or do not afford proof of a nearer relationship than that of grandson and grandfather between the grail-keeper and the achiever of the quest, the chronology which bridges over years in two generations is equally fantastic. in d, queste, no less than three different accounts are to be distinguished, corresponding certainly to three stages in the development of this version due to the influence of other versions of the legend. the earliest is that preserved in d ii, the welsh translation of a now lost french original. the promised knight is galahad, son of lancelot, grandson, on the mother's side, of king pelles (ch. iv). the grail is kept at the court of king peleur (ch. lxvii), the name of which is apparently corbenic (ch. lxiv). the lame king is mentioned by perceval's sister (ch. xlix), as a son of king lambar, who fought with king urlain and slew him, and in consequence of that blow the country was wasted; afterwards (ch. l.) his lameness is set down to his folly in attempting to draw the magic sword, for which, though there was not in christendom a better man than he, he was wounded with a spear through the thigh. she also speaks of him here as her uncle. the grail quest is not connected in any way with the healing of this lame king. in the text printed by furnivall, galahad is first introduced as lancelot's son and pelles' grandson, but when he comes to arthur's court he bids his returning companion, "salues moi tous chiaus del saint hostel et mon _oncle le roi pelles_ et mon _aioul le riche peschéour_." guinevere's ladies, according to this version, prophesy that galahad will heal the lame king. a long account, missing in d i, is given by the hermit to lancelot of his ancestry as follows (p. ):--celidoine, son of nasciens, had nine descendants, warpus, crestiens, alain li gros, helyas, jonaans, lancelot, ban, lancelot himself, galahad, in whom christ will bathe himself entirely. perceval is son of a king pellehem (p. ). the lame king is pelles, "que l'on apièle lo roi mehaignié" (p. ); he is at corbenic when lancelot comes there. when galahad and his companions arrive at his court a sick man wearing a crown is brought in, who blesses galahad as his deliverer. after the appearance of the grail, galahad heals him by touching his wound with the spear. the third account, from the version of the queste printed with the lancelot and the mort artur in , at rouen, by gaillard le bourgeois,[ ] makes galahad send greetings to the fisher king and to his _grandfather, king pelles_; it adds to perceval's sister's account of how pelles was wounded, the words, "he was galahad's grandfather;"[ ] it adds to the account of lancelot's visit to the grail castle, the words, "this was castle corbenic, where the holy grail was kept." before discussing these differences it is advisable to see what the grand st. graal says on these points. here alain, the fisher king, son of brons, is a virgin, and when josephe commits the grail to his care he empowers him to leave it to whom he likes (ii, -- .) in accordance with this alain leaves the grail to his brother josue, with the title of fisher king. josue's descendants are aminadap, catheloys, manaal, lambor (who was wounded by bruillans with solomon's sword, whence arose such a fierce war that the whole land was laid desert).[ ] pelleans, wounded in battle in the ankle, whence he had the name lame king, pelles, upon whose daughter lancelot begets galahad, who is thus, on the mother's side, ninth in descent from brons, brother to joseph. galahad's descent is likewise given from celidoine, son of nasciens, as follows: marpus, nasciens, alains li gros, ysaies, jonans, lancelot, bans, lancelot, galahad, who in thus counting celidoine is tenth in descent from nasciens, joseph's companion, (vol. ii, ch. xxxix.) so far the story is fairly consistent, although there is a difference of one generation between father's and mother's genealogy. but ch. , in a very important passage, introduces a different account. the angel is expounding to josephe and nasciens the marvels of the lance; to josephe he says, "de cheste lance dont tu as este ferus; ne sera iamis ferus ke vns seus hom. et chil sera rois, et descendra de ton lignaige, si serra li daerrains des boins. chil en sera ferus parmi les cuisses ambedeus," and will not be healed till the good knight come, "et chil ... serra li daerrains hom del lignaige nascien. et tout ausi com nasciens a este li premiers hom qui les meruelles du graal a veues; autresi sera chil li daerrains qui les verra.[ ] car che dist li urais crucefis. 'au premier home du precieus lignaige, et au daerrain, ai iou deuise à demonstrer mes meruelles.' et si dist enchore après. 'sour le premier et sour le daerrain de mes menistres nouuiaus qui sont enoint et sacre a mon plaisir, espanderai iou la venianche de la lanche auentureuse'" (i, - ), _i.e._, the last of josephe's line shall be the only man wounded by the lance, the last of nasciens' line shall be the deliverer. but according to galahad's genealogy, given above, it is _not_ the last of josephe's line (represented by his cousin josue) who is the wounded king, for galahad himself is as much the last in descent from josephe as from nasciens, and even if we take the words to apply only to the direct male descendants of josue, there is still a discrepancy, as not pelles, but pelleant, his father, is the "roi mehaigniés." if the wounded king were really the last of josephe's line, _i.e._, pelles, galahad would be his grandson, as percival is to brons. taking the two versions d. and e. together, some idea may be gathered from them of the way in which the legend has grown, and of the shifts to which the later harmonisers were put in their attempts to reconcile divergent accounts. in the first draft of the queste, galahad has nothing to do with the lame king, the latter remains perceval's uncle, the very relationship obtaining in chrestien. galahad has supplanted perceval, but has not stepped into the place entirely. the second draft of the queste endeavours to remedy this by clumsily introducing the lame king and his healing, missing in the first draft, into the great grail scene at the end, an idea foreign to the original author of the queste, who, having broken with perceval as chief hero, also broke with the distinctive quest incident as far as the chief hero is concerned. but a strange blunder is committed; the second draft, anxious to make galahad's grandfather both fisher and lame king, actually speaks of pelles as galahad's uncle, in direct contradiction to its own indication. the third draft corrects this mistake, and tries by different explanatory interpolations to confirm the relationship of galahad to the lame king, and the identity of his castle with the grail castle. the author of the grand st. graal now appears on the scene, appropriates the story about king lambar, father to the lame king, percival's uncle, makes him an ancestor of galahad, and gives a name to his son, pelleant (which name creeps back into the second draft of the queste as that of perceval's father), and thus derives galahad on the mother's side from brons, although it escapes him that he thus gives the lie to the prophecy which he puts in the angel's mouth, that it is the last of josephe's seed who is to be lamed by the lance, and that he has not given his lambor fictitious ancestors enough to equalize the genealogies. we are thus led back to the relationship of uncle and nephew as the earliest subsisting between the grail king and the achiever of the quest, and we find in those versions which supplant perceval by galahad a story told of the former's great uncle, king lambar, by no means unlike that told of his uncle in the a versions, and that there, as here, the cause of the woe brought upon the hero's family is one of the magic talismans which the hero is in quest of and by means of which he is to achieve his quest. we further notice that in so far as the early history influences the quest forms, it is the later versions in which its influence is apparent, and it is the joseph, not the brons form, which exercises this influence. not until we come to the grand st. graal, an obvious and bold attempt to embody previous versions in one harmonious whole, does the brons form make itself felt. _work of the promised knight._ in chrestien we can only guess at what the results of the successful achievement of the quest would have been by the reproaches addressed to the hero upon the failure of his first visits to the grail castle; he would have mended all things, and-- le bon roi ki est mehaigniés; que tous eust regaengniés ses membres, et tière tenist, et si grans bien en avenist; ( , - ) many evils will flow from his failure, and the cause of it is the sin he has committed in leaving his mother, who thereupon died of grief ( , - ); again the loathly damsel reproaches him that the rich king would have been healed of his wound, he would have kept in peace his land, which he never may again, for now dames en perdront lor maris tières en seront essilies, et pucièles deconsellies; orfenes, veves en remanront et maint chevalier en morront. ( , - ) gautier de doulens gives a vivid description of the effect of gawain's partially successful visit to the grail king; the character of the landscape changes at once-- n'estoit pas plus que mienuis, le soir devant, que dex avoit rendu issi com il devoit as aiges lor cors el païs; et tout li bos, ce m'est avis, refurent en verdor trové, si tos com il ot demandé por coi si sainnoit en l'anstier la lance; si devoit puplier li règnes; mais plus ne pupla por tant que plus ne demanda. ( , - ) all the country folk both bless and curse gawain. sire, mors nous as et garis, tu dois estre liés et maris; car grant aise nos as doné, s'en devons tout mercier dé; et si te devons moult hair pour con que nel vosis öir le greail, por coi il servoit, ne de la joie ki devoit là venir ne poroit nus dire, si en doit avoir duel et ire. ( , - ) in manessier, when perceval has finally accomplished the quest by the slaying of partinal, and has come for the third time to the grail castle (though even then he only reaches it after long wanderings and lights upon it by chance), news whereof is brought to the king;-- li rois, à grant joie et grant feste est maintenant salis en piés et se senti sain et haitiés. ( , - ) perceval is crowned king after his uncle's death, and reigns for seven years. thus, in the a versions, the healing of the maimed king, and the consequent restoration to fertility and prosperity of his land, such are the tasks to be achieved by the hero of the quest. in the b versions an entirely different series of conceptions is met with. brons, the fisher king, is to wait for his grandson, and to hand him the vessel which he received from joseph. when this is done the meaning of the trinity is to be known--[ ] lors sera la senefiance accomplie et la demonstrance de la benoite trinité, qu'avons en trois parz devisée. ( , - ) besides this, the promised knight is to visit petrus, who may not pass away till he comes, and from whom he is to learn the power of the vessel, and the fate of moys (v. , - ). finally, when he comes he is to fill the empty seat, and to find moys, of whom it is said-- de lui plus ne pallera-on ne en fable ne en chançon, devant que cil revenra qui li liu vuit raemplira: cil-méismes le doit trouver. ( , - ) here the only indication which can possibly be tortured into a hint of the waiting of a sick king for his deliverer is the reference to petrus. it is not a little remarkable that when the latter is leaving for england, he asks for the prayers of the company that he may not fall into sin, and lose the love of god (v. - ) does this presuppose a version in which he _does_ sin, and is consequently punished by disease, from which only the promised knight may heal him? on turning to c, a totally distinct account of what the quest achiever is to do presents itself. he seats himself, it is true, in the empty seat, but it goes nigh with him that he suffers the fate of moys, from which he is only preserved by the great goodness of his father, alain (p. ). he does not find moys; petrus is not once mentioned by name, nor does perceval visit anyone who may not die till he come, and from whom he learns the power of the vessel, saving always the fisher king, for the references to whom see _supra_, p. . this fisher king is "veil home et plains de maladies, ne il n'aura james santé devant un chevalier que yà à la table ronde aserra, sera prodons vers deu et vers sainte eglise et ait fait tant d'armes que il soit le plus alosez del monde. et lors vendra à la maison au riche roi péchéor et quant il aura demandé de quoi li graus sert, tantost sera li roi gariz de de sa'nfermeté et cherront li enchentement de bretaigne et sera la prophétic accomplie" (p. ). again, p. "li riches rois péchéors est chéuz en grant maladie et en grant enfermeté, ne il peust morir devant que uns de xxx chevalier, qui ci sunt asis, ait tant fait d'armes et de chevalerie qu'il soit li mieudres chevalier del monde." again, p. , "et quant il (_i.e._, the fisher king) sera gariz, si ira, dedanz li iii jorz, de vie à mort, et baillera à celui chevalier, le vesseau et li aprendra le segroites paroles qui li aprist joseph; et lors ampliz de la grace du sainct esprit et cherront li enchentement de la bretaigne et les afaires." again, when perceval has come for the second time to the fisher king's, and has asked the question and learnt the secret words, he remained there "et moult fust prodons et chéirent les enchentement de la terre de bretaigne et par tout le monde." here, then, are the sick king, the mysterious question, the healing, and the effect upon the land (note how the enchantments of britain are insisted upon), as in the a versions. the only points of contact with b are that brons is like petrus in not being able to die till perceval come, and that his infirmity seems to be ascribed mainly to his age, and not to a wound, which at first sight seems to agree better with the vague indications of b than with the positive statement of a. two accounts, each fairly definite and consistent, are thus forthcoming respecting the object of the quest, the one represented by a and c, the other by b. what light is thrown upon the matter by the remaining versions, and which of these two accounts do they support? neither from the queste, d, nor from the grand st. graal, e, can any clear conception of the quest be gathered. both have a great deal to say about the adventures and the wonders of the grail, but absolutely nothing comes of the achievement so far as the grail itself, or as galahad and his two companions are concerned. it goes to the east, they with it, they become hermits and die. but in proportion as the main object of the quest becomes less definite, the number of secondary objects increases. in d, queste, galahad is to achieve the adventure of the seat perillous (ch. iii, iv); he is to wear the shield left by joseph to mordrains (ch. x); he is to release from life mordrains himself, struck with blindness for approaching too near the grail (ch. xxiii); he (according to the second draft of the queste), is to release king pelles (his grandfather, according to draft ), wounded through both ankles for trying to draw the sword; he is to release simei, burning in a fiery grave for that he once sinned against joseph of arimathea (ch. lxvi). to this sufficiently long list the grand st. graal adds the resoldering of the sword broken by joseph--"ha espée, iamais ne sera resaudée deuant ke chil te tenra qui les hautes auentures del saint graal devra asoumir" (ii, ); the delivery of moys from out the furnace where he burns, not for always "ains trouuera enchore merchi et pardon. mais che qu'il a mesfait, espanira il en tel manière qu'il en sera en fu iusc' a tant ke li boines chiualiers uenra" (ii, ). moys likewise speaks of galahad as one who "achieura les auentures de la grant bertaigne" (ii, - ). finally, pelleur wounded (mehaigniés de ii cuisses) "en vne bataille de rome" is to be released, "il ne peut garir de la plaie deuant ke galaad, li tres boins chiualers, le vint visiter. mais lors sans faille gari il" (ii, p. ). the queste knows nothing of petrus, but in the grand st. graal he turns up at the end in the same casual way as brons, and converts king luces (ii, - ), _i.e._ is thus brought into connection with geoffrey of monmouth's form of the conversion of britain legend. the foregoing statement confirms all that has previously been urged as to the lateness of both queste and grand st. graal. the author of the former again shows himself a daring, but not over skilful, adapter of older legends, the author of the latter an unintelligent compiler, whose sole aim it is to lengthen out his story by the introduction of every incident he can lay his hands upon. but although late, they may nevertheless throw light upon the question which, of the two strongly differentiated accounts of the object of the grail quest which have been noted, has the better claim to be looked upon as the older one. the conte du graal and the didot-perceval agree, as has been seen, against the metrical joseph, in making the main object of the grail-seeker the healing of a maimed or the release from life of a supernaturally old king. this _motif_, it is not too much to say, is the pivot upon which in the conte du graal all turns; in the metrical joseph it is barely hinted at. the queste, if looked at closely, is found to bear witness to the conte du graal form. as is seen from the summary (_supra_, p. , inc. ) it has the very incident upon which so much stress is laid in chrestien's poem, the visit to the sick king, the omitted question, the consequent misfortune. true, all this has been transferred from the original hero, perceval, to the father of the new hero galahad, and, true, the final object which the queste proposes, in so far as it proposes any definite object, to its grail-seeker is of a different character. but the fact that this object is not stated in the same way as in the metrical joseph, whilst that found in the conte du graal _is_ embodied though in a different connexion, points unmistakably to what may be called the healing _motif_ as the older one. here, again, the metrical joseph is in a minority, and it is not even followed by that very version, the didot-perceval, which has been ascribed to the same author, and claimed as an integral portion of the same trilogy.[ ] _qualifications of the promised knight._ neither chrestien, gautier, nor manessier lay any stress upon special qualifications in the quest-hero for the achievement of his task. in chrestien, as already stated, (_supra_, p. ), it is exclusively the sin of which perceval has been guilty in leaving his mother which prevents his achieving the quest at his first visit to the grail castle (v. , - and , - ), whilst the continuator makes no attempt at any explanation of the hero's repeated failures. not until gerbert does a fresh _motif_ show itself in the poem, but then it is a remarkable one; if perceval has been hitherto unable to attain the goal he has so long striven for, it is because he has been unfaithful to his first love, blanchefleur (vi, p. ); he must return and wed her before he is fit to learn the full secret of the grail.[ ] the other quest versions are on this point in striking contrast to chrestien. the words of c, didot-perceval, have already been noted, (_supra_, p. ). again the damsel, reproaching the hero after his first failure, addresses him thus:--"mès je sai bien por quoi tu l' ás perdu, por ceque tu ni es pas si sage ne si vaillant, ne n'as pas fet tant d'armes; ne n'ies si prodons que tu doies avoir le sanc nostre (sire) en guarde" (p. ). it is significant to note in this connection that it is only after perceval has overcome all the best knights of the round table, including gawain (the companion hero, as will be shown later, of the oldest form of the story), and thereby approved himself the best knight of the world, that merlin appears and directs him to the grail castle.[ ] the talk about holy church would seem to be an addition, and the original ideal a purely physical one. in the queste the qualification of the hero has become the main feature of the legend, the pivot upon which everything turns. the one thing necessary is that the hero should be a virgin, and the story is one long glorification of the supreme virtue of chastity. yet even here the warlike deeds of galahad are dwelt upon in a way that points to a different ideal. traces, though slight ones, may be found in c, didot-perceval, of the importance attached to the chastity of the hero; thus his hermit uncle admonishes him, "ne vous chaille de gésir aveuc fame, quar cest un peché luxurious et bien sachiez, que la pichié que vous avez fait, vous ont neu à trover la maison bron," and in the adventure with the damsel of the hound, although he had (p. ) solicited her favours, and she had promised them if he brought her the head of the white stag, yet (p. ) when he returns to her and she offers herself to him, he pleads his quest as a reason for not even passing one night with her. in gautier de doulens, on the contrary, everything passes in accordance with the orthodox custom of the day--when knights were as punctual in demanding as ladies scrupulous in granting the fulfilment of such bargains. but here, again, references to chastity seem to be additions, and rather unskilful ones, whilst in the queste they are the vital spirit of the story. what results from the foregoing is much as follows:-- the perceval form of the quest is certainly the older of the two, and underlies in reality the galahad form. when cleared from the admixture of christian mystic elements it appears as a coherent and straightforward story, in which nothing necessarily presupposes the early history. the influence of the latter is, however, distinctly traceable. as far as chrestien himself is concerned, nothing can be asserted with certainty as to the origin, extent, and nature of that influence; in the case of his continuators it can be definitely referred to that form of the early history which is represented by the queste and the grand st. graal (save in the solitary instance of the berne fragment of gautier de doulens). the later in date the sections of the conte du graal, the more strongly marked is the influence of the early history, and _pari passu_ the increasing prominence given to the christian mystic side of the grail. of the early history two forms can be distinguished. in the one, joseph and the group of persons whom he converts in the east are made the means of bringing christianity to britain. the grail is dwelt upon almost solely in its most material aspect. this form is closely connected with the galahad quest, and its chronology has been elaborately framed to correctly bridge over the difference in time between the apostolic and arthurian ages. it has also affected, as remarked above, the later versions of the perceval quest. the second or brons form knows nothing of the companions of joseph, who is only indirectly the means of the conversion of britain, the real evangelists being kinsmen of his who bear decided celtic names. these kinsmen are related as grandfather and father (or simply father or uncle), to a hero whose exploits are to be dealt with in a sequel. there is strong insistence upon the spiritual character of the grail, which is obviously intended to play an important part in the promised sequel. no traces of this form are to be found in any version (saving always the above-mentioned fragment of gautier), until we come to the grand st. graal, with which such portions as do not conflict with the joseph form are embodied. the didot-perceval, although formally in contact with the brons early history, is not really the sequel announced in that work. it differs profoundly from it in the most essential feature of the story, the nature of the task laid upon the hero. upon examination this appears to be of the same nature as that of the conte du graal, with a seasoning of the christian mystic element. it was, however, _intended_ for a sequel to the metrical joseph, a fact which may be taken as a proof that borron never completed his plan of a joseph-merlin-grail trilogy of which we possess the first two parts. the first of the two points marked for investigation at the outset of this chapter may thus be considered settled. the quest is originally independent of and older than the early history. and although in no instance can the versions of the former be said to be entirely free from the influence of the latter, yet in the older forms the traces are such as to be easily separated from the primitive elements of the story. the versions which have been examined may now be arranged in the following order:-- ( ) chrestien's portion of the conte du graal. the oldest form of the perceval quest, but presupposing an early history. ( ) gautier de doulens followed chrestien, in all probability, almost immediately. even less can be gathered from him than from chrestien respecting the earliest form of the early history, but this is probably represented by ( ) pseudo-gautier, which in all likelihood gives the outline of the work made use of by queste and grand st. graal. pseudo-gautier is almost certainly some years later than gautier, as the berne ms. scribe found it necessary to seek for information in ( ) borron's poem, probably written towards the end of the twelfth century, but which for some reason remained unknown for a time, although it afterwards, as evidenced by the number of mss., became popular. there is every reason to believe that borron knew nothing of any other early history. his work, as we have it, is abridged and arranged. meanwhile ( ) queste had appeared. the author probably used the same early history as pseudo-gautier. he knew the conte du graal, and wrote in opposition to it with a view to edification. he certainly knew nothing of borron's poem, or he could not have failed, with his strong mystical tendencies, to dwell upon the spiritual and symbolic character of the grail. ( ) the grand st. graal, an earlier draft of the work, now known under that title. probably an enlarged version of the hypothetical original early history; wanting all the latter portions relating to brons and his group, which were added to it when borron's poem became known. this work must have appeared before (in which year it is referred to by helinandus), and, as chrestien wrote his poem about - , it follows that at least half-a-dozen works belonging to the grail cycle came out in the last twelve years of the twelfth century. ( ) manessier and ( ) gerbert brought out independent endings to the conte du graal from to . it was probably shortly after this time that borron's poem became known, and that it was incorporated with the grand st. graal, which assumed the shape under which it has come down to us. ( ) the didot-perceval is probably the latest in date of all the members of the cycle. before proceeding to examine our second point, which is whether the grail itself really belongs to the original form of the quest, or has been introduced into the quest versions from the early history, it will be advisable to summarise the opinions and researches of previous investigators. light will thus be thrown upon many points of interest which have not received special examination in these pages. a theory of the origin and development of the cycle, which is in many respects directly opposed to the conclusions we have reached, will also be fully set forth, and an opportunity will thus be given for testing by adverse criticism the soundness of our method of investigation, and of the results to which it has led us. chapter iv. sketch of the literature connected with the grail cycle. villemarqué--halliwell--san marte (a. schulz)--simrock--rochat-- furnivall's reprint of the grand st. graal and of borron--j. f. campbell--furnivall's queste--paulin paris--potvin's conte du graal--bergmann--skeat's joseph of arimathea--hucher: grail celtic, date of borron--zarncke, zur geschichte der gralsage; grail belongs to christian legend--birch-hirschfeld develops zarncke's views: grand st. graal younger than queste, both presuppose chrestien and an earlier queste, the didot-perceval, which forms integral part of borron's trilogy; mabinogi later than chrestien; various members of the cycle dated--martin combats birch-hirschfeld: borron later than chrestien, whose poem represents oldest stage of the romance, which has its roots in celtic tradition--hertz--criticism of birch-hirschfeld. monsieur th. de la villemarqué's researches form a convenient starting point, both on account of the influence they exercised upon later investigation, and because he was the first to state with fulness and method the arguments for the celtic origin of the legend. they appeared originally in the volume entitled "contes populaires des anciens bretons précédés d'un essai sur l'origine des épopées chevaleresques de la table ronde" (paris, ), and comprising a french translation of the mabinogion of geraint and peredur, with introductory essays and detailed explanatory notes. the translation of peredur is preceded by a study of chrestien's poem, in which the following conclusions are stated: the grail is celtic in origin, the french term being equivalent to the welsh _per_, and having a like meaning, basin. it is the druidic basin alluded to by taliessin, the same which figures in the mabinogi of branwen, which appears in the oldest folk-tales of brittany, and which is sought for in the twelfth century mabinogi by peredur, _i.e._, the basin-seeker. the original occult character of the druidic basin, and of the lance, the bardic symbol of undying hatred to the saxon, disappears in the mabinogi, the tone and character of which are purely romantic. composed among a people comparatively unused to the chivalrous ideal, it breathes, however, a rude and harsh spirit. but such as it is, it forms the groundwork of chrestien's poem. comparison between the two demonstrates the simple character of the welsh romance, and shows how the french poet sought to transform it by an infusion of feudal courtliness and religious mysticism. in its last stage of development the story reverts to its pristine, occult, and mystic character. much of what m. de la villemarqué says is sound and telling; but, unfortunately, although well aware that the french poem is the work of three men and not of one, he yet treats it as an organic whole, and thus deprives the larger part of his comparison of all value. moreover, he supports his thesis by arguments based upon a breton poem (the story of which is similar to that of perceval's youth), ascribed without the shadow of evidence to the end of the tenth century. in m. de la villemarqué reprinted his work with extensive additions, under the title of "les romans de la table ronde et les contes des anciens bretons." the section summarised above remained substantially unaltered, but considerable extension was given to the author's views concerning the mode of development of the romances. the points chiefly insisted upon are: the similarity of metre between the welsh poem and the french metrical romances; the delight of the plantagenet kings in the welsh traditions and the favour showed them; and the early popularity of the welsh and breton singers. villemarqué's last word upon the subject is that the welsh storytellers received from the ancient bards a pagan tradition, which, changed in character and confounded with the mystery of the sacrament, they handed on to the romance writers of northern france and germany, who gave it a fresh and undying life. villemarqué's views were worked up by mr. baring gould in his essay on the sangreal ("curious myths of the middle ages," ) and in this form or in their original presentment won wide acceptance as the authoritative exposition of the celtic origin of the cycle. in england, mr. halliwell, when editing, in , the thornton sir perceval, derived it from chrestien and his continuators, in spite of the omission of lance and grail, on account of the sequence of incidents being the same. the mabinogi is alluded to as an adaptation of chrestien. the supposition that perceval's nick-name, "le gallois," implies the welsh origin of the story is rejected as absurd. in germany the grail-cycle formed the subject of careful investigation on the part of san marte (a. schulz) for some years prior to . from to he brought out a modern german translation of wolfram von eschenbach's parzival, accompanied by an elaborate essay on the genesis of the legend, and in , "die arthur-sage und die mährchen des rothen buchs von hergest." in the latter work a careful analysis of the mabinogi leads to the following conclusions:--locale and persons are purely welsh; tone and character are older than the age of the crusades and knighthood; it may be looked upon with confidence as the oldest known source of the perceval _sage_. in comparing the mabinogi with kiot's (_i.e._, wolfram's) version, stress is laid upon the task imposed upon peredur, which is held to be different in character and independent in origin from the grail quest in kiot. the thornton sir perceval is claimed as the representative of an early breton _jongleur_ poem which knew nothing of the grail story. in the former work wolfram von eschenbach's poem is accepted, so far as its framework is concerned, as a faithful echo of kiot's, the provencal origin of which is proved by its oriental and southern allusions. the provencals may have obtained the peredur _sage_ direct from brittany, they at any rate fused it with the grail legend. their version is an artistic whole, whereas the north french one is a confused string of adventures. chrestien's share in the latter is rightly distinguished from that of his continuators, and these are dated with fair accuracy. robert de borron is mentioned, but as a thirteenth century adapter of earlier prose versions; the grand st. graal is placed towards the middle of the thirteenth century. in analysing the joseph of arimathea form of the legend, the silence of the earlier british historians concerning joseph's evangelisation of britain is noted, and is given as the earliest date of this part of the legend. the captivity of joseph arises probably from a confusion between him and josephus. there is no real connection between the joseph legend and that of the grail. wolfram's templeisen agree closely with the templars, one of the main charges against whom was their alleged worship of a head from which they expected riches and victuals, and to which they ascribed the power of making trees and flowers to bloom.[ ] san marte's translation of wolfram was immediately ( ) followed by simrock's, whose notes are mainly directed against his predecessor's views on the origin and development of the grail legend. the existence of kiot is contested; the _differentia_ between wolfram and chrestien are unknown to provençal, but familiar to german, poetry. the grail myth in its oldest form is connected with john the baptist. thus in the mabinogi the grail is represented by a head in a platter; the head the templars were accused of worshipping has probably the same origin; the genoese preserved the sacro catino, identified by them with the grail, in the chapel of st. john the baptist; chrestien mentions with especial significance, st. john's eve (midsummer eve). the head of st. john the baptist, found, according to the legend, in the fourth century, was carried later to constantinople, where in the eleventh century it is apparently used to keep an emperor from dying (even as of the grail, it is told, no one could die the day he saw it). if wolfram cuts out the references to the baptist, _en revanche_ he brings prester john into the story. the essential element in the grail is the blood in the bowl, symbol of creative power as is the baptist's head, both being referable to the summer equinox. associated with john the baptist is herodias, who takes the place of an old germanic goddess, abundia, as john does of odin or baldur.[ ] the essence of the myth is the reproductive power of the blood of the slain god (odin-hackelberend, baldur, adonis, osiris). as the grail may only be seen by those to whom god's grace is granted, so in the german folk-tale the entrance to the hollow mounds wherein lies treasure or live elves is only visible to sunday children or pure youths. thus, too, no man may find the grave of hackelberg (odin). such caves, when entered, close upon the outgoing mortal as the grail castle portcullis closes upon parzival. many of gauvain's adventures appear in german folk-tradition. as to parzival's youth "it cannot be doubted that we have here a variation of the great fool folk-tale (dummling's märchen) found among all people. it is hard to say what people possessing this tale brought it into contact, either by tradition or in writing, with the grail story, but that people would have the first claim among whom it is found in an independent form." the mabinogi explanation of the grail incident is unacceptable, and the mabinogi itself is later than chrestien, as is shown by its foolish invention of the witches of gloucester, and by its misrendering the incident of the dwarves greeting peredur. in the original folk-tale the ungainly hero was _laughed at_, not greeted. the thornton sir perceval may possibly contain an older version of perceval's youth than any found elsewhere. wolfram's poem represents, however, the oldest and purest form of the grail myth, which, originally pagan, only became fully christianised in the hands of the later north french poets. simrock's speculations, though marred by his standing tendency to claim over much for german tradition, are full of his usual acute and ingenious, if somewhat fanciful, learning. his ignorance of celtic tradition unfortunately prevented his following up the hint given in the passage quoted above which i have adopted as one of the mottoes of the present work. in rochat published ("ueber einen bisher unbekannten percheval li gallois," zurich) selections from a berne ms. containing part of gautier de doulens' continuation of chrestien (v. , to end, with thirteen introductory and fifty-six concluding original lines, _cf._ p. ), and entered at some length into the question of the origin and development of the grail legend. the mabinogi, contrary to san marte's opinion, is placed after chrestien. villemarqué's ballad of morvan le breiz is the oldest form of the perceval _sage_, then comes the thornton sir perceval, a genuine popular production derived probably from a welsh original. in spite of what san marte says, the grail incident is found in the mabinogi, and it might seem as if chrestien had simply amplified the latter. on san marte's theory of the (southern) origin of the grail myth, this, however, is impossible, and the fact that the mabinogi contains this incident is a proof of its lateness. up to all writers upon the grail legend were under this disadvantage, that they had no complete text of any part of the cycle before them,[ ] and were obliged to trust largely to extracts and to more or less carefully compiled summaries. in that year mr. furnivall, by the issue for the roxburghe club of the grand st. graal, together with a reprint of robert de borron's poem (first edited in by m. franc. michel), provided students with materials of first-rate importance. his introductory words are strongly against the celtic origin of the story, and are backed up by a quotation from mr. d. w. nash, in which that "authority who really knows his subject" gives the measure of his critical acumen by the statement that the mabinogi of peredur can have nothing to do with the earliest form of the legend, because "in sir t. malory, perceval occupies the second place to galahad." in fact, neither the editor nor mr. nash seems to have tried to place the different versions, and their assertions are thus of little value, though they contributed, nevertheless, to discredit the celtic hypothesis. san marte, in an essay prefixed to the first volume, repeated his well-known views respecting the source of wolfram's poems, and, incidentally, protested against the idea that the mabinogi is but a welshified french romance. in the accomplished editor of the "popular tales of the west highlands," mr. j. f. campbell, published in his second volume (p. ) some remarks on the story of the lay of the great fool, which ended thus, "i am inclined ... to consider this 'lay' as one episode in the adventures of a celtic hero, who, in the twelfth century became perceval le chercheur du basin. he too, was poor, and the son of a widow, and half starved, and kept in ignorance by his mother, but, nevertheless ... in the end he became possessed of that sacred basin, le saint graal, and the holy lance, which, though christian in the story, are manifestly the same as the gaelic talismans which appear so often in gaelic tales, and which have relations in all popular lore--the glittering weapon which destroys, and the sacred medicinal cup which cures." i have taken these words as a motto for my studies, which are, indeed, but an amplification of mr. campbell's statement. had the latter received the attention it deserved, had it, for instance, fallen into the hands of a scholar to whom simrock's words quoted on p. were familiar, there would, in all probability, have been no occasion for the present work. the publication of texts was continued by mr. furnivall's issue, in , for the roxburghe club, of the quête del saint graal from a british museum ms. the opening of twelve mss. from the bibliothèque nationale is likewise given, and shows substantial unity between them and mr. furnivall's text. in mons. paulin paris published, in the first volume of his "romans de la table ronde," a general introduction to the round table cycle, and a special study upon the metrical joseph and the grand st. graal. a large share of influence is assigned to celtic traditions through the medium of breton _lais_. the early history of the grail is a british legend, and embodies the national and schismatic aspirations of the british church. the date given in the prologue to the grand st. graal, and repeated by helinandus, is accepted as the genuine date of a redaction of the legend substantially the same as that found later in the grand st. graal. the word "grail" is connected with the latin _gradale_, modern gradual, and designated the book in which the tradition was first written down. the grand st. graal is anterior to chrestien's poem, and robert de borron's poem in the first draft preceded the grand st. graal, and was written between and , but he subsequently revised it towards , as is shown by his alluding, l. , , "o mon seigneur, gauter _en peis_" (where the underlined words are equivalent to the latin _in pace_) to gautier of montbeliard in the past tense. from to m. potvin brought out his edition of the conte du graal, and of the prose perceval le gallois from mons mss. in the after-words priority is claimed for the latter romance over all other members of the cycle, and three stages are distinguished in the development of the legend--welsh national--militant christian--knightly--the prose romance belonging to the second stage, and dating substantially from the eleventh century. the lance and basin are originally pagan british symbols, and between the lines of the grail legend may be read a long struggle between heretic britain and orthodox rome. the perceval form of the quest is older than the galahad one. the joseph of arimathea forms are the latest, and among these the grand st. graal the earliest. conclusions as paradoxical as some of these appear in dr. bergmann's "the san grëal, an enquiry into the origin and signification of the romance of the s. g.," edinburgh, . the idea of the grail is due entirely to guyot, as also its connection with the arthurian cycle. chrestien followed guyot, but alters the character of the work, for which he is reproved by wolfram, who may be looked upon as a faithful representative of the earlier poet. chrestien's alterations are intended to render the poem more acceptable in knightly circles. on the other hand walter map found guyot too secular and heretical, and wrote from a purely ecclesiastical standpoint the latin version of the legend in which the grail is associated with joseph of arimathea. this version forms the basis of robert de borron, author of the grand st. graal and of the continuators of chrestien. although bergmann denies the celtic origin of the grail itself, he incidentally accepts the authenticity of the mabinogi of peredur, and admits that the whole framework of the story is celtic. in the endeavour to prove the paradox that one of the latest, most highly developed, and most mystic of all the versions of the legend (viz., wolfram's) really represents the common source of them all, bergmann is compelled to make the most gratuitous assumptions, as a specimen of which may be quoted the statement that the _roi-pecheur_ is originally the _sinner_ king, and that it is by mistake that the north french _trouvères_ represent him as a _fisher_. bergmann's views passed comparatively unnoticed. they are, indeed, alluded to with approval in professor skeat's edition of joseph of arimathea, a fourteenth century alliterative abridgement of the grand st. graal (e. e. text soc., ). in the editor's preface the glastonbury traditions concerning the evangelisation of britain by joseph are taken as a starting point, two parts being distinguished in them, the one _legendary_, tallying with william of malmesbury's account, and, perhaps, of considerable antiquity, the other _fabulous_, introducing the personages and incidents of the romances and undoubtedly derived from them. some twenty years after the publication of the "historia britonum" walter map probably wrote a latin poem, from which robert de borron, the grand st. graal, and, perhaps, the other works of the cycle were derived. "grail" is a bowl or dish. chrestien may have borrowed his conte du graal from map; the "quest" is probably an after-thought of the romance writers. speculations such as these were little calculated to further the true criticism of the grail cycle. some few years later, in , the then existing texts were supplemented by m. hucher's work, so often quoted in these pages. in an introduction and notes displaying great research and ingenuity, the following propositions are laid down:--the grail is celtic in origin, and may be seen figured upon pre-christian gaulish coins. robert de borron's poem may be called the petit st. graal, and its author was a lord of like-named territory near fontainebleau, who between and made large gifts to the abbey of barbeaux, which gifts are confirmed in by simon, son of said robert. about robert came to england, met walter map, and was initiated by him into the knowledge of the arthurian romance, and of the legend of the holy grail. between and he entered the service of walter of montbeliard and wrote (in prose) the joseph of arimathea and the merlin. at a later period he returned to england, and wrote, in conjunction with map, the grand st. graal. this is shown by ms. , bibl. nat. (of the grand st. graal): "or dist li contes qui est estrais de toutes les ystoires, sî come robers de borons le translatait de latin en romans, à l'ayde de maistre gautier map." but hélie de borron, author of the tristan and of guiron le courtois, calls robert his friend and kinsman. hélie has been placed under henry iii, who has been assumed to be the henry to whom he dedicates his work; if so can he be the friend of robert, who wrote some fifty years earlier? hélie should, however, be placed really under henry ii. robert wrote originally in prose; the poem contains later etymological and grammatical forms, though it has occasionally preserved older ones; besides in v. , etc. (_supra_, p. ) it refers to the deliverance of moys by the promised knight, and thus implies knowledge of the grand st. graal; this passage is omitted by most of the prose versions, thus obviously older. then the poem is silent as to the christianising of britain mentioned by one prose version (c.). we may accept borron's statement as to his having dealt later with the histories of moys and petrus, and as to his drawing his information from a latin original. merlin is the pivot of borron's conception. in comparing the third part of his trilogy (joseph of arimathea, merlin, perceval) with chrestien it must be born in mind that chrestien reproduces rather the english (joseph--galahad), than the french (brons--perceval) form of the quest, and this, although the framework of chrestien and robert's perceval is substantially the same. chrestien's work was probably preceded by one in which the peredur story as found in the mabinogi was already adapted to the christianised grail legend. there are frequent verbal resemblances between robert and chrestien (_i.e._, gautier, hucher never distinguishing between chrestien and his continuators) which show a common original for both. it is remarkable that chrestien should never mention brons, and that there should be such a difference in the stories of the ford perillous and the ford amorous. it is also remarkable that robert, in his perceval, should complain that the _trouvères_ had not spoken of the good friday incident which is to be found in chrestien. m. hucher failed in many cases to see the full significance of the facts he brought to light, owing to his incorrect conception of the development of the cycle as a whole, and of the relation of its component parts one to the other. he made, however, an accurate survey of the cycle possible. the merit of first essaying such a survey belongs to zarncke in his admittedly rough sketch, "zur geschichte der gralsage," published in the third volume ( ) of paul and braune's beitraege.--the various forms may be grouped as follows: ( ) borron's poem, ( ) grand st. graal, ( ) quête, ( ) chrestien, ( and ) chrestien's continuators, ( ) didot ms. perceval, ( ) prose perceval li gallois. neither the spanish-provencal nor the celtic origin of the legend is admissible; it has its source wholly in the apocryphal legends of joseph of arimathea, in which two stages may be distinguished; the first represented by the gesta pilati and the narratio josephi, which tell how christ appeared to joseph in prison and released him therefrom; the second by the vindicta salvatoris, which combines the legends of the healing of tiberius with that of titus or vespasian. joseph being thus brought into contact with titus, the space of time between the two is accounted for by the forty years captivity, and the first hint was given of a miraculous sustaining power of the grail. borron's poem is still purely legendary in character; the fish caught by the rich fisher is the symbol of christ; the incident of the waiting for the promised knight belongs, however, not to the original tradition but to a later style of christian mysticism. the grand st. graal and the quête extend and develop the _donnée_ of the poem, whilst in chrestien tone, atmosphere, and framework are profoundly modified, yet there is no reason to postulate for chrestien any other sources than nos. - , the differences being such as he was quite capable of deliberately introducing. as for no. (the didot-perceval) it is later than chrestien and his continuators, and has used both. wolfram von eschenbach had only chrestien for his model, kiot's poem being a feigned source. the legend of the conversion of britain by joseph is no genuine british tradition; william of malmesbury's account of glastonbury is a pamphlet written to order of the norman kings, and incapable of serving as a representative of celtic tradition. the passages therein relating to joseph are late interpolations, disagreeing with the remainder of his work and disproved by the silence of all contemporary writers. zarncke's acute article was a praiseworthy attempt to construct a working hypothesis of the growth of the cycle. but it is full of grave misconceptions, as was, perhaps, inevitable in a hasty survey of such an immense body of literature. the versions are "placed" most incorrectly. the argumentation is frequently marred by _a priori_ reasoning, such as that chrestien, the acknowledged leading poet of the day, could not have copied kiot, and by untenable assertions, such as that bran, in the mabinogi of branwen, the daughter of llyr, is perhaps a distant echo of hebron in robert de borron's poem. he had, however, the great merit of clearing the ground for his pupil, a. birch-hirschfeld, and urging him to undertake what still remains the most searching and exhaustive survey of the whole cycle: "die sage vom gral," etc. as birch-hirschfeld's analysis is at present the only basis for sound criticism, i shall give his views fully:--the grand st. graal, as the fullest of the versions dealing with the early history of the grail, is the best starting-point for investigation. from its pronounced religious tone monkish authorship may be inferred. its treatment of the subject is not original as is shown by ( ) the repetition _ad nauseam_ of the same motive (_e.g._, that of the lance wound four times), ( ) the pedigrees, ( ) the allusions to adventures not dealt with in the book, and in especial to the promised knight. the testimony of helinand (see _supra_, p. ), which is of first-rate importance, does not allow of a later date for the grand st. graal than . on turning to the queste it is remarkable that though sometimes found in the mss. in conjunction with the grand st. graal it is also found with the lancelot, and, when the hero's parentage is considered, it seems more likely that it was written to supplement the latter than the former work. this supposition is adverse to any claim it may lay to being held the earliest treatment of the subject, as it is highly improbable that the grail legend occupied at the outset such an important place in the arthurian romance as is thus accorded to it. such a claim is further negatived by the fact that the queste has three heroes, the second of whom is obviously the original one of an older version. in estimating the relationship between the grand st. graal and the queste it should be borne in mind that the latter, in so far as it deals with the early history, mentions only joseph, josephe, evelach (mordrain) and seraphe (nascien), from whom descends galahad; that it brings joseph to england, and that it does not give any explanation of the nature of the grail itself. it omits brons, alain, the explanation of the name "rich fisherman," the name of moys, although his story is found in substantially the same shape as in the grand st. graal, and is silent as to the origin of the bleeding lance. if it were younger than and derived from the grand st. graal alone, these points, all more important for the early history than the mordrain episodes would surely have been dwelt upon. but then if the grand st. graal is the younger work, whence does it derive brons, alain, and petrus, all of whom are introduced in such a casual way? there was obviously a previous early history which knew nothing of josephe or of mordrain and his group, the invention of the author of the queste, whence they passed into the grand st. graal, and were fused in with the older form of the legend. there is, moreover, a positive reference on the part of the grand st. graal to the queste (vol. ii., p. ). the author of the queste introduced his new personages for the following reasons: he had already substituted galahad for the original hero, and to enhance his importance gives him a fictitious descent from a companion of joseph. from his model he learnt of joseph's wanderings in the east, hence the eastern origin of the mordrain group. in the older form the grail had passed into the keeping of joseph's nephew, in the queste the promised knight descends from the nephew of mordrain; brons, as the ancestor of the original quest hero necessarily disappears in the queste, and his place is in large measure taken by josephe. the priority of the queste over the grand st. graal, and the use of the former by the latter may thus be looked upon as certain. but if mordrain is the invention of the queste, what is the meaning of his illness, of his waiting for the promised knight, of the bleeding lance, and of the lame king whom it heals? these seem to have no real connection with the grail, and are apparently derived from an older work, namely, chrestien's conte du graal. chrestien's work, which ended at v. , , may be dated as having been begun not later than (_vide_ _supra_, p. ). its unfinished state accounts for its having so little positive information about the grail, as chrestien evidently meant to reserve this information for the end of the story. but this very freedom with which the subject is handled is a proof that he had before him a work whence he could extract and adapt as he saw fit; moreover we have (prologue, v. , etc.) his own words to that effect. with chrestien's account of the grail--a bowl bejewelled, of wondrous properties, borne by a maiden, preceded by a bleeding lance, accompanied by a silver plate, guarded by a king wounded through both ankles (whose only solace is fishing, whence his surname), ministering to the king's father, sought for by perceval, nephew to the fisher king, its fate bound up with a question which the seeker must put concerning it--may be compared that of the queste, in which nothing is known of a question by which the grail kingship may be obtained (although it relates the same incident of lancelot), which knows not of one wounded king, centre of the action, but of two, both of secondary importance (though possibly chrestien's fisher king's father may have given the hint for mordrain), in which the lance is of minor importance instead of being on the same level as the grail. is it not evident that the queste took over these features from chrestien, compelled thereto by the celebrity of the latter's presentment? the queste thus presupposes the following works: a lancelot, an early history, a quest other than that of chrestien's, and finally chrestien as the lame king and lance features show. it thus falls between (chrestien begun) and (grand st. graal ended). with respect to the three continuators of chrestien it would seem that gautier de doulens' account of the grail, as found in the montpellier ms., knowing as it does only of joseph, and making the fisher king and perceval descendants of his, belongs to an older stage of development than that of manessier and gerbert, both of whom are familiar with the mordrain group, and follows that of the original version upon which both the queste and the grand st. graal are based. there is nothing to show that gautier knew of the queste, whilst from gautier the queste may have possibly have taken perceval's sister and the broken sword. gautier would thus seem to have written immediately after chrestien, and before the queste, _i.e._, about . as for the date of the other two continuators, the fact of their having used the queste is only one proof of the lateness of their composition (as to the date of which see _supra_, p. ). it must be noted that whilst in their account of the grail chrestien's continuators are in substantial accord with the queste versions, and yet do not contradict chrestien himself, they add considerably to his account of the lance. this is readily explained by the fact that as chrestien gave no information respecting the origin of either of the relics, they, the continuators, had to seek such information elsewhere; they found all they could wish respecting the grail, but nothing as to the lance, the latter having been first introduced by chrestien, and the queste versions knowing nothing respecting it beyond what he told. thus, thrown upon their own resources, they hit upon the device of identifying the lance with the spear with which jesus was pierced as he hung on the cross. this idea, a most natural one, may possibly have been in chrestien's intent, and _may_ have been suggested to him by the story of the discovery of the holy lance in antioch half a century before. it must, however, be admitted that the connection of the lance with the grail legend in its earliest form is very doubtful, and that celtic legends may possibly have furnished it to chrestien, and indicated the use to which he intended putting it. the analysis, so far, of the romances has resulted in the presupposition of an earlier form; this earlier form, the source or basis of all the later versions of the legend, exists in the so-called petit st. graal of robert de borron. of this work, found in two forms, a prose and a poetic one, the poetic form, _pace_ hucher, is obviously the older, hucher's proofs of lateness going merely to show that the sole existing ms. is a recent one, and has admitted new speech-forms;[ ] moreover the prose versions derive evidently from one original. the greater simplicity of the poem as compared with the grand st. graal proves its anteriority in that case; paulin paris' hypothesis that the poem in its present state is a second draft, composed after the author had made acquaintance with the grand st. graal, is untenable, the poem's reference (v. etc.) to the "grant livre" and to the "grant estoire dou graal," written by "nul home qui fust mortal" (v. , - ) not being to the grand st. graal, but having, on the contrary, probably suggested to the writer of the latter his fiction of christ's being the real author of his work. the grand st. graal used the poem conjointly with the queste, piecing out the one version by help of the other, and thereby entirely missing the sequence of ideas in the poem, which is as follows: sin, the cause of want among the people; the separation of the pure from the impure by means of the fish (symbol of christ) caught by brons, which fish does not feed the people, but, in conjunction with the grail, severs the true from the false disciples; punishment of the self-willed false disciple; reward of brons by charge of the grail. in the grand st. graal, on the contrary, the fish is no symbol, but actual food, a variation which must be laid to the account of the queste. in a similar way the two alains in the grand st. graal may be accounted for, the one as derived from the poem, the second from the queste. as far as conception is concerned, the later work is no advance upon the earlier one. to return to borron's work, which consists of three sections; there is no reason to doubt his authorship of the second, merlin, or of the third, perceval, although one ms. only of the former mentions the fact, and it is, moreover, frequently found in connection with other romances, in especial with the lancelot; as for perceval, the silence of the unique ms. as to borron is no argument, as it is equally silent in the joseph of arimathea section. all outward circumstances go to show that borron divided his work into three parts, joseph, merlin, perceval. but, if so, the last part must correspond in a fair measure to the first one; recollect, however, that we are dealing with a poet of but little invention or power of giving unity to discordant themes, and must not expect to find a clearly traced plan carried out in every detail. thus the author's promise in joseph to speak later of moses and petrus seems not to be fulfilled, but this is due to borron's timidity in the invention of new details. what _is_ said of moses does not disagree with the joseph, whereas a later writer would probably follow the grand st. graal account; as for petrus he is to be recognised in the hermit perceval's uncle. there may be some inconsistency here, but borron _can_ be inconsistent, as is shown by his treatment of alain, who at first vows to remain virgin, and afterwards marries. but a graver argument remains to be met; the lance occurs in perceval--now _ex hypothesi_ the first introduction of the lance is due to chrestien. the lance, however, only occurs in two passages, both obviously interpolated. the identity of authorship is evident when the style and phraseology of the two works are compared; in both the grail is always _li graaux_ or else _li veissel_, not as with the later versions, _li saint graaux_; both speak of _la grace dou graal_; in both the grail is _bailli_ to its keeper, who has it _en guarde_; the empty seat is _li liu vit_, not the _siège perilleux_. the central conception, too, is the same--the trinity of grail-keepers symbolising the divine trinity. the secret words given by christ with the grail to joseph in prison, by him handed on to brons, are confided at the end of the perceval by brons to the hero--and there is no trace of the galahad form of the quest, as would inevitably have been the case had the perceval been posterior in date to the queste. as the perceval is connected with the joseph, so it is equally with the merlin; it is remarkable that neither merlin nor blaise play a prominent part in the queste versions, but in borron's poem merlin is the necessary binding link between the apostolic and arthurian ages. again the whole character of the perceval speaks for its being one of the earliest works of the cycle; either it must have used chrestien and gautier or they it; if the former, is it credible that just those adventures which were necessary to supply the ending to the joseph could have been picked out? but it is easy to follow the way in which chrestien used the perceval; having the three-part poem before him he took the third only for his canvas, left out all that in it related to the first two parts, all, moreover, that related to the origin and early history of the grail; the story of the childhood is half indicated in the perceval, and chrestien may have had breton lays with which to help himself out; all relating to the empty seat is left out as reaching back into the early history; the visit to gurnemanz is introduced to supply a motive for the hero's conduct at the grail castle; the wound of the fisher king is again only an attempt of chrestien's to supply a more telling motive; as for the sword chrestien invented it; as he also did the grail-messenger, whose portrait he copied from that of rosette la blonde. the order of the last episodes is altered by chrestien sensibly for the better, as, with him, perceval's doubt comes first, then the good friday reproof, then the confession to and absolution by the hermit; whereas in the perceval the hero after doubt, reproof, and absolution rides off again a-tourneying, and requires a second reproof at merlin's hands. it is easy to see here which is the original, which the copy. chrestien thus took with clear insight just what he wanted in the perceval to fit out his two heroes with adventures.[ ] as for borron's guiding conception, his resolve to have nothing to do with the early history made him neglect it entirely; he only cared to produce a knightly poem, and we find, in consequence, that he has materialised all the spiritual elements of his model. gautier de doulens' method of proceeding was much simpler: he took over all those adventures that chrestien purposely left out, and they may be found brought together (verses , - , ) with but few episodes (perceval's visit to blanchefleur, etc.) entirely foreign to the model amongst them.[ ] the perceval cannot be later than gautier, as otherwise it could not stand in such close relationship to the joseph and merlin; it must, therefore, be the source of the conte du graal, and a necessary part of borron's poem, which in its entirety is the first attempt to bring the joseph of arimathea legend into connection with the arthur _sage_. the question as to the origin of the grail would thus seem answered, the christian legendary character of borron's conception being evident; but there still remains the possibility that that conception is but the christianised form of an older folk-myth. such a one has been sought for in celtic tradition. the part played by merlin in the trilogy might seem to lend colour to such an hypothesis, but his connection with the legend is a purely artificial one. nor is the theory of a celtic origin strengthened by reference to the mabinogi of peredur. this knows nought of merlin, and is nearer to chrestien than to the didot-perceval, and may, indeed, be looked upon as simply a clumsy retelling of the conte du graal with numerous additions. a knowledge of the didot-perceval on chrestien's part must be presupposed, as where could he have got the fisher king and grail castle save from a poem which dealt with the early history of the grail, a thing the mabinogi does not do. but, it may be said, chrestien used the mabinogi conjointly with borron's poem. that the welsh tale is, on the contrary, only a copy is apparent from the following considerations:--it mixes up gurnemanz and the fisher king; it puts in the mouth of peredur's _mother_ an exclamation about the knights, "angels they are my son," obviously misread from perceval's exclamation to the same effect in chrestien's poem; _perceval's_ love-trance over the three blood drops in the snow is explained in chrestien by the hero's passion for blanchefleur, but is quite inexplicable in the mabinogi; again, in the welsh tale, the lance and basin episode is quite a secondary one, a fact easily explained if it is looked upon as a vague reminiscence of chrestien's unfinished work; moreover the mabinogi lays great stress upon the lance, which has already been shown to belong to a secondary stage in the development of the legend. again the word graal occurs frequently in old welsh literature, and invariably in its french form, never translated by any equivalent welsh term. as for the name peredur, it is understandable that the welsh storyteller should choose the name of a national hero, instead of the foreign name perceval; the etymology basin-seeker is untenable. there is no real analogy between the grail and the magic cauldron of celtic fable, which is essentially one of renovation, whereas the grail in the second stage only acquires miraculous feeding, and in the third stage healing powers. it is of course not impossible that such adventures in the mabinogi, as cannot be referred directly to chrestien, may belong to a genuine peredur _sage_. the question then arises--was robert de borron a simple copyist, or is the legend in its present form due to him, _i.e._, did _he_ first join the joseph of arimathea and grail legends, or had he a predecessor? now the older joseph legends know nothing of his wandering in company of a miraculous vessel, zarncke having shown the lateness of the one commonly ascribed to william of malmesbury. nor is it likely borron had before him a local french legend as paulin paris (romania, vol. i.) had supposed; would he in that case have brought the grail to england, and left joseph's fate in uncertainty? the bringing the grail to england is simply the logical consequence of his conception of the three grail-keepers (the third of british blood), symbolising the trinity, and of the relation of the arthurian group to this central conception; where the third grail-keeper and the third of the three wondrous tables were, there the grail must also be. what then led borron to connect the sacramental vessel with the joseph legend? in answering this question the later miraculous properties of the grail must be forgotten, and it must be remembered that with borron it is only a vessel of "grace;" this is shown in the history of (moys) the false disciple, which obviously follows in its details the account of the last supper, and of the detection of judas by means of the dish into which jesus dips a sop, bidding the betrayer take and eat. borron's first table being an exact copy of the last supper one, _his_ holy vessel has the property of that used by christ. in so far borron was led to his conception by the story as told in the canonical books; what help did he get from the apocrypha? his mention of the veronica legend and certain details in his presentment of vespasian's vengeance on the jews (_e.g._, his selling thirty for a penny) show him to have known the vindicta salvatoris, in which joseph of arimathea appears telling of his former captivity from which christ himself had delivered him. thus borron knew of joseph's living when vespasian came to jerusalem. from the gesta pilati he had full information respecting the imprisonment of joseph; he combined the accounts of these two apocryphal works, substituting a simple visit of christ to joseph for the deliverance as told in the gesta pilati, and making vespasian the deliverer, whereto he may have been urged by suetonius' account of the freeing of _josephus_ by vespasian (vesp. ch. v.). but why should joseph become the grail-keeper? because the fortunes of the vessel used by the saviour symbolise those of the saviour's body; as _that_ was present at the last supper, was brought to pilate, handed over to joseph, was buried, and after three days arose, so with the grail. compare, too, christ's words to joseph ( , etc.) in which the symbolical connection of the laying in the grave and the mass is fully worked out. thus joseph who laid christ's body in the grave is the natural guardian of the symbol which commemorates that event, thus, too, the grail is the natural centre point of all the symbolism of mass and sacrament, and thus the grail found its place in the joseph legend, ultimately becoming its most important feature. need perceval's question detain us? may it not be explained by the fact that as joseph had to apply twice for christ's body, so his representative, the grail-seeker, had to apply twice for the symbol of christ's body, the grail? but it is, perhaps, best to consider the question and the fisher king's weakness as inventions of borron's, possibly derived from breton sources, the ease with which the hero fulfils a task explained to him beforehand favouring such a view. borron, it must be noticed, had no great inventive power; in the joseph he is all right so long as he has the legend to follow; in the merlin and the perceval he clings with equal helplessness to the breton sagas, confining himself to weaving clumsily the adventures of the grail into the regular arthur legend. the question as to the authorship of the grand st. graal and the queste, the latter so confidently attributed to w. map, may now profitably be investigated. map, who we know flourished - (see _supra_, p. ), took part in all the political and social movements of his time. if we believe the testimony of the mss. which ascribe to him the authorship of the following romances: ( ) the lancelot, in three parts; ( ) the queste; ( ) the mort artur; ( ) the grand st. graal, he would seem to have shown a literary activity quite incompatible with his busy life, when it is remembered how slow literary composition was in those days. nor can it be reconciled with the words of giraldus cambrensis,[ ] although paulin paris (rom. i. ) has attempted such a reconciliation by the theory that the words _dicere_ and _verba dare_ referred to composition in the vernacular, and that map was opposing not his _oratorical_ to gerald's _literary_ activity, but his _french_ to gerald's _latin_ works. against this initial improbability and gerald's positive testimony must be set, it is true, the witness of writers of the time and of the mss. the most important is that of hélie de borron in his prologue to guiron le courtois.[ ] after telling how luces de gast was the first to translate from the latin book into french, and he did part of the story of tristan, he goes on: "apriés s'en entremist maistre gautiers map qui fu clers au roi henry et devisa cil l'estoire de monseigneur lancelot du lac, que d'autre chose ne parla il mie gramment en son livre. messiers robers de borron s'en entremist après. je helis de borron, par la prière monseigneur de borron, et pour ce que compaignon d'armes fusmes longement, en commençai mon livre du bret." again in the epilogue to the bret,[ ] "je croi bien touchier sor les livres que maistres gautiers maup fist, qui fit lou propre livre de monsoingnour lancelot dou lac; et des autres granz livres que messires robert de berron fit, voudrai-je prendre aucune flor de la matière ... en tel meniere que li livres de monsoingnour luces de gant et de maistre gautier maapp et ciz de monsoingnour robert de berron qui est mes amis et mes paranz charnex s'acourderont au miens livres--et je qui sui appelex helyes de berron qui fui engendrez dou sanc des gentix paladins des barres qui de tous tens ont été commendeour et soingnor d'outres en roménie qui ores est appelée france." now hélie cannot possibly belong to the reign of henry ii (+ ) as asserted by hucher (p. ), as he speaks of map in the past tense (_fu_ clers), and map outlived henry, moreover the mention of romenie proves the passage to have been written after the foundation of the latin empire in . hélie's testimony is thus not that of an immediate contemporary, and it only shows that shortly after map's death the lancelot was ascribed to him. it is, moreover, in so far tainted, that he speaks with equal assurance respecting the great latin book which of course never existed; nor can we believe him when he says that he was the comrade of robert de borron, as this latter wrote before chrestien, and must have been at least thirty years older than hélie, who in the guiron (written about ) calls himself a young man. how is it with the testimony of the mss.? those of the lancelot have unfortunately lost their colophon, owing to the queste being almost invariably added; those of the queste show as a rule a colophon such as the one quoted by paulin paris from the bibl. nat., ms. , (mss. franç ii., p. ): "maistre gautiers map les estrait pour son livre faire dou saint-graal, pour l'amor del roy henri son seignor, qui fist l'estore translater dou latin en françois." a similar statement occurs in a ms. of the mort artur (bib. nat. , .). both are equally credible. now as the king can only be henry ii (+ ) and as the queste preceded the mort artur it must be put about , and chrestien's conte du graal about , an improbably early date when it is recollected that the conte du graal is chrestien's last work. the form, too, of these colophons, expressed as they are in the third person, so different from the garrulous first person complacency with which luces de gast and hélie de borron announce their authorship, excites the suspicion that we have here not the author's own statement, but that of a copyist following a traditional ascription. whether or no map wrote the lancelot, it may safely be assumed that he did not write the queste, or _a fortiori_ the grand st. graal. the tradition as to his authorship of these romances may have originated in geoffrey's mention of the gualterus archidiaconus oxenfordensis, to whom he owed his ms. of the historia regum britanniae. a similar instance of traditional ascription on the part of the copyist may be noted in the mss. of the grand st. graal, the author of which is declared to be robert de borron. the ordinary formulæ (quoted _supra_, p. ) should be compared with borron's own words in the joseph (_supra_, p. ) and the difference in form noted. what proves these passages to be interpolations is that the author of the grand st. graal especially declares in his prologue that his name must remain a secret. the colophons in question are simply to be looked upon as taken over from the genuine ascription of borron's poem, and there is no positive evidence as to the authorship of either the queste or the grand st. graal; both works are probably french in origin, as is shown by the mention of meaux in the grand st. graal. as for the date of borron's poem, a _terminus ad quem_ is fixed by that of the conte du graal ( ); and as the poem is dedicated to gautier of montbeliard, who can hardly have been born before , and who must have attained a certain age before he could become robert's patron, it must fall between the years and . the results of the investigation may be summed up as follows: the origin of the grail romances must be sought for in a christian legend based partly upon the canonical, partly upon the uncanonical, writings. this christian legend was woven into the breton sagas by the author of the oldest grail romance; the theories of provençal spanish, or celtic origin are equally untenable, nor is there any need to countenance the fable of a latin original. chronologically, the versions arrange themselves thus:-- ( ) between and (probably about ) robert de borron wrote his trilogy: joseph of arimathea--merlin--perceval. sources: christian legend (acta, pilati, descensus christi, vindicta salvatoris) and breton sagas (brut?). here the grail is simply a vessel of grace. ( ) about chrestien began his conte du graal, the main source of which was the third part of borron's poem. marvellous food properties attributed to the grail; introduction of the bleeding lance, silver dish, and magic sword. ( ) between and gautier de doulens continued chrestien's poem. main sources, third part of ( ) and first part of same for early history--introduction of broken sword. ( ) between and (but after gautier?) the queste du st. graal written as continuation to the lancelot. sources ( ) and ( ) (for lance) and perhaps ( ). new personages, mordrain, nascien, etc., introduced into early history. ( ) before grand st. graal written, mainly resting upon ( ) but with use also of first part of ( ). ( ) between and . manessier's continuation of the conte du graal. for the early history ( ) made use of. ( ) before gerbert of montreuil's additions to manessier. both ( ) and ( ) used. ( ) about perceval li gallois; compiled from all the previous versions.[ ] that part of birch-hirschfeld's theory which excited the most attention in germany bore upon the relationship of wolfram to chrestien (see _infra_, appendix a). in other respects his theory won very general acceptance. the commendatory notices were, however, of a slight character, and no new facts were adduced in support of his thesis. one opponent, however, he found who did more than rest his opposition upon the view of wolfram's relationship to chrestien. this was e. martin, who ("zeitschrift für d. alterthumskunde," , pp. etc.) traversed most of birch-hirschfeld's conclusions. whilst accepting the priority of queste over grand st. graal he did not see the necessity of fixing as a _terminus ad quem_ for the latter work as we now have it, as helinandus' statement might have referred to an older version; if the grand st. graal could not be dated neither could the queste. as for the didot-perceval there was nothing to prove that it was either borron's work or the source of chrestien and gautier. birch-hirschfeld's arguments to show the interpolation of the lance passages were unsound; it was highly improbable either that chrestien should have used the perceval as alleged, or that borron, the purely religious writer of the joseph, should have changed his style so entirely in the perceval. moreover, birch-hirschfeld made borron dedicate a work to gautier of montbeliard before when the latter must have been quite a young man, nor was there any reason to discredit hélie de borron's testimony that he and robert had been companions in arms, a fact incredible had the one written forty years before the other. the work of chrestien and his continuators must be looked upon as the oldest we had of the grail cycle. it was likely that older versions had been lost. a latin version might well have existed, forms such as joseph de barimaschie (_i.e._, ab arimathea) pointed to it. martin followed up this attack in his "zur gralsage, untersuchungen," strasburg, . a first section is devoted to showing that wolfram must have had other sources than chrestien, and that in consequence such portions of his presentment as differ from chrestien's must be taken into account in reconstructing the original form of the romance. the second and third sections deal with heinrich von dem türlin's "die crone," and with the earliest form of the tradition. gawain's second visit to the grail castle, as told of by heinrich (_supra_, p. ) has features in common with the widely-spread traditions of aged men slumbering in caves or ruined castles, unable to die until the right word is uttered which breaks their spell. this conception differs from the one found in all the other versions inasmuch as in them the wonder-working question releases, not from unnaturally prolonged life, but from sore disease. can a parallel be found in celtic tradition to this sufferer awaiting deliverance? does not arthur, wounded well nigh to death by his nephew modred, pass a charmed life in avalon, whither morgan la fay carried him for his healing, and shall he not return thence to free his folk? the original conception is mythic--the summer god banished by the winter powers, but destined to come back again. the _sage_ of arthur's waiting, often in some subterranean castle, is widely spread, two of the earliest notices (those of gervasius of tilbury, in the "otia imperialia," p. of liebrecht's edition, and of caesarius of heisterbach) connect it with etna--the tradition had followed the norman conquerors of sicily thither--and from sicily it would seem to have penetrated to germany, being first found in german tradition as told of frederick ii. again gerald (a.d. ) in the "itinerarium cambriae" (frankfort, , p. , l. ) tells of a mountain chain in the south-east of wales: "quorum principalis cadair arthur dicitur i. cathedra arthuri, propter gemina promontorii cacumina in cathedrae modum se praeferentia. et quoniam in alto cathedra et in ardua sita est, summo et maximo britonum regi arthuro vulgari nuncupatione est assignata." the eildon hills may be noted in the same connection, "in which all the arthurian chivalry await, in an enchanted sleep, the bugle blast of the adventurer who will call them at length to a new life" (stuart glennie, "arthurian localities," p. ). if the grail king is arthur, the bleeding lance is evidently the weapon wherewith he was so sorely wounded. and the grail? this is originally a symbol of plenty, of a joyous and bountiful life, hence of avalon, that land of everlasting summer beyond the waves, wherein, as the vita merlini has it, they that visit arthur find "planitiem omnibus deliciis plenam." of those versions of the romance in which the christian conception of the grail is predominant, robert de borron's poem (composed about ) is the earliest, and in it, _maugre_ the christianising of the story, the celtic basis is apparent: the grail host go a questing avalonwards; the first keepers are brons and alain, purely celtic names, the former of which may be compared with bran; the empty seat calls to mind the _eren stein_ in ulrich von zatzikhoven's lanzelot, whereof (verse , ) _ist gesaget daz er den man niht vertruoc an dem was valsch oder haz_. admitting the purely christian origin of the grail leads to this difficulty: the vessel in which christ's blood was received was a bowl, not an open or flat dish like that used in commemoration of the last supper. evidently the identification of the grail with the last supper cup is the latest of a series of transformations. nor can the christian origin of the legend be held proved by the surname of fisher given to the grail-keeper. true, neither chrestien nor wolfram explains this surname, whilst in borron's poem there is at least a fish caught. but if the fish had really the symbolic meaning ascribed to it would not a far greater stress be laid upon it? in any case this one point is insufficient to prove the priority of borron, and it is simpler to believe that the surname of fisher had in the original celtic tradition a significance now lost. birch-hirschfeld's theory supposes, too, a development contrary to that observed elsewhere in mediæval tradition. the invariable course is from the racial-heathen to the christian legendary stage. is it likely that in the twelfth century, a period of such highly developed mystic fancy, an originally christian legend should lose its mystic character and become a subject for minstrels to exercise their fancy upon? in the earlier form of the romance there is an obvious contrast between the task laid upon the grail quester and that laid upon gawain at castle marvellous. the first has suffered change by its association with christian legend; but the second, even in those versions influenced by the legend, has retained its primitive celtic character. the trials which gawain has to undergo may be compared with those imposed on him who seeks to penetrate into the underworld, as pictured in the purgatorium s. patricii, in the visio tnugdali, etc. this agrees well with the presentment of castle marvellous, an underworld realm where dwell four queens long since vanished from arthur's court, and which, according to chrestien (verse , ), gawain, having once found, may no longer leave. one of these queens is arthur's mother, whom a magician had carried off, a variant it would seem of the tradition which makes arthur's father, uther, win igerne from her husband by merlin's magic aid. many other reminiscences of celtic tradition may be found in the romances--orgeleuse, whom gawain finds sitting under a tree by a spring, is just such a water fairy as may be met with throughout the whole range of celtic folk-lore, and differs profoundly from the germanic conception of such beings. w. hertz, in his "sage vom parzival und dem gral" (breslau, ) following, in the main, birch-hirschfeld, lays stress upon the two elements, "_legend_" and "_sage_" out of which the romance cycle has sprung. he does not overlook many of the weak points in birch-hirschfeld's theory, _e.g._, whilst fully accepting the fish caught by bron as the symbol of christ, he notices that the incident as found in robert de borron, whom he accepts as the first in date of the cycle writers, is not of such importance as to justify the stress laid upon the nickname "rich fisher," by all the _ex hypothesi_ later writers. the word "rich" must, he thinks, have originally referred to the abundant power of conversion of heathen vouchsafed to the grail-keeper, but even robert failed to grasp the full force of the allusion. against birch-hirschfeld he maintains that the connection of joseph with the conversion of britain in all the versions shows that the legend must have assumed definite shape first on british soil, and he looks upon the separatist and anti-papal tendencies of the british church as supplying the original impulse to such a legend. the grail belongs originally wholly to the "legend;" only in the later versions and in wolfram, owing to the latter's ignorance of its real nature, does it assume a magic and popular character. the lance, on the other hand, is partly derived from the celtic _sage_. the boyhood of perceval is a genuine folk-story, a great-fool tale, and had originally nothing to do with the grail, as may plainly be seen by reference to the thornton sir perceval, the most primitive form of the story remaining, the mabinogi, and the modern breton tale of peronnik, deriving directly or indirectly from chrestien. as for the question, although it presented much that seemed to refer it to folk-tradition, as for instance in heinrich von dem türlin's version, where gawain's putting the question releases the lord of the castle and his retainers from the enchantment of life-in-death, yet the form of the question, "je vos prie que vous me diez que l'en sert de cest vessel," shows its original connection with the grail cultus, and necessitates its reference to the "legend." existing versions fail, however, to give any satisfactory account of the question. it is a matter of conjecture whether in the earliest form of the legend (which hertz assumes to have been lost) it was found in the same shape as in the didot-perceval. birch-hirschfeld's theory has already been implicitly criticised in chapter iii. the considerations adduced therein, as well as martin's criticisms and hertz's admissions, preclude the necessity of examining it in further detail. formally speaking, the theory rests upon the assumption that we have borron's work substantially as he wrote it, an assumption which, as shown by the difference in _motif_ between the metrical joseph and the didot-perceval, is inaccurate. again, the theory does not account for the silence of all the other versions respecting brons and that special conception of the grail found in borron's poem. nor does it offer any satisfactory explanation of the mysterious question which birch-hirschfeld can only conjecture to have been a meaningless invention, _eine harmlose erfindung_, of borron's. in fact, only such, portions of the cycle are exhaustively examined as admit of reference to the alleged originating idea, and a show of rigorous deduction is thus made, the emptiness of which becomes apparent when the entire legend, and not one portion only, is taken into account. despite the learning and acuteness with which it is urged, birch-hirschfeld's theory must be rejected, if it were only because, as martin points out, it postulates a development of the legend which is the very opposite of the normal one. we cannot admit that this vast body of romance sprang from a simple but lofty spiritual conception, the full significance of which, unperceived even by its author, was totally ignored, not only, were that possible, by chrestien and his continuators, but by the theologising mystics who wrote the grand st. graal and the queste--aye, and even by the latest and in some respects the most theologically minded of all the writers of the cycle, the author of the prose perceval le gallois and gerbert. we must say, with otto küpp (zacher's zeitschrift, xvii, , p. ), "die jetzt versuchte christliche motivierung ist ganz unglücklich geraten und kann in keiner weise befriedigen." the field is thus clear for an examination of the quest with a view to determining whether the grail really belongs to it or not. the first step is to see what relationship exists between the oldest form of the quest and what have been called the non-grail members of the cycle--_i.e._, the mabinogi of peredur ab evrawc and the thornton ms. sir perceval. as preliminary to this inquiry, an attempt must be made to determine more closely the relationship of the didot-perceval to the conte du graal--whether it be wholly derived from the latter, or whether it may have preserved through other sources traces of a different form of the story than that found in chrestien.[ ] chapter v. relationship of the didot-perceval to the conte du graal--the former not the source of the latter--relationship of the conte du graal and the mabinogi--instances in which the mabinogi has copied chrestien--examples of its independence--the incident of the blood drops in the snow--differences between the two works--the machinery of the mabinogi and the traces of it in the conte du graal--the stag-hunt--the mabinogi and manessier--the sources of the conte du graal and the relation of the various parts to a common original--sir perceval--steinbach's theory--objections to it--the counsels in the conte du graal--wolfram and the mabinogi--absence of the grail from the apparently oldest celtic form. in examining the relationship of the didot-perceval to the conte du graal, the sequence of the incidents is of importance. this is shown in the subjoined table (where the numbers given are those of the incidents as summarized, chapter ii), in which the didot-perceval sequence is taken as the standard. --------------------------------------------------------------- didot-perceval. | chrestien. | --------------------------------|-----------------------------| inc. |inc. | . perceval sets forth in | . only after the reproaches| quest of the rich fisher. | of the loathly damsel | | does perceval first set | | forth in quest of the | | grail. | | | . finds a damsel weeping over | . in so far as finding a | a knight. adventure with | damsel weeping over a | dwarf and the orgellos | dead knight, and ( ) for | delande. | overcoming the orgellous | | de la lande. | | | . arrival at the chessboard | ... ... ... ... | castle. adventure of the | | stag hunt and loss of the | | hound. | | | | . meeting with sister; | ... ... ... ... | instruction concerning the | | grail; vow to seek it. | | | | . meeting with, confession | . _after_ the good friday | to, and exhortation from | incident. | hermit uncle. | | | | . disregard of uncle's | ... ... ... ... | exhortations (slaying a | | knight), through thinking | | of damsel of the | | chessboard. | | | | . meeting with rosette and | ... ... ... ... | le beau mauvais (the | | loathly damsel). | | | | . adventure at the ford with | ... ... ... ... | urbains. | | | | . the two children in the | ... ... ... ... | tree. | | | | . first arrival at grail | . ... ... ... ... | castle. | | | | . reproaches of the wayside | . in so far as in both the | damsel. | hero is reproached by a | | wayside damsel. | | | . meeting with the damsel who | ... ... ... ... | had carried off the stag's | | head and hound, and second | | visit to castle of the | | chessboard. | | | | . period ( years) of despair | . ... ... ... ... | ended by the good friday | | incident. | | | | . tournament at melianz de | . but told of gawain not | lis. merlin's reproaches. | of perceval. | | | . second arrival at grail | ... ... ... ... | castle achievement of quest.| | --------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------- gautier de doulens. --------------------------- inc. ... ... ... ... . in so far as a damsel is foundlamenting over a knight. and . . . . in so far as a knight is slain, but _before_ the meeting with the hermit. . . ford amorous; _entirely different adventure_. . _one_ child. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... and . many adventures being intercalated. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... . --------------------------- the different sequence in the didot-perceval and chrestien may be explained, as birch-hirschfeld explains it, by the freedom which chrestien allowed himself in re-casting the work; but why should gautier, who, _ex hypothesi_, simply took up from chrestien's model such adventures as his predecessor had omitted, have acted in precisely the same way? if the theory were correct we should expect to find the non-chrestien incidents of the didot-perceval brought together in at least fairly the same order in gautier. a glance at the table shows that this is not the case. in one incident, moreover, the didot-perceval is obviously right and gautier obviously wrong, namely, in his incident , where the slaying of the knight before the hero's meeting the hermit takes away all point from the incident. an absolutely decisive proof that that portion of the conte du graal which goes under gautier's name (though it is by no means clear that all of it is of the same age or due to one man), cannot be based upon the didot-perceval as we now possess it, is afforded by the adventure of the ford amorous or perillous, which in the two versions is quite dissimilar. this incident stands out pre-eminent in the didot-perceval for its wild and fantastic character. it is a genuine celtic _märchen_, with much of the weird charm still clinging to it that is the birthright of the celtic folk-tale. it is inadmissible that gautier could have substituted for this fine incident the commonplace one which he gives. if, then, it is out of the question that gautier borrowed directly from the didot-perceval, how are the strong resemblances which exist in part between the two versions to be accounted for? some of these resemblances have already been quoted (_supra_, p. ), the remainder may be usefully brought together here.[ ] first arrival at the castle of the chessboard-- didot-perceval. gautier. li plus biaux chasteaux del monde le bel castiel que je vos dis et vit le pont abeissié et la . . . . . porte deffermé (p. ). et vit si bièles les entrées et les grans portes desfremées ( , , etc.); the damsel exhorts him not to throw the chessman into the water-- votre cors est esmeuz à grant car çou serait grans vilonie ( , ). vilainie faire (p. ). perceval having slain the stag, sees its head carried off-- si vint une veille sor un palestoi une pucièle de malaire grant aléure et prist le brachet vint cevauçant parmi la lande et s'en ala or tot (p. ). voit le braket, plus ne demande par le coler d'orfrois le prist . . . . . . si s'en aloit grant aléure ( , , etc.). on perceval threatening to take it away from her by force she answers-- sire chevalier, force n'est mie force à faire n'est mie drois droit et force me poez bien et force me poés vos faire ( , ). faire (p. ). in the subsequent fight with the knight of the tomb, he, overcome-- se torna vers le tonbel grant que fuiant vait grant aléure aléure et li tombeaux s'enleva vers l'arket et la sepouture contre moultet chevalier s'en si est entrés plus tost qu'il pot feri enz (p. ). ( , , etc.). in the description of rosette (the loathly damsel)-- ele avoit le col et les mains plus le col avoit plus noir que fer noires et le vier, que fer... ( , ). (p. ). when the loathly damsel and her knight come to arthur's court, kay jests as follows:-- lors pria (_i.e._, kay) le chevalier biaus sire, par la foi que il devoit, le roi, dites moi, si dex le vos mire, qui li déist où il l'avoit prise et si plus en a en vostre terre, si en porroit une autre tele avoir, une autèle en iroie querre si il l'aloit querre (p. ). si jou le quidoie trover ( , etc.). these similarities are too great to be accidental. it will be noticed, however, that they bear chiefly upon two adventures: that of the chessboard and stag hunt, and that of the loathly maiden. as to the latter, it is only necessary to allude to birch-hirschfeld's idea that rosette is the original of the damsel who reproaches perceval before the court with his conduct at the grail castle, a theory to state which is to refute it. the former adventure will be closely examined in the following section. there is no need to suppose direct borrowing on the part of one or the other versions to account for the parallel in these two incidents; a common original closely followed at times by both would meet the requirements of the case. it is difficult to admit that the author of the didot-perceval used gautier's continuation and not chrestien's original, especially when the following fact, strangely overlooked by both birch-hirschfeld and hucher, is taken into account: perceval on his first arrival at the grail castle keeps silence (as will be seen by a reference to the summary, _supra_, p. ), because, "li souvenoit du prodome qui li avoit deffandu que ne fust trop pallier," etc. as a matter of fact, the "prodome" had forbidden nothing of the sort, and this casual sentence is the first allusion to the motive upon which chrestien lays so much stress as explaining his hero's mysterious conduct at the grail castle. evidently the didot-perceval, which, to whoever considers it impartially, is an obvious abridgment and piecing together of material from different sources, found in one of its sources an episode corresponding to that of gonemans in chrestien. but its author, influenced probably by the galahad version of the quest, substituted for the "childhood" opening of this hypothetical source the one now found in his version, and the gonemans episode went with the remainder of that part of the story. when the hero comes to the grail castle, the author is puzzled; his hero knows beforehand what he has to do, sets out with the distinct purpose of doing it, and yet remains silent. to account for this silence the author uses the motive belonging to a discarded episode, but applies the words to his hermit, forgetting that he had put no such words into his mouth, and that, attributed to him, the injunction to keep silence became simply meaningless. is the model treated in this way by the didot-perceval chrestien's poem? hardly, for this reason. after the good friday incident occurs the remarkable passage, quoted (_supra_, p. ), as to the silence of the _trouvères_ respecting it. chrestien gives the incident in full, and the author of the perceval could have had no reason for his stricture, or could not have ventured it had he been using chrestien's work. two hypotheses then remain; the unknown source may have been a version akin to that used by chrestien and gautier, or it may have been a summary abridgment of the conte du graal, in which, _inter alia_, the good friday incident was left out. in either case the presence of the passage in the perceval is equally hard of explanation; but the first hypothesis is favoured by the primitive character of the incident of the ford perillous, and several other features which will be touched upon in their place. the didot-perceval would thus be an attempt to provide an ending for borron's poem by adapting to its central _donnée_ a version of the perceval _sage_ akin to that which forms the groundwork of the conte du graal, its author being largely influenced by the galahad form of the quest as found in the _queste_. if this view be correct, the testimony of perceval (wherever not influenced by borron's poem or the _queste_) is of value in determining the original form of the story, the more so from the author's evident want of skill in piecing together his materials. it will, therefore, be used in the following section, which deals with the relationship of the conte du graal and the mabinogi of peredur ab evrawc. _relationship of the conte du graal and the mabinogi._--as was seen in chapter iv, opinion began with monsieur de villemarqué by accepting the mabinogi as the direct source of the conte du graal, and has ended with zarncke and birch-hirschfeld in looking upon it as a more or less direct copy. the most competent of living scholars in this matter, m. gaston paris, has expressed himself in favour of this opinion in his recent article on the lancelot story (romania, ).[ ] before dealing with the question as presented in this form, simrock's view, differing as it does from that of all other investigators, deserves notice. he, too, looks upon the mabinogi as derived from chrestien, and yet bases his interpretation of the myth underlying the romance upon a feature, the bleeding head in the dish, found only in it. but if the mabinogi have really preserved here the genuine form of the myth, it must represent an older version than chrestien's, and if, on the other hand, chrestien be its only source, the feature in question cannot belong to the earliest form of the story. simrock's theory stands then or falls in this respect by the view taken of the relationship between the two versions, and need not be discussed until that view has been stated. to facilitate comparison, the incidents common to the two stories are tabulated as under, those of the mabinogi being taken as the standard:-- mabinogi. conte du graal. inc. inc. _chrestien._ . encounter with the knights. . . adventure with the damsel of . the tent. . avenging of the insult to and . guinevere; incident of the dwarves; departure from court. . arrival at house of first uncle . gonemans. (found fishing); instruction in arms. . arrival at house of second uncle . uncle found fishing; (grail castle). first sight of talismans, grail and lance. the talismans (head in basin and lance). . reproaches of foster-sister whom . reproached by his cousin; also he finds lamenting over a dead instructed by her about the knight. magic sword. . adventure with the damsel of the . blanchefleur, gonemant's besieged castle who offers niece. herself to hero. . second meeting with the lady of . the tent. . first encounter with the sorceresses of gloucester, who are forced to desist from assailing hero's hostess. . adventure of the drops of blood . in the snow. . reproaching of peredur before . the court by the loathly damsel. . gwalchmai's adventure with the . lady whose father he had slain. . peredur's meeting the knight on . hermit, hero's uncle. good friday, and confession to priest. _gautier._ . arrival at the castle of wonders inc. , , and partly and . (chessboard castle); stag hunt; loss of dog; fight with the black man of the cromlech. . second arrival at the (grail) . in so far as gautier ends his castle; achievement of the quest part of the story here with by destruction of sorceresses of the hero's second arrival at gloucester. "thus it is related the grail castle, but no concerning the castle of similarity in the incidents. wonders." the sequence is thus exactly the same in the mabinogi and in chrestien, with the single exception of the blanchefleur incident, which, in the french poem precedes, in the welsh tale follows, the first visit to the grail castle. the similarity of order is sufficient of itself to warrant the surmise of a relation such as that of copy to original. if the mabinogi be examined closely, much will be found to strengthen this surmise. thus, birch-hirschfeld has pointed out that when peredur first sees the knights, and on asking his mother what they may be, receives the answer, "angels, my son"; this can only be a distorted reminiscence of perceval's own exclamation, ... ha! sire dex, merchi! ce sont angle que je voi ci! ( , - ). as the hero's mother would be the last person to describe thus the knights whom she has done her best to guard her son from knowledge of. again, simrock has criticised, and with reason, the incident of peredur's being acclaimed by the dwarf on his arrival at arthur's court as the chief of warriors and flower of knighthood. in the corresponding incident in chrestien, the hero is told laughingly by a damsel that he should become the best knight in the world, and she had not laughed for ten years, as a fool had been wont to declare. this is an earlier form than that of the mabinogi, and closer to the folk-tale account. thus, to take one instance only, in mr. kennedy's giolla na chroicean gobhar (fellow with the goat-skin) [fictions of the irish celts, p. ], the hero comes to the king of dublin, as peredur to arthur, clad in skins and armed with a club. "now, the king's daughter was so melancholy that she didn't laugh for seven years, but when she saw tom of the goat-skin knock over all her father's best champions, then she let a great sweet laugh out of her," and of course tom marries her, but not until he has been through all sorts of trials, aye, even to hell itself and back. in chrestien, the primitive form is already overlaid; we hear nothing further of the damsel moved to laughter nor of the prophetic fool; and in the mabinogi it seems obvious that the hailing of the hero, added in chrestien to the older laughter, has alone subsisted. birch-hirschfeld takes exception likewise to the way in which peredur's two uncles are brought upon the scene, the first one, corresponding to gonemans in chrestien, being found fishing instead of the real fisher king, the lord of the castle of the magic talismans, whilst at the latter's, peredur has to undergo trials of his strength belonging properly to his stay at the first uncle's. evidently, says birch-hirschfeld, there has been a confusion of the two personages. again, when peredur leaves his second uncle on the morrow of seeing the bleeding head and spear, it is said, "he rode forth with his uncle's permission." can these words be a reminiscence of chrestien's? et trueve le pont abaiscié, con li avoit ensi laissié por ce que rien nel detenist, de quele eure qu'il venist que il ne passat sans arriest ( , - ). we shall see later on that in the most primitive form of the unsuccessful visit to the castle of the talismans the hero finds himself on the morrow on the bare earth, the castle itself having vanished utterly. the idea of permission being given to leave is diametrically opposed to this earliest conception, and its presence in the mabinogi seems only capable of explanation by some misunderstanding of the story-teller's model. the blanchefleur incident shows some verbal parallels, "the maiden welcomed peredur and put her arms around his neck." et la damosele le prent par le main débonnairement ( , - ) et voit celi ajenouillie devant son lit qui le tenoit par le col embraciet estroit ( , - ). can, too, the "two nuns," who bring in bread and wine, be due to the "il abéies," which perceval sees on entering blanchefleur's town? it may be noticed that in this scene the welsh story-teller is not only more chaste, but shows much greater delicacy of feeling than the french poet. peredur's conduct is that of a gentleman according to nineteenth century standards. chrestien, however, is probably nearer the historical reality, and the conduct of his pair-- s'il l'a sor le covertoir mise * * * * ensi giurent tote la nuit. is so singularly like that of a welsh _bundling_ couple, that it seems admissible to refer the colouring given to this incident to welsh sources. another scene presenting marked similarities in the two works is that in which the hero is upbraided before the court by the loathly damsel. in the mabinogi she enters riding upon a _yellow_ mule with _jagged thongs_: in chrestien-- sor une _fauve mule_ et tint en sa main destre une escorgie ( , - ). "blacker were her face and her two hands than the blackest iron covered with pitch." ains ne véistes si noir fer come ele ot les mains et le cor ( , - ). "and she greeted arthur and all his household except peredur." le roi et ses barons salue tout ensamble comunalment fors ke perceval seulement ( , - ). in the mabinogi, peredur is reproached for not having asked about the streaming spear; in chrestien "la lance qui saine" is mentioned first although the grail is added. had peredur asked the meaning and cause of the wonders, the "king would have been restored to health, and his dominions to peace." li rices rois qui moult s'esmaie fust or tos garis de sa plaie et si tenist sa tière en pais ( , - ). whereas now "his knights will perish, and wives will be widowed, and maidens will be left portionless"-- dames en perdront lor maris, tières en seront essilies, et pucièles desconsellies; orfenes, veves en remanront et maint chevalier en morront ( , , etc.). in the "stately castle" where dwells the loathly damsel, are five hundred and sixty-six knights, and "the lady whom he loves best with each," in "castle orguellos" five hundred and seventy, and not one "qui n'ait s'amie avoeques lui." "and whoever would acquire fame in arms and encounters and conflicts, he will gain it there if he desire it." que la ne faut nus ki i alle, qui la ne truist joste u batalle; qui viout faire chevalerie, si là le quiert, n'i faura mie ( , , etc.). "and whoso would reach the summit of fame and honour, i know where he may find it. there is a castle on a lofty mountain, and there is a maiden therein, and she is detained a prisoner there, and whoever shall set her free will attain the summit of the fame of the world." mais ki vorroit le pris avoir de tout le mont, je quie savoir le liu et la pièce de terre u on le porroit mius conquerre; * * * * a une damoisièle assise; moult grant honor aroit conquise, qui le siège en poroit oster et la pucièle délivrer ( , , etc.). in this last case certainly, in the other cases probably, a direct influence, to the extent at least of the passages quoted, must be admitted. but before concluding hastily that the welsh story-teller is the copyist, some facts must be mentioned on the other side. thus the incident of the blood drops in the snow, which birch-hirschfeld sets down as one of those taken over by the mabinogi, with the remark that the welsh story contains no trace of a passion as strong as perceval's for blanchefleur, has been dealt with by professor h. zimmer in his "keltische studien," vol. ii, pp. . he refers to the awakening of deirdre's love to noisi by similar means, as found in the irish saga of the sons of usnech (oldest ms. authority, book of leinster, copied before from older mss.) as evidence of the early importance of this _motif_ in celtic tradition. the passage runs thus in english: "as her foster-father was busy in winter time skinning a calf out in the snow, she beheld a raven which drank up the blood in the snow; and she exclaimed, 'such a man could i love, and him only, having the three colours, his hair like the raven, his cheeks like the blood, his body like the snow.'" now the mabinogi says, almost in the same words--the blackness of the raven and the whiteness of the snow, and the redness of the blood he compared to the hair and the skin and the two red spots upon the cheek of the lady that best he loved. in chrestien there is no raven, and the whole stress is laid upon the _three_ drops of blood on the snow, which put the hero in mind of the red and white of his lady's face. as zimmer justly points out, the version of the mabinogi is decidedly the more primitive of the two; and that, moreover, as the incident does not figure at all in what birch-hirschfeld presumes to be chrestien's source, the didot-perceval, the following development of this incident must, _ex hypothesi_, have taken place. in the didot-perceval the hero is once upon a time lost in thought. to explain this, chrestien invents the incident of the three drops of blood in the snow; the mabinogi, copying chrestien, presents the incident in almost as primitive a form as the oldest known one! here, then, the mabinogi has preserved an older form than chrestien, alleged to have been its source in all those parts common to both. nor is it certain that the fact of peredur's undergoing the sword-test in the talisman castle _does_ show, as birch-hirschfeld maintains, that the welsh story-teller confused the two personages whom he took over from chrestien, gonemans and the fisher king. the sword incident will be examined later on; suffice here to say that no explanation is given in the conte du graal of the broken weapon; whereas the mabinogi does give a simple and natural one. but these two instances cannot weaken the force of the parallels adduced above. in determining, however, whether these may not be due to chrestien's being the borrower, the differences between the two versions are of even more importance than the similarities. what are these? the french romances belonging to the perceval type of the grail quest give two versions of the search for the magic talismans, that of the conte du graal and that of the didot-perceval. the latter pre-supposes an early history which, as already shown, cannot be looked upon as the starting point of the legend without postulating such a development of the latter as is inadmissible on _a priori_ grounds, and as runs counter to many well-ascertained facts. the former is not consistent with itself, manessier's finish contradicting chrestien's opening on such an essential point as the cause of the maimed king's suffering. still the following outline of a story, much overlaid by apparently disconnected adventures, may be gathered from it. a hero has to seek for magic talismans wherewith to heal an uncle wounded by his brother, and at the same time to avenge him on that brother. what, on the other hand, is the story as told in the mabinogi? a hero is minded by talismans to avenge the death of a cousin (and the harming of an uncle); it is not stated that the talismans pass into his possession. it is difficult to admit that either of these forms can have served as direct model to the other. if the mabinogi be a simple copy of the conte du graal, whence the altered significance of the talismans? whence also the machinery by means of which the hero is at last brought to his goal, and which is, briefly, as follows? the woe which has befallen peredur's kindred is caused by supernatural beings, the sorceresses of gloucester; his ultimate achievement of the task is brought about by his cousin, who, to urge him on, assumes the form ( ) of the black and loathly damsel; ( ) of the damsel of the chessboard, who incites him to the ysbydinongyl adventure, reproves him for not slaying the black man at once, and then urges him into the stag hunt; ( ) of the lady who carries off the hound and sends him to fight against the black man of the cromlech; "and the cousin it was who came in the hall with the bloody head in the salver and the lance dripping blood." the whole of the incidents connected with the castle of the chessboard, which appear at such length in both the conte du graal and the didot-perceval, but without being in any way connected with the main thread of the story, thus form in the mabinogi an integral portion of that main thread. would the authors of the conte du graal have neglected the straight-forward version of the welsh tale had they known it, or could, on the other hand, the author of the mabinogi have worked up the disconnected incidents of his alleged model into an organic whole? neither hypothesis is likely. moreover the conte du graal and the didot-perceval, if examined with care, show distinct traces of a machinery similar to that of the welsh story. thus in chrestien, perceval, on arriving at the fisher king's, sees a squire bringing into the room a sword of such good steel that it might break in but one peril, and this the king's niece (_i.e._, perceval's cousin) had sent her uncle to bestow it as he pleased; and the king gives it to the hero for-- ... biaus frère ceste espée vous fu jugie et destineé ( , - ). after perceval's first adventure at the grail castle it is his "germaine cousine" ( , ) who assails him with her reproaches; she knows all about the sword ( , - ) and tells him, how, if it be broken he may have it mended ( , - ). so far chrestien, who furthermore, be it noted, makes blanchefleur perceval's lady-love, likewise his cousin, she being niece to gonemans ( , - ). a cousin is thus beloved of him, a cousin procures for him the magic sword, a cousin, as in the mabinogi, incites him to the fulfilment of the quest, and gives him advice which we cannot doubt would have been turned to account by chrestien had he finished his poem. turning now to gautier, in whose section of the poem are to be found the various adventures growing out of the chessboard incident, this difference between the mabinogi and himself may be noted. in the former, these adventures caused by peredur's cousin serve apparently as tests of the hero's strength and courage. the loss of the chessboard is the starting-point of the task, and the cousin reappears as the black maiden. nothing of the sort is found in gautier. true, the damsel who reproaches perceval is in so far supernatural, as she is a kind of water-nix, but it is love for her which induces the hero to perform the task; she it is, too, who lends him the dog, and she is not identified with the "pucelle de malaire" who carries it off ( , , etc.). but later on perceval meets a knight who tells him that a daughter of the fisher king's (thus also a cousin of perceval) had related to him how a knight had carried off a stag's head and hound to anger another good knight who had been at her father's court, and had not asked as he should concerning the grail, for which reason she had taken his hound and had refused him help to follow the robber knight ( , , etc.). this makes the "pucelle de malaire" to be perceval's cousin, and she plays the same _rôle_ as in the mabinogi. true, when later on (incident ) perceval finds the damsel, nothing is said as to her being the fisher king's daughter; on the contrary, as will be seen by the summary, a long story is told about the knight of the tomb, brother to her knight, garalas, and how he lived ten years with a fay. she is here quite distinct from the lady of the chessboard to whom perceval returns later. the version found in the didot-perceval agrees with the mabinogi as against gautier in so far that the hero is in love with the mistress of the castle, and not with the damsel who reproaches him for throwing away the chessmen. this reproaching damsel is not in any way identified with the lady who carries off the hound, who is described as "une vieille," and of whom it is afterwards told "elle estoit quand elle voloit une des plus belles damoiselles du monde. et est cele meismes que mon frère (the brother of the knight of the tomb, who here, as in gautier, is the lover of a fay) amena à la forest," _i.e._, she is the fay herself, sister to the lady of the chessboard castle, who hated her and wished to diminish her and her knight's pride (p. ). here, again, a connection can be pieced out between the various personages of the adventure; and it appears that the hero is driven to his fight against the knight of the tomb by a fair damsel transformed into a mysterious hag.[ ] the mabinogi thus gives one consistently worked-out conception--transformed hag = peredur's cousin--which may be recovered partly from that one of the two discordant versions found in gautier which makes the pucelle de malaire to be the fisher king's daughter, hence perceval's cousin, and connects the stag hunt with the grail incident, partly from the didot-perceval, which tells how the same pucelle de malaire is but playing a part, being when she wills one of the fairest maids of the world. now we have seen that the stag hunt is just one of those portions of the story in which are found the closest verbal similarities between gautier de doulens and the didot-perceval. it is, therefore, perplexing to find that there is not more likeness in the details of the incident. but the similarities pointed out concern chiefly the first part of the incident, and are less prominent in the latter part (the hero's encounter with the knight of the tomb). this, taken together with the difference in the details of the incident just pointed out, strengthens the opinion expressed above, that the didot-perceval and gautier are not connected directly but through the medium of a common source, the influence of which can be seen distinctly in certain portions of either story, and that when this source fails they go widely asunder in their accounts. that such an hypothesis is not unreasonable is shown by the fact that gautier has two contradictory forms of this very story, one of which, that which makes the hound-stealing damsel a daughter of the fisher king, is on all fours with the mabinogi, whilst the other is more akin to, though differing in important respects from, that of the didot-perceval. in this case, at least, gautier must have had two sources, and if two why not more? it may be urged in explanation of the similarities between gautier and the mabinogi, that the author of the latter used gautier in the same free way that he did chrestien, but that getting tired towards the close of his work he abridged in a much more summary fashion than at first. if the comparison of the versions of the stag hunt found in either work be not sufficient to refute this theory, the following consideration may be advanced against it: if the mabinogi derives entirely from the conte du graal, how can the different form given to the grail episode be accounted for?--if it only knew chrestien, where did it get the chessboard adventure from, and if it knew gautier as well as chrestien why did it not finish the grail adventure upon the same lines as it began, _i.e._, partly in conformity with its alleged model? is manessier any nearer than gautier to the mabinogi in the later portion of the tale? the chief points of the story told by him may be recapitulated thus:--the grail damsel is daughter of the fisher king, the damsel of the salver, daughter of king goon desert, his brother (_i.e._, both are cousins to perceval); goon desert, besieged by espinogre, defeats him, but is treacherously slain by his nephew partinal, the latter's sword breaking in the blow. goon's body is brought to the fisher king's castle, whither the broken sword is likewise brought by goon's daughter to be kept until a knight should come, join together the pieces, and avenge goon's death. in receiving the sword the fisher king wounds himself through the thighs, and may not be healed until he be avenged on partinal. perceval asks how he may find the murderer, the blood vengeance (faide = o.h.g. fehde) being on him. perceval fights with partinal, slays him, cuts off his head as token of his victory, returns to the fisher king's castle, lighting upon it by chance, heals the fisher king by the mere sight of the head, which is fixed on a pike on the highest battlements. at the death of his uncle perceval succeeds him as king of the grail castle. here, then, as in the mabinogi, the story turns definitely upon a blood feud; the same act which brings about the death of one relative of the hero, also causes, indirectly, it is true, the laming of another, even as in the mabinogi the same supernatural beings kill peredur's cousin and lame his uncle; the cousin reappears again, bringing the magic sword by whose aid alone the hero can accomplish the vengeance, and uttering the prediction the fulfilment of which will point out the destined avenger. finally, if the mabinogi seems to lay special stress upon the head of the murdered man, manessier lays special stress upon the head of the murderer. now it is quite evident that the mabinogi cannot have copied manessier. it has been alleged that the welsh story-teller, adapting chrestien to the taste of his fellow countrymen, substituted a blood feud for the grail quest, but what reason would he have had for thus dealing with manessier? he had simply to leave out the christian legendary details, which in manessier are, one can hardly say, adapted to the older form of the story, to find in that older form a clear and straightforward account with no admixture of mystical elements. it is impossible to explain the strong general similarity of outline with the equally marked divergences of detail (sorceresses of gloucester instead of partinal, etc.,) except by saying that both, though going back to a common legendary source, are unconnected one with another. the facts thus dealt with may be recapitulated as follows:--there is marked similarity in general outline between the mabinogi and the conte du graal in the adventures common to both; in that portion of the conte du graal due to chrestien there occur, moreover, many and close verbal parallels, and the corresponding part of the mabinogi is told at greater length than the remainder of the incidents common to both works. that which answers in the mabinogi to the grail quest forms a clear and straightforward whole, the main features of which may be recovered from the conte du graal, but in varying proportions from the various sections of that work. thus the indications of this mabinogi talisman quest, the central intrigue, as it may be called, of the tale, are in chrestien of the slightest nature, being confined to passing hints; in gautier they are fuller and more precise, though pointing to a version of the central intrigue different, not only in details but in conception, from that of the mabinogi; in manessier alone is there agreement of conception, although the details still vary. finally, those portions of the mabinogi which are in closest verbal agreement with chrestien contain statements which cannot easily be reconciled with this central intrigue. these facts seem to warrant some such deductions as these. bearing in mind that the mabinogi is an obvious piecing together of all sorts of incidents relating to its hero, the only connecting link being that of his personality, its author may be supposed, when compiling his work, to have stretched out his hand in all directions for material. now a portion of the peredur _sage_ consisted of adventures often found elsewhere in the folk-tale cycles of the great fool and the avenging kinsman--cycles which, in celtic tradition, at least, cover almost the same ground as the one described by j. g. von hahn under the title, "die arische aussetzung und rückkehr-formel." in the original of the mabinogi this portion probably comprised the childhood and forest up-bringing, the visit to arthur with the accompanying incidents, the training by the uncle (who _may_ have been the fisher king), the arrival at the (bespelled) castle, where the hero is to be minded of his task by the sight of certain talismans and of his cousin's head, the reproaches of the loathly damsel, her subsequent testing of the hero by the adventures of the chessboard, stag hunt, etc., the hero's final accomplishment of the task, vengeance on his kindred's enemies, and removal of the spells. there would seem to have been no such love story as that frequently found in stories of the great fool class, _e.g._, in the irish one (_supra_, p. ). this original was probably some steps removed from being a genuine popular version; the incidents were presented in a way at once over-concise and confused, and some which, as will be seen in the next chapter, the living folk-tale has preserved were left out or their significance was not recognized. what more natural than that the author of the mabinogi in its present form, knowing chrestien, should piece out his bare, bald narrative with shreds and patches from the frenchman's poem? the moment chrestien fails him, he falls back into the hurried concision of his original. his adaptation of chrestien is done with singularly little skill, and at times he seems to have misunderstood his model. he confines his borrowing to matters of detail, not allowing, for instance, chrestien's presentment of the grail incident to supersede that of his welsh original. in one point he may, following chrestien, have made a vital change. it seems doubtful whether the welsh source of the mabinogi knew of a maimed king, an uncle to be healed through the hero's agency; the sole task may have been the avenging the cousin's death. true the "lame uncle" appears at the end, but this may be due to some sudden desire for consistency on the arranger's part. but whether or no he was found in the welsh story preserved in the mabinogi, he certainly played no such leading part as in the conte du graal. the two stories deal with the same cycle of adventures, but the object of the hero is not the same in both, and, consequently, the machinery employed is not quite the same. the present mabinogi is an unskilful fusion of these two variations upon the one theme.[ ] light is also thrown by this investigation upon the question of chrestien's relationship to his continuators. birch-hirschfeld's theory that the didot-perceval was the source of chrestien and gautier has already been set aside. apart from the reasons already adduced, the fact that it does not explain from whence manessier got his ending of the story would alone condemn it. it must now be evident that chrestien and two of his continuators drew from one source, and this a poem of no great length probably, the main outlines of which were nearly the same as those of the welsh proto-mabinogi given above, with this difference, that the story turned upon the healing of the uncle and not the avenging the cousin's death. this poem, which seems also to have served, directly or indirectly, as one of the sources of the didot-perceval, had probably departed from popular lines in many respects, and _may_, though this would be an exceedingly difficult question to determine, have begun the incorporation of the joseph of arimathea legend with its consequent wresting to purposes of christian symbolisms of the objects and incidents of the old folk-tale. such an incorporation had almost certainly begun before chrestien's time, and was continued by him. there can be little doubt that he dealt with his model in a free and daring spirit, altering and adding as seemed best to him. this alone explains how manessier, slavishly following the common original, tells differently the cause of the lame king's wound. gautier, who lacked chrestien's creative power, though he often equals him in the grace and vivacity of his narrative, seems to have had no conception of a plan; the section of conte du graal which goes under his name is a mere disorderly heap of disconnected adventures brought together without care for consistency. but for this very reason he is of more value in restoring the original form of the story than chrestien, who, striving after consistency, harmony, and artistic development of his tale, alters, adds to, or retrenches from the older version. gautier had doubtless other sources besides the one made use of by chrestien. this does not seem to be the case with manessier, who, for this portion of the story, confined himself to chrestien's original, without taking note of the differences in _motif_ introduced by his predecessor. what is foreign to it he drew from sources familiar to us, the queste and grand s. graal, from which more than two-thirds of his section are derived. in working back to the earliest form of the perceval-_sage_, mabinogi and conte du graal are thus of equal value and mutually complementary. both are second-hand sources, and their testimony is at times sadly corrupt, but it is from them chiefly that information must be sought as to the earlier stages of development of this legendary cycle. they do not by themselves give any satisfactory explanation of the more mysterious features of the full-blown legend, but they do present the facts in such a way as to put out of court the hypothesis of a solely christian legendary origin. before proceeding further it will be well to see if the english sir perceval has likewise claims to be considered one of the versions which yield trustworthy indications as to the older form of the story. this poem, described by halliwell as simply an abridged english version of the conte du graal, has, as may be seen by reference to ch. iv, been treated with more respect by other investigators, several of whom, struck by its archaic look, have pronounced it one of the earliest versions of the perceval _sage_. it has quite lately been the object of elaborate study by paul steinbach in his dissertation: "uber dem einfluss des crestien de troies auf die altenglische literatur," leipzig, . the results of his researches may be stated somewhat as follows: the two works correspond incident for incident down to the death of the red knight, the chief differences being that perceval is made a nephew of king arthur, that the death of his father at the hands of the red knight is explained as an act of revenge on the part of the latter, that arthur recognizes his nephew at once, and tells him concerning the red knight, and that the burning of the red knight, only hinted at in chrestien's lines-- ains auroie par carbonees. trestout escarbellié le mort, etc. ( , - ). is fully told in the english poem. after the red knight incident the parallelism is much less close. the english poem has incidents to itself: the slaying of the witch, the meeting with the uncle and nine cousins, the fight with the giant for the ring, the meeting with and restoring to health the mother. of the remaining incidents, those connected with lufamour are more or less parallel to what chrestien relates of his hero's adventure with blanchefleur, and that of the black knight, with that of the orgellous de la lande in chrestien. of the , verses of the english poem the greater part may be paralleled from chrestien, thus:-- p. of g. cr. - - - - , - , - - , - , - , - , - , - , - , - , { , - - { , - { , - , - , - , - , - , , - , , - , , - , , - , - , , - , - , } , - , } { , - , , - , } { , - , - , , - , , - , , - , the incidents comprised v. - and , - , , being the only one entirely unconnected with chrestien. this general agreement between the two works shows the dependence of the one on the other. but while evidently dependent, the english poem, as is shown by the differences between it and its french original, belongs at once to a less and to a more highly developed stage of the perceval _sage_. the differences are thus of two kinds, those testifying to the writer's adherence to older, probably breton, popular traditions and those due to himself, and testifying to the skill with which he has worked up his materials and fitted portions of chrestien's poem into an older framework. of the first kind are: the statement that perceval meets with three knights instead of five as in chrestien, the english poem agreeing here with the mabinogi; the mention of his riding on a _mare_ and of his being clad in goat-skins, the english poem again agreeing rather with the mabinogi than with chrestien, and showing likewise points of contact with the breton ballads about morvan lez breiz, printed by villemarqué in the barzaz breiz. the combat with the giant may likewise be paralleled from the lez breiz cycle in that hero's fight with the moorish giant. these points would seem to indicate knowledge on the author's part of popular traditions concerning perceval forming a small cycle, of which the departure from, and return to the mother were the opening and closing incidents respectively. this form of the story must have been widely spread and popular to induce the author to leave out as much as he has done of chrestien's poem in order to bring it within the traditional framework. he accomplished his task with much skill, removing every trace of whatever did not bear directly upon the march of the story as he told it. in view of this skill differences which tend to make the story more consequent and logical may fairly be ascribed to him. such are: the making perceval a nephew of arthur, the mention of a feud between the red knight and perceval's father, the combat with the witch arising out of perceval's wearing the red knight's armour, and the other adventures which follow eventually from the same cause, the feature that the ring taken by perceval from the lady in the tent is a magic one, endowing its wearer with supernatural strength, the change made between this ring and his mother's which prepares the final recognition, etc. the original poem probably ended with the reunion of mother and son, the last verse, briefly mentioning the hero's death, being a later addition. to sum up, sir perceval may be looked upon as the work of a folk-singer who fitted into the old breton framework a series of adventures taken partly from chrestien, partly from the same breton traditions which were chrestien's main source, and with remarkable skill avoided all such incidents as would not have accorded with the limits he had imposed upon himself. against this view of steinbach's it might be urged that a writer as skilful as the author of sir perceval is assumed to be could easily have worked chrestien's grail episode into his traditional framework. a more plausible explanation, assuming the theory to be in the main correct, might be found in the great popularity in this country of the galahad form of the quest, and the consequent unwillingness on the author's part to bring in what may have seemed to him like a rival version. steinbach has not noticed one curious bit of testimony to the poem's being an abridgment of an older work, more archaic in some respects than chrestien. when the hero has slain the red knight he knows not how to rid him of his armour, but he bethinks him-- ... "my moder bad me whenne my dart solde brokene be, owte of the irene brenne the tree, now es me fyre gnede" ( - ). now the mother's counsel, given in verses xxv-vi are solely that he should be "of mesure," and be courteous to knights; nothing is said about burning the tree out of the iron, nor does any such counsel figure either in chrestien or in the mabinogi, which in this passage has copied, with misunderstandings, the french poet.[ ] the use of chrestien by the author of sir perceval seems, however, uncontestable; and, such being the case, steinbach's views meet the difficulties of the case fairly well. it will be shown farther on, however, that several of the points in which the german critic detects a post-chrestien development, are, on the contrary, remains of as old and popular a form of the story as we can work back to. accepting, then, the hypothesis that sir perceval, like the mabinogi, has been influenced by chrestien, what is the apparent conclusion to be drawn from the fact that the former omits the grail episode altogether, whilst the latter joins chrestien's version to its own, presumably older one, so clumsily as to betray the join at once? may it not be urged that chrestien's account is obviously at variance with the older story as he found it? may not the fact be accounted for by the introduction of a strange element into the thread of the romance? this element would, according to birch-hirschfeld, be the christian holy-vessel legend, and it would thus appear that the grail is really foreign to the celtic tradition. let me recapitulate briefly the reasons already urged against such a view. the early history of the grail, that part in which the christian element prevails, must certainly be regarded as later than the quest, to which it could not have given rise without assuming such a development of the romance as is well nigh incredible--the quest versions, moreover, all hang together in certain respects, and point unmistakably to celtic traditions as their source. these traditions must then be examined further to see if they contain such traces of the mystic vessel as are wanting in the mabinogi and the english poem, and as may have given rise to the episode as found in the french romances. as perceval is the oldest hero of the quest, and as the boyhood of perceval, forming an integral part of all the oldest quest versions presents the strongest analogies with the folk-tale of the great fool, it is this tale which must now be examined. chapter vi. the lay of the great fool--summary of the prose opening--the aryan expulsion and return formula--comparison with the mabinogi, sir perceval, and the conte du graal--originality of the highland tale--comparison with the fionn legend--summary of the lay of the great fool--comparison with the stag hunt incident in the conte du graal and the mabinogi--the folk-tale of the twin brethren--the fight against the witch who brings the dead to life in gerbert and the similar incident in the folk-tale of the knight of the red shield--comparison with the original form of the mabinogi--originality of gerbert. one of the most popular of the poetic narratives in the old heroic quatrain measure still surviving in the highlands is the "lay of the great fool" (laoidh an amadain mhoir), concerning which, according to campbell, vol. iii., p. , the following saying is current:--"each poem to the poem of the red; each lay to the lay of the great fool; each history to the history of connal" (is to be referred as a standard). this lay, as will be shown presently, offers some remarkable similarities with the central grail episode of the quest romances, but before it is investigated a prose opening often found with it must be noticed. this prose opening may be summarised thus from campbell, vol. iii., pp. , _et seq._ there were once two brothers, the one king over erin, the other a mere knight. the latter had sons, the former none. strife broke out between the two brothers, and the knight and his sons were slain. word was sent to the wife, then pregnant, that if she bore a son it must be put to death. it was a lad she had, and she sent him into the wilderness in charge of a kitchen wench who had a love son. the two boys grew up together, the knight's son strong and wilful. one day they saw three deer coming towards them; the knight's son asked what creatures were these--creatures on which were meat and clothing 'twas answered--it were the better he would catch them, and he did so, and his foster-mother made him a dress of the deer's hide. afterwards he slew his foster-brother for laughing at him, caught a wild horse, and came to his father's brother's palace. he had never been called other than "great fool," and when asked his name by his cousin, playing shinty, answered, "great fool." his cousin mocked at him, and was forthwith slain. on going into the king's (his uncle's) presence, he answered in the same way. his uncle recognised him, and reproaching himself for his folly in not having slain the mother with the father, went with him, as did all the people. in my article on the aryan expulsion and return formula among the celts ("folk-lore record," vol. iv.), i have shown that this tale is widely distributed in the celtic heldensage as well as in the celtic folk-tale. before noticing the variants, a word of explanation may be necessary. the term, arische aussetzungs-und rückkehr-formel, was first employed by j. g. v. hahn in his sagwissenschaftliche studien (jena, ), to describe a tale which figured in the heroic literature of every aryan race known to him. he examined fourteen stories, seven belonging to the hellenic mythology, perseus, herakles, oedipus, amphion and zethos, pelias and neleus, leukastos and parrhasius, theseus; one to roman mythic history, romulus and remus; two to the teutonic heldensage, wittich-siegfried, wolfdietrich; two to iranian mythic history, cyrus, key chosrew; two to the hindu mythology, karna, krishna. i was able to recover from celtic literature eight well-defined variants, belonging to the fenian and ultonian cycles of irish heldensage (heroes, fionn and cu-chulaind); to irish mythic history, labraidh maen; to the folk-tale still living in the highlands, conall and the great fool; to the kymric heldensage, peredur-perceval, arthur, and taliesin. an examination of all these tales resulted in the establishing of the following standard formula, to the entirety of which it will of course be understood none of the tales answer:-- i. hero born-- (_a_) out of wedlock. (_b_) posthumously. (_c_) supernaturally. (_d_) one of twins. ii. mother, princess residing in her own country. iii. father-- (_a_) god } (_b_) hero } from afar. iv. tokens and warning of hero's future greatness. v. he is in consequence driven forth from home. vi. is suckled by wild beasts. vii. is brought up by a (childless couple), or shepherd, or widow. viii. is of passionate and violent disposition. ix. seeks service in foreign lands. ixa. attacks and slays monsters. ixb. acquires supernatural knowledge through eating a fish, or other magic animal. x. returns to his own country, retreats, and again returns. xi. overcomes his enemies, frees his mother, seats himself on the throne. i must refer to my article for a full discussion of the various celtic forms of this widely-spread tale, and for a tabular comparison with the remaining indo-european forms analysed by j. g. von hahn. suffice to say here that the fullest celtic presentment of the _motif_ is to be found in the ossianic heldensage, the expelled prince being no other than fionn himself. the celtic form most closely related to it is that of the great fool summarised above, the relationship of peredur-perceval with which is evident. in both, the father being slain, the mother withdraws or sends her son into the wilderness; in both he grows up strong, hardy, ignorant of the world. almost the same instances of his surpassing strength and swiftness are given; in the mabinogi by celerity and swiftness of foot he drives the goats and hinds into the goat-house; in the highland folk-tale he catches the wild deer, and seeing a horse, and learning it is a beast upon which sport is done, stretches out after it, catches and mounts it; in sir perceval he sees-- ... a fulle faire stode offe coltes and meres gude, bot never one was tame (v. xxi.). and "smertly overrynnes" one.--the great fool then comes to his uncle, in whom he finds the man who has killed his father. sir perceval likewise comes to his uncle, and gets knowledge from him of his father's slayer; in chrestien and the mabinogi no relationship is stated to exist between arthur and the hero. the manner of the coming deserves notice. in the conte du graal, entering the hall the hero salutes the king twice, receives no answer, and, turning round his horse in dudgeon, knocks off the king's cap. in the english poem-- at his first in comynge, his mere withowtenne faylynge, kiste the forehevede of the kynge, so nerehande he rade (v. xxxi.). he then demands knighthood or-- bot (unless) the kyng make me knyghte, i shall him here slaa (v. xxxiii.). in the great fool the horse incident is wanting, but the hero's address to his uncle is equally curt: "i am the great fool ... and if need were it is that i could make a fool of thee also." the incident then follows of the insult offered to arthur by the red knight. here, be it noted, the mabinogi version is much the ruder of the three, "the knight dashed the liquor that was in the goblet upon her (gwenhwyvar's) face, and upon her stomacher, and gave her a violent blow in the face, and said," &c.; in chrestien the incident is not directly presented, but related at second-hand, and merely that the discourteous knight took away the goblet so suddenly that he spilt somewhat of its contents upon the queen, and that she was so filled with grief and anger that well nigh she had not escaped alive; in sir perceval the knight takes up the cup and carries it off. now it is a _lieu commun_ of celtic folk-tales that as a king is sitting at meat, an enemy comes in mounted, and offers him an insult, the avenging of which forms the staple of the tale. a good instance may be found in campbell's lii., "the knight of the red shield." as the king is with his people and his warriors and his nobles and his great gentles, one of them says, "who now in the four brown quarters of the universe would have the heart to put an affront on the king?"--then comes the rider on a black filly, and, "before there was any more talk between them, he put over the fist and he struck the king between the mouth and the nose." it is noteworthy that this tale shows further likeness to the mabinogi-great fool series, generally, in so far as it is the despised youngest who out of the three warriors that set off to avenge the insult succeeds, even as it is the despised peredur who slays the red knight, and specially in what may be called the prophecy incident. with the exception of the opening incidents, this is the one by which the "formula" nature of the perceval _sage_ is most clearly shown. in the mabinogi it is placed immediately after the hero's first encounter with the sorceresses of gloucester: "by destiny and foreknowledge knew i that i should suffer harm of thee," says the worsted witch. the conte du graal has only a trace of it in the fisher king's words as he hands the magic sword to perceval-- ... biaus frère, ceste espée vous fu jugie et destinée ( - ), whilst in sir perceval a very archaic turn is given to the incident by arthur's words concerning his unknown nephew-- the bokes say that he mone venge his fader bane (v. xxxvi.). this comparison is instructive as showing how impossible it is that chrestien's poem can be the only source of the mabinogi and sir perceval. it cannot be maintained that the meagre hint of the french poet is the sole origin of the incident as found in the welsh and english versions, whilst a glance at my tabulation of the various forms of the aryan expulsion and return formula ("folk-lore record," vol. iv.) shows that the foretelling of the hero's greatness is an important feature in eight of the celtic and five of the non-celtic versions, _i.e._, in more than one-third of all the stories built up on the lines of the formula. it is evident that here at least mabinogi and sir perceval have preserved a trait almost effaced in the romance. in the above-mentioned highland tale the incident is as follows: the hero finds "a treasure of a woman sitting on a hill, and a great youth with his head on her knee asleep"; he tries to wake the sleeper, even cuts off his finger, but in vain, until he learns how it was in the prophecies that none should rouse the sleeping youth save the knight of the red shield, and he, coming to the island, should do it by striking a crag of stone upon his breast. this tale, as already remarked, shows affinity to the perceval saga in two incidents, and is also, as i have pointed out ("folk-lore record," vol. v., mabinogion studies), closely allied to a cycle of german hero and folk-tales, of which siegfried is the hero. now siegfried is in german that which fionn is in celtic folk-lore, the hero whose story is modelled most closely upon the lines of the expulsion and return formula. we thus find not only, as might be expected, affinity between the german and celtic hero-tales which embody the formula, but the derived or allied groups of folk-tales present likewise frequent and striking similarities.[ ] another highland tale (campbell, lviii., the rider of grianaig) furnishes a fresh example of this fact. here, also, the deeds to be done of the hero were prophesied of him. but these deeds he would never accomplish, save he were incited thereto and aided therein by a raven, who in the end comes out as a be-spelled youth, and a steed, a maiden under spells, and the spells will not go off till her head be off. even so peredur is urged on and helped by the bewitched youth. in other respects, there is no likeness of plan and little of detail[ ] to the mabinogi, certainly no trace of direct influence of the welsh story upon the highland one. it may, however, be asserted that all of these tales are derived more or less directly from the french romance. this has been confidently stated of the breton ballad cycle of morvan le breiz (barzaz breiz) and of the breton märchen, peronik l'idiot (souvestre, foyer breton), and i have preferred making no use of either. in the matter of the scotch and irish tales a stand must be made. the romance, it is said, may have filtered down into the celtic population, through the medium of adaptations such as the mabinogi or sir perceval. granted, for argument sake, that these two works are mere adaptations, it must yet follow that the stories derived from them will be more or less on the same lines as themselves. is this so? can it be reasonably argued that the folk-tale of the great fool is a weakened copy of certain features of the mabinogi, which itself is a weakened copy of certain features of the french poem? is it not the fact that the folk-tale omits much that is in the mabinogi, and on the other hand preserves details which are wanting not alone in the welsh tale but in chrestien. if other proof of the independent nature of these tales were needed it would be supplied by the close similarity existing between the great fool opening and the fionn legend. this is extant in several forms, one of which, still told in the highlands (campbell's lxxxii.), tells how cumhall's son is reared in the wilderness, how he drowns the youth of a neighbouring hamlet, how he slays his father's slayer, and wins the magic trout the taste of which gives knowledge of past and to come, how he gets back his father's sword and regains his father's lands, all as had been prophesied of him. another descendant of the french romance it will be said. but a very similar tale is found in a fifteenth century irish ms. (the boyish exploits of finn mac cumhall, translated by dr. j. o'donovan in the transactions of the ossianic society, vol. iv.); cumhall, slain by goll, leaves his wife big with a son, who when born is reared by two druidesses. he grows up fierce and stalwart, overcomes all his age-mates, overtakes wild deer he running, slays a boar, and catches the magic salmon of knowledge. an eighteenth century version given by kennedy ("legendary fictions," p. ) makes cumhall offer violence to muirrean, daughter of the druid tadg, and his death to be chiefly due to the magic arts of the incensed father. it will hardly be contended that these stories owe their origin to adaptations of chrestien's poem. but in any case no such contention could apply to the oldest presentment of fionn as a formula hero, that found in the great irish vellum, the leabhar na h'uidhre, written down from older materials at the beginning of the twelfth century. the tract entitled "the cause of the battle of cnucha" has been translated by mr. henessey ("revue celtique," vol. ii., pp. , _et seq._). in it we find cumhall and tadhg, the violence done to the latter's daughter, the consequent defeat and death of cumhall, the lonely rearing of fionn by his mother, and the youth's avenging of his father. i must refer to my paper in the "folk-lore record" for a detailed argument in favour of the l.n.h. account being an euhemerised version of the popular tradition, represented by the boyish exploits, and for a comparison of the fionn _sage_ as a whole with the greek, iranian, latin, and germanic hero tales, which like it are modelled upon the lines of the expulsion and return formula. i have said enough, i trust, to show that the fionn _sage_ is a variant (a far richer one) of the theme treated in the boyhood of perceval, but that it, and _a fortiori_ the allied folk-tales are quite independent of the french poem. it then follows that this portion of chrestien's poem must itself be looked upon as one of many treatments of a theme even more popular among the celts than among any other aryan race, and that its ultimate source is a breton or welsh folk-tale. the genuine and independent nature of the great fool prose opening being thus established, it is in the highest degree suggestive to find in the accompanying lay points of contact with the grail legend as given in chrestien. three versions of this lay have been printed in english, that edited by mr. john o'daly (transactions of the ossianic society, vol. vi., pp. , _et seq._); mr. campbell's (west highland tales, vol. iii. pp. , _et seq._) and mr. kennedy's prose version (bardic stories of ireland, pp. , _et seq._). o'daly's, as the most complete and coherent, forms the staple of the following summary, passages found in it alone being italicised.[ ] _summary of the lay of the great fool._--( ) there was a great fool who subdued the world by strength of body; ( ) _he comes to the king of lochlin to win a fair woman, learns she is guarded by seven score heroes, overthrows them, and carries her off_; (c. and k. plunging at once _in medias res_, introduce the great fool and his lady love out walking); ( ) the two enter a valley, are meet by a "gruagach" (champion, sorcerer), in his hand a goblet with drink; ( ) the great fool thirsts, and though warned by his lady love drinks deep of the proffered cup; the "gruagach" departs and the great fool finds himself minus his two legs; ( ) the two go onward, and ("swifter was he at his two knees than six at their swiftness of foot;" c.) a deer nears them followed by a white hound, the great fool slays the deer and seizes the hound; ( ) whose owner coming up claims but finally yields it, and offers the great fool food and drink during life; ( ) the three fare together (the glen they had passed through had ever been full of glamour) till they come to a fair city filled with the glitter of gold, dwelt in solely by the owner of the white hound and his wife, "whiter than very snow her form, gentle her eye, and her teeth like a flower"; ( ) she asks concerning her husband's guests, and, learning the great fool's prowess, marvels he should have let himself be deprived of his legs; ( ) the host departs, leaving his house, wife, and store of gold in the great fool's keeping, he is to let no man in, no one out should any come in, nor is he to sleep; ( ) spite his lady love's urgings the great fool yields to slumber, when in comes a young champion and snatches a kiss from the host's wife, ("she was not ill pleased that he came," c.); ( ) the great fool's love awakening him reproaches him for having slept--he arises to guard the door, in vain does the intruder offer gold, three cauldrons full and seven hundred townlands, he shall not get out; ( ) _at the instigation of the host's wife_ the intruder restores the great fool's legs, but not then even will the hero let him go--pay for the kiss he must when the host returns; threats to deprive him of his legs are in vain, as are likewise the entreaties of the host's wife (all this is developed with great prolixity in o'daly, but there is nothing substantial added to the account in c.); ( ) finally the intruder discloses that he himself is the host, and he was the gruagach, whose magic cup deprived the great fool of his legs, and he is, "_his own gentle brother long in search of him, now that he has found him he is released from sorcery_." the two kiss (c. and k. end here). ( ) the two brothers fare forth, encounter a giant with an eye larger than a moon and an iron club, wherewith he hits the great fool a crack that brings him to his knees, but the latter arising closes with the giant, kills him and takes his club, the two then attack four other giants, three of whom the great fool slays with his club, and the fourth yields to him. the brothers take possession of the giant's castle and all its wealth. there are obvious similarities between the lay and the story found in the mabinogi and the conte du graal. a stag hunt is prominent in both, and whilst engaged in it the hero falls under "illusion," in both too the incident of the seizure of the hound appears, though in a different connection. finally in the lay, as in the mabinogi, the mover in the enchantment is a kinsman whose own release from spells depends upon the hero's coming successfully out of the trials to which he exposes him. but while the general idea is the same, the way in which it is worked out is so different that it is impossible to conceive of the one story having been borrowed from the other. what can safely be claimed is that the great fool, counterpart of peredur-perceval in the adventures of his youth and up-bringing, is also, to a certain extent, his counterpart in the most prominent of his later adventures, that of the stag hunt. it is thus fairly certain that all this part of the conte du graal is, like the _enfances_, a working up of celtic folk-tales. the giant fight which concludes the lay may be compared with that in sir perceval and in morvan le breiz, and such a comparison makes it extremely likely that the incident thus preserved by independent and widely differing offshoots from the same folk-tale stem, belongs to the oldest form of the story. the analogies of the lay with the perceval _sage_ are not yet exhausted. in virtue of the relationship between the two chief characters, the lay belongs to the "twin-brother cycle." this group of folk-tales, some account of which is given below,[ ] is closely related on the one hand to the "dragon slayer" group of _märchen_, on the other hand to the expulsion and return formula tales. in many versions of the latter (the most famous being that of romulus and remus) the hero is one of twins, and, after sharing for a while with his brother, strife breaks out between them. in the folk-tale this strife leads to final reconciliation, or is indeed a means of unravelling the plot. in the hero-tale on the other hand the strife mostly ends with the death or defeat of the one brother. it would seem that when the folk-tale got associated with a definite hero (generally the founder and patron of a race) and became in brief a hero-tale, the necessity of exalting the race hero brought about a modification of the plot. if this is so the folk-tale group of the "two brothers" must be looked upon as older than the corresponding portion of the expulsion and return hero-tales, and not as a mere weakened echo of the latter. to return to the twin-brother features. the peredur-perceval _sage_ has a twin-sister, and is parallel herein to the fionn _sage_ in one of its forms ("how the een was set up"), though curiously enough not to the great fool folk-tale (otherwise so similar to "how the een was set up"), which, as in the lay, has a brother. but beyond this formal recognition of the incident in the perceval _sage_, i am inclined to look upon the perceval-gawain dualism as another form of it. this dualism has been somewhat obscured by the literary form in which the _sage_ has been preserved and the tendency to exalt and idealise _one_ hero. in the present case this tendency has not developed so far as to seriously diminish the importance of gawain; _his_ adventures are, however, left in a much more primitive and _märchenhaft_ shape, and hence, as will be shown later on, are extremely valuable in any attempt to reach the early form of the story.[ ] if simrock's words quoted on the title page were indeed conclusive--"if that race among whom the 'great fool' folk-tale was found independent of the grail story had the best claim to be regarded as having wrought into one these two elements"--then my task might be considered at an end. i have shown that this race was that of the celtic dwellers in these islands, among whom this tale is found not only in a fuller and more significant form than elsewhere, but in a form that connects it with the french grail romance. but the conclusion that the conte du graal is in the main a working up of celtic popular traditions, which had clustered round a hero, whose fortunes bore, in part, a striking resemblance to those of fionn, the typical representative of the expulsion and return formula cycle among the celts, though hardly to be gainsaid, does not seem to help much towards settling the question of the origin of the grail itself. the story would appear to be celtic except just the central incident upon which the whole turns. for the english sir perceval, which undoubtedly follows older models, breathes no word of search for any magic talisman, let alone the grail, whilst the mabinogi, which is also older in parts than the conte du graal, gives a different turn to and assigns a different _motif_ for the hero's conduct. the avenging of a kinsman's harm upon certain supernatural beings, and the consequent release from enchantment of another kinsman, supply the elements of a clear and consistent action to which parallels may easily be adduced from folk-tales, but one quite distinct from the release of a kinsman through the medium of certain talismans and certain magic formulæ. numerous as have been the points of contact hitherto established between celtic folk belief and the french romance, the parallel would seem to break down at its most essential point, and the contention that the grail is a foreign element in the celtic legend would still seem to be justified. before, however, this can be asserted, what i have called the central episode of the romance requires more searching and detailed examination than it has had, and some accessory features, which, on the hypothesis of the christian legendary origin of the grail, remain impenetrable puzzles must be commented upon. and another instructive point of contact between romance and folk-tale must be previously noticed, connected as it is with stories already dealt with in this chapter. in the latest portion of the conte du graal, the interpolation of gerbert, the following incident occurs:--the hero meets four knights carrying their wounded father, who turns out to be gonemans, the same who armed him knight. he vows vengeance upon gonemans' enemies, but his efforts are at first of no avail. as fast as in the daytime he slays them, at night they are brought back to life by "une vieille" who is thus described:-- la poitrine ot agüe et sèche; ele arsist ausi come une esche si on boutast en li le fu.[ ] * * * * la bouche avoit grant à merveilles et fendue dusqu'as oreilles, qu'ele avoit longues et tendans; lons et lez et gausnes les dans avoit. (potvin vi., , .) she carries with her ii. barisiax d'ivoire gent; containing a "poison," the same whereof christ made use in the sepulchre, and which serves here to bring the dead back to life and to rejoin heads cut off from bodies. she goes to work thus:-- a la teste maintenant prise, si l'a desor le bu assise; then taking the balm puis en froie celui la bouche À cui la teste avoit rajointe; sor celui n'ot vaine ne jointe qui lues ne fust de vie plaine. perceval stops her when she has brought back three of her men to life; she recognises in him her conqueror: bien vous connois et bien savoie que de nului garde n'avoie fors que de vous; car, par mon chief nus n'en péust venir à chief se vous non ... so long as she lives, perceval shall be powerless to achieve his quest. she wars against gonemant by order of the king of the waste city, who ever strives against all who uphold the christian faith, and whose chief aim it is to hinder perceval from attaining knowledge of the grail. perceval gets possession of somewhat of the wonder-working balm, brings to life the most valiant of his adversaries, slays him afresh after a hard struggle, in which he himself is wounded, heals his own hurt, and likewise gonemant's, with the balsam. compare now campbell's above-cited tale, the knight of the red shield. the hero, left alone upon the island by his two treacherous companions, sees coming towards him "three youths, heavily, wearily, tired." they are his foster-brothers, and from the end of a day and a year they hold battle against the son of darkness, son of dimness, and a hundred of his people, and every one they kill to-day will be alive to-morrow, and spells are upon them they may not leave this (island) for ever until they kill them. the hero starts out on the morrow alone against these enemies, and he did not leave a head on a trunk of theirs, and he overcame the son of darkness himself. but he is so spoilt and torn he cannot leave the battle-field, and he lays himself down amongst the dead the length of the day. "there was a great strand under him below; and what should he hear but the sea coming as a blazing brand of fire, as a destroying serpent, as a bellowing bull; he looked from him, and what saw he coming on the shore of the strand, but a great toothy carlin ... there was the tooth that was longer than a staff in her fist, and the one that was shorter than a stocking wire in her lap." she puts her finger in the mouth of the dead, and brings them alive. she does this to the hero, and he bites off the finger at the joint, and then slays her. she is the mother of the son of darkness, and she has a vessel of balsam wherewith the hero's foster-brothers anoint and make him whole, and her death frees them from her spells for ever.[ ] this "toothy carlin" is a favourite figure in celtic tradition. she re-appears in the ballad of the muilearteach (probably muir iarteach, _i.e._, western sea), campbell, iii., pp. , _et seq._, and is there described as "the bald russet one," "her face blue black, of the lustre of coal, her bone tufted tooth like rusted bone, one deep pool-like eye in her head, gnarled brushwood on her head like the clawed-up wood of the aspen root." in another version of the ballad, printed in the scottish celtic review, no. , pp. , _et seq._, the monster is "bald red, white maned, her face dark grey, of the hue of coal, the teeth of her jaw slanting red, one flabby eye in her head, her head bristled dark and grey, like scrubwood before hoar."[ ] the editor of this version, the rev. j. g. campbell, interprets the ballad, and correctly, no doubt, "as an inroad of the personified sea." there is no connection, save in the personage of the "toothy carlin," between the ballad and the folk-tale.[ ] it is impossible, i think, to compare gerbert's description of the witch with that of the highland "carlin" without coming to the conclusion that the french poet drew from traditional, popular celtic sources. the wild fantasy of the whole is foreign in the extreme to the french temperament, and is essentially celtic in tone. but the incident, as well as one particular feature of it, admits of comparison: the three foster-brothers of the highland tale correspond to the four sons of gonemant, who be it recollected, represents in the conte du graal, peredur-perceval's uncle in the mabinogi; in both, the hero goes forth alone to do battle with the mysterious enemy; the son of darkness answers to the king of the waste city; the dead men are brought back to life in the same way; the release of the kinsman, from spells, or from danger of death, follows upon the witch's discomfiture. and yet greater value attaches to the incident as connected with the mabinogi form of the story; in gerbert, as in the mabinogi, the hero's uncle is sick to death, his chief enemy is a monstrous witch (or witches), who foreknows that she must succumb at the hero's hands.[ ] something has obviously dropped out from the mabinogi. may it not be those very magic talismans, the winning of which is the chief element of the french romances, and may not one of the talismans have been the vessel of life-restoring balsam which figures in gerbert and the highland tales?[ ] the study of subsidiary versions and incidents may thus throw upon the connection of the grail with the perceval romance a light which the main celtic forms of the latter have not hitherto yielded. the thornton ms. sir perceval differs in this incident from both manessier and gerbert. as in gerbert and the highland tale the hero meets his uncle and cousins; there is the same fight with the mother of the enemy of his kin, the hideous carlin, but it precedes, as does also the slaying of that enemy, the meeting of uncle and nephews. there is thus no room for the healing _motif_ for which the unconscious avenging of the father's death is substituted. these differences bear witness both to the popular and shifting nature of the traditions upon which the romances are based, and to the fact that the avenging of a blood feud was the leading incident of its earliest form. chapter vii. the various forms of the visit to the grail castle in the romances--conte du graal: chrestien; gautier-manessier; gautier-gerbert--didot-perceval--mabinogi--conte du graal: gawain's visit to the grail castle--heinrich von dem türlin--conte du graal: perceval's visit to the castle of maidens--inconsistency of these varying accounts; their testimony to stories of different nature and origin being embodied in the romances--two main types: feud quest and unspelling quest--reasons for the confusion of the two types--evidence of the confusion in older celtic literature--the grail in celtic literature: the gear of the tuatha de danann; the cauldron in the ultonian cycle; the mabinogi of branwen; vessel of balsam and glaive of light in the contemporary folk-tale--the sword in celtic literature: tethra; fionn; manus--parallels to the bespelled castle; the brug of oengus, the brug of lug, the brug of manannan mac lir, bran's visit to the island of women, cormac mac art, and the fairy branch; diarmaid and the daughter of king under the waves--unspelling stories: the three soldiers; the waiting of arthur; arthur in etna; the kyffhäuser legend, objections to martin's views concerning it--gawain's visit to the magic castle and celtic parallels; the son of bad counsel; fionn in giant land; fionn in the house of cuana; fionn and the yellow face--the vanishing of the bespelled castle--comparison with the sleeping beauty cycle--the "haunted castle" form and its influence on heinrich's version--the loathly grail messenger. the analysis of the various versions has shown that the conte du graal is the oldest portion of the vast body of french romance which deals with the grail, and that it presents the earliest form of the story. the examination of the theories put forward to explain the genesis and growth of the legend has shown how untenable is that hypothesis which makes the christian legend the starting point of the cycle. the comparison of the conte du graal with celtic legends and folk-tales has shown that the former is in the main a north french retelling of tales current then, as now, among the celtic peoples of britain, and probably of brittany. one thing alone remains unexplained, the mysterious grail itself. nor has any light been thrown from celtic sources upon the incident of the hero's visit to the castle of talismans, his silence, and the ensuing misfortune which overtakes him. where this incident does appear in a celtic version, the mabinogi, it is not brought in connection with the grail, and it bears obvious traces of interpolation. the utmost we have been able to do is to reconstruct from scattered indications in different celtic tales a sequence of incidents similar to that of the french romance. let us, then, return to what may be called the central incident of the grail legend in its older and purer form. and let us recall the fact that the hypothesis which finds a christian origin for the whole legend has no explanation to offer of this incident. birch-hirschfeld can merely suggest that perceval's question upon which all hinges is "eine harmlose erfindung borron's," a meaningless invention of borron's. it is, indeed, his failure to account for such an essential element of the story that forms one of the strongest arguments against his hypothesis. in the first place it must be noticed that the incident of a hero's visit to a magic castle, of his omission whilst there to do certain things, and of the loss or suffering thereby caused, occurs not once, but many times; not in one, but in many forms in the vast body of grail romance, as is seen by the following list, which likewise comprises all the occasions on which one or other of the questers has come near to or succeeded in seeing the grail:-- ( ) chrestien: (inc. ). perceval's first visit to the grail castle. question omitted. ( ) gautier: (inc. ). perceval's second visit to the grail castle. question put-- _incident breaks off in middle, and is continued in one version by_:-- ( a) manessier, who sends off the hero on a fresh quest, which is finished in ( ) manessier: (inc. ). perceval's third visit to grail castle. the question is not mentioned. hero's final success. _in another version by_:-- ( ) gerbert: (inc. - ). perceval is sent forth anew upon quest. he has half put the question and been partially successful. ( ) gerbert: (inc. ). perceval's third visit to grail castle. question not mentioned. hero's success. _besides these forms of the episode in the conte du graal of which perceval is the hero, we have_:-- ( ) gautier: (inc. ). gauvain's first visit according to one, second visit according to another version. question half put, partial success. _and finally a somewhat similar incident of which perceval is the hero in_:-- ( ) gautier: (inc. ). visit to the castle of maidens. untimely sleep of hero. so far the conte du graal. of the versions closely connected with it we have: ( & ) wolfram von eschenbach: two visits of perceval to grail castle. question omitted at first, put in second, and crowned with success. ( & ) mabinogi of peredur: (inc. - ). two visits of hero to grail castle. question omitted at first. second visit successful. no mention of question. ( & ) didot-perceval: (inc. - ). two visits of perceval to grail castle. question omitted at first, put at second, and crowned with success. in a german romance, which presents many analogies with that portion of the conte du graal which goes under gautier's name: ( ) heinrich von dem tÜrlin: gawain's first visit to grail castle. question put. success. allusion to previous unsuccessful visit of perceval. finally in the queste versions we have four variants of the incident-- ( ) queste: (inc. ). lancelot at the cross-road, omission to ask concerning the grail. ( ) queste: (inc. ). perceval heals mordrains. " (inc. ). lancelot comes to grail castle. partial fulfilment of his quest. " (inc. ). the three questers come to the grail castle. on looking at the list we notice that the conte du graal knows of three visits on the part of the principal hero to the castle of talismans: , , , or , - , , and of one visit (or two) of the secondary hero; whilst wolfram, the mabinogi, and the didot-perceval know of two only. heinrich von dem türlin gives only one visit to _his_ chief hero, though he mentions a former one by the secondary hero. in wolfram, and the didot-perceval, the incident may be compared in the conte du graal with and ; in the mabinogi with and ; in heinrich with . the queste forms of the incident are obviously dependent upon those of the conte du graal, although they have been strongly modified. as for , it would seem to be a form of the incident which has been entirely unaffected by the christian symbolism which has influenced all the others. it will be advisable to recapitulate the leading features of the incident as found in the different versions. where the summaries in chapter ii afford detailed information about it, the recapitulation will be brief, but it will be necessary to give at least one version at much greater length than heretofore. in the conte du graal ( ) the hero finds a king fishing, who directs him to his castle. just as he deems the fisher has deceived him the castle bursts upon his sight. he enters, is led into a square room wherein is a bed sitting on which is an old man wrapped in sables; before him is a great fire of dry wood; men might sit in the hall. the king rises to greet him; as they sit, a squire enters with a sword which had but two fellows, sent by the king's niece for the hero to whom it was destined. the hall is light as it may be. a squire enters holding a lance by the middle; all can behold the drop of blood which flows from the point upon the holder's hand. there follow him two squires with candlesticks, each with ten candles, in either hand; a damsel holding a grail, which gives out a light as greater than that of the candles as the sun outshines the stars; and another damsel with a plate of fine gold. the procession passes from one into the other room. the hero refrains from asking who is served by the grail. after playing at chess with the king they dine, and again the grail passes, uncovered, at each dish. the hero would fain ask what was done with it, and is about to do so, but puts off the question. on the morrow he sees no one in the castle, the doors of the rooms he had been in the eve before are shut, no one answers; and, mounting his horse, which he finds ready saddled, he sets forth over the drawbridge, which closes of itself behind him, without learning why lance bleeds or whither the grail is borne. ( ) at the second visit the hero comes into a magnificent room, ornamented with fine gold and stars of silver, wherein on a vermeil couch the rich king is sitting. the hero is fain forthwith to ask about grail and bleeding lance, but must sit him down by the rich king and tell of his adventures, about the chapel in which lay the dead knight, and the black hand, the child in the tree and the tree full of candles. the king makes him eat before answering his questions. whilst at meat a damsel, fairer than flowers in april, enters with the holy grail, another with the lance, a squire with the broken sword. the hero asks about these talismans. but first the king answers the questions about the earlier wonders; the talismans he will tell of after meat. the hero insists to know about the sword. the king bids him put it together--can he do so he will learn about the knight in the chapel, and after that about the talismans. save for one flaw the hero succeeds, whereupon the king says he knows no one in the world better than he, embraces him, and yields him up all in his house. the squire who brought the sword returns, wraps it in a cendal, and carries it off. a. the king bids the hero eat. . the hero would hold it sin if lance and grail, and a fair silver he did not ask concerning the dish pass before them, the latter grail. the king first submits him held by a damsel. the hero sighs to the sword test.[ ] the and begs to learn about these existence of the flaw is three. he is told about lance, apparently held to constitute grail, grail-bearing damsel, failure, due to the hero's sin in dish-bearing damsel, and in quitting his mother so abruptly. answer to further questions, in the night the hero has a learns the history of the broken vision, which warns him to hasten sword, and of the chapel haunted to his sister's aid. on the morrow by the black hand. after sleeping the grail castle has vanished. in a splendid bed[ ] he sets mounting his horse, which stands forth on the morrow on the sword ready saddled, he rides forth. quest (the slaying of partinal). after a vain essay to gain entrance to a magnificent castle, . having accomplished which, and in which he breaks his sword, and lighted chancewise upon the grail thereby loads upon himself seven castle, the king, apprised by a further years of adventure, but squire and forthwith healed, meets learns how the sword may be made the hero who shows him head and whole again, he finds the land shield. at table lance and grail which the day before was waste pass, borne by two maidens; fertile and peopled. the peasants delectable meats fill the dishes-- hail him: the townsmen come forth all are filled and satisfied who in his honour--for through him the behold the holy grail and the lance folk have won back lands and that bleeds. thereafter enters a riches. a damsel tells him how: at squire holding a silver dish the court of the fisher king he covered with red samite; the had asked about the grail. at her talismans pass thrice; the king castle he has his sword mended. thanks the hero for having slain (later the hero learns that his his enemy and thereby rid him of failure to win the grail comes great torment. asks his name, from his not having wedded his learns that he is his nephew, and lady-love). offers him his kingdom. . hero is directed by a cross to the court of the fisher king. the latter makes him sit by his side and tell his adventures, when he would fain learn about the grail. the same procession then passes as in ( ), save that sword instead of being broken is simply described as not resoldered. the hero says he has been twice before with the king, and reproaches him for not having answered his questions, although he had resoldered the sword to the king's great joy. the king then bids him shake the sword, which he does, and the flaw disappears. the king is overjoyed, and the hero is now worthy of knowing everything.[ ] in comparing with these versions of the incident that found in the didot-perceval, we find that the hero at his first visit is welcomed by the squires of the castle, clad in a scarlet cloak, and placed upon a rich bed, whilst four sergeants apprise brons of his arrival, and the latter is carried into the hall where sits the hero, who rises to greet him. brons questions him before they sit down to meat. the mystic procession is formed by squire with lance bleeding, damsel with silver dish, squire with the vessel holding our lord's blood. on the morrow the hero sees no one, and finds all the doors open. at his second visit there is no mention of difficulty in finding the castle. this time the king rises to greet him; they talk of many things and then sit down to meat. grail and worthy relics pass, and the hero asks who is served by the vessel which the squire holds in his hands. straightway the king is healed and changed; overjoyed he first asks the hero who he is, and, on learning it, tells him concerning lance and grail, and afterwards, at the bidding of a heavenly voice, the secret words which joseph taught him, brons. in the mabinogi the castle lies on the other side of a meadow. at his first visit the hero finds the gates open, and in the hall a hoary-headed man sits, around whom are pages who rise to receive the hero. host and guest discourse and eat, seated beside one another. the sword trial follows, and the hero is declared to have arrived at two-thirds of his strength. the two youths with the dripping spear enter, amid the lamentation of the company, are followed by the two maidens with the salver wherein is a man's head, and the outcry redoubles. on the morrow the hero rides forth unmolested. at the second visit the castle is described as being in a valley through which runs a river. the grey-headed man found sitting in the hall with gwalchmai is described as lame. so far we have recapitulated the leading features of perceval's dealings at the talismans castle in the conte du graal and in the most closely allied versions. but perceval, the chief hero, has, as we have already seen, an under-study in gauvain. and the gauvain form of the incident deserves as close examination as the perceval form. ( ) gauvain has met a knight, stranger to him, with whom he travels to caerleon. whilst in his company the stranger is slain by a dart cast by whom no one knows. before dying he bids gauvain take his arms and his horse; he knows not why he has been slain, he never harmed anyone. gauvain suspects and accuses kex, upon whom he vows to prove the murder, and sets forth to learn the unknown's name. after affronting the adventure of the black hand[ ] in the chapel and long wanderings, he finds himself one evening at the opening of a dark, tree-covered road at whose further end he spies a light. tired and fasting he lets his horse go at its will, and is led to a castle where he is received with great honour as though he were expected. but when he has changed his dress the castle folk see it is not he whom they thought. in the hall is a bier whereupon lie cross and sword and a dead knight. canons and priests raise a great lamentation over the body. a crowned knight enters and bids gauvain sit by his side. then the grail goes through the room, serving out meats in plenty, and acting the part of a steward, whereat gauvain is astounded. he next sees a lance which drips blood into a silver cup. from out the same room whence come the talismans, the king issues, a sword in his hand, the sword of the dead knight, over whom he laments--on his account the land languishes. he bids gauvain essay to make the sword whole, but gauvain cannot, and is told his quest may not be accomplished. after his toils and wanderings gauvain is sleepy, but he struggles against sleep, and asks about bleeding lance and sword and bier. whilst the king is answering him he goes to sleep. on awakening he is on the sea shore, arms and steed by his side.[ ] he then meets with the peasantry, and is told of the changed condition of the land in a passage already quoted (p. ). had he asked about the grail "por coi il servoit," the land had been wholly freed. heinrich von dem türlin's account of gauvain's visit to the grail castle differs, as will be seen by the summary, p. , which it is unnecessary to repeat, more from that of gautier than from the perceval visit of the conte de graal, with which it has the common feature, that the person benefitted by the transaction is the lord of the magic castle. as will already have been noticed it stands alone in the conception that the inmates of the castle are under the enchantment of death-in-life from which the question frees them. there still remains to be noticed ( ) the incident of perceval's visit to the castle of maidens, so closely analogous in certain details to the grail castle visit, and yet wholly disassociated from it in the conduct of the story. perceval, wandering, sees across a river in fair meadow land a rich castle built of marble, yellow and vermeil. crossing a bridge he enters, and the door at once closes behind him. no one is in the hall, in the centre of which is a table, and hanging to it by a steel chain a hammer. searching the castle he still finds no one, and no one answers to his call. at length he strikes upon the table three blows with the hammer. a maiden appears, reproaches him, and disappears. again he waits, and again he strikes three blows. a second damsel appears, and tells him if he strike afresh the tower will fall, and he be slain in its fall. but as he threatens to go on, the damsel offers to open the door and let him forth. he declares he will stay till morning, whereupon the damsel says she will call her mistress. the hero bids her haste as he is not minded to wait long, and warns her that he still holds the hammer. other damsels then show themselves, disarm and tend the hero, and lead him through a splendid hall into a still more splendid one, wherein a hundred fair and courteous maidens, all of like age and mien, and richly dressed, rise at his approach and hail him as lord. the hero deems himself in paradise, and "sooth 'tis to be in paradise to be with dames and maids; so sweet they are, the devil can make naught of them, and 'tis better to follow them than to hearken to sermons preached in church for money." the dame of the castle bids the hero sit him down by her. "white she is as a lily, rosier than on a may morn a fresh blown rose when the dew has washed it." she asks him his name, and on hearing how he had wandered lonely three days ere meeting with the castle, tells him he might have wandered seven ere finding where to partake of bread and meat. he is well feasted. in reply to his questions about the castle, and how is it no man may be seen in it, he learns he is in the maidens' castle, all the inmates of one kin and land, of gentle birth; no mason put his hand to the castle, no serf toiled at it. four maids built it, and in this wise: whatever knight passed, and entering, beheld the door closed, and no man meeting him--if craven he struck no blow with the hammer, and on the morrow he went forth unheeded; but if wise and courteous he struck the table, and was richly entertained. as the lady tells this tale the hero, overcome with much journeying, falls asleep and is laid to bed by the maidens. on the morrow he wakes beneath a leafy oak, and never a house in sight. it is surely superfluous to point out that the foregoing recapitulation of the various forms under which this incident has come down to us gives the last blow to the theory which makes christian symbolism the starting point, and the didot-perceval the purest representative of the legend. we should have to admit not only that the later romance writers entirely misunderstood the sense of their model, but that, whilst anxiously casting about in every direction for details with which to overlay it, they neglected one of its most fertile hints--that of the secret words handed down through joseph from christ himself to the successful grail quester. what a mine of adventures would not gautier, gerbert, and all the other unknown versifiers, who added each his quota to the conte, have found in those "secret words?" nay, more, we must admit that so much in love were they with this incident they misunderstood, that they repeated it in half-a-dozen varying forms, and finally eliminated from it every trace of its original element. there are theories which ask too much and which must be set on one side, even if one has nothing equally ingenious and symmetrical to set in their place. three things strike one in considering this incident apart from the other adventures with which it is associated; the want of consistency in those versions which, formally, are closely related, an inconsistency which we have already noted in dealing with the legend as a whole; the repetition of the same incident with almost similar details, but with a different animating conception; and the fact that some of the secondary forms testify to that same thread of story which we have already extracted from the comparison of the mabinogi and the conte du graal in their entirety. not only is the conception of the quest different in chrestien and manessier or chrestien-gerbert, but the details are different, the centre of interest being shifted from the omitted question to the broken sword. in manessier the _dénoûment_ is brought about without any reference to the question, in gerbert the reference is of the most perfunctory kind. again we find the same machinery of grail, lance, and other talismans, which in chrestien-manessier serves to bring about the hero's vengeance on his uncle's murderer, in chrestien-gerbert the re-union of the lovers and the winning of the grail kingship, used in the gawain quest with the evident object of compassing vengeance upon the slayer of the unknown knight. and, thirdly, this secondary form is in close agreement with the mabinogi--here, as there, the sword test takes place at the fisher king's; here, as there, it immediately precedes the passing of the talismans; here, as there, it is only partially successful; here, as there, is a tangible reminder of the object of the quest, in the dead body of the unknown knight in the one case, in the head swimming in blood in the other. and here we may note that of the two forms in which the _queste_ reproduces this incident, the one which holds the more prominent position in the narrative, the one of which lancelot is the hero, closely resembles that secondary form in the conte du graal which is connected with gawain. the wounded knight whom lancelot beholds at the crossways borne into the chapel upon a bier, and clamouring for the succour of the grail, recalls forcibly the dead knight of the gawain quest. it is, perhaps, still more significant that when the queste does reproduce the perceval form, it is only in its externals, and the mystic vessel, which in the older version is obviously a means of achieving the quest, has, in the later one, become the end of that quest. it seems impossible to resist the following conclusions:--the many forms of the incident found in the grail romances are not variants of one, and that an orderly and logical original; they testify to the fact that in the body of popular tradition which forms the basis of these romances the incident of the visit to a magic castle was a common one, that it entered into the thread of stories, somewhat similar in outline and frequently centered in the same hero, but differing essentially in conception, and that the forms in the romances which are most likely to keep close to the traditional model are those secondary ones with which the innovating spirit, whether due to the genius of the individual artist, or to intruding christian symbolism, has least concerned itself. there is apparently but one case in the conte du graal, that of perceval's visit to the castle of maidens, which has been modified by neither of these influences. to accept these conclusions is to clear the ground. if we rid our minds of the idea that there is _a grail legend_, a definite fixed sequence of incidents, we need not be discouraged if we fail to find a prototype for it in celtic tradition or elsewhere. we shall be prepared to examine every incident of which the grail is a feature upon its own merits, and satisfied if we can find analogies to this or that one. and by so doing we are more likely to discover the how and why of the development of the legends as we find them in the romances. leaving subsidiary details out of account, we may bring all the instances in which the grail appears under two formulas: that of the kinsman avenging a blood feud by the means of the three magic talismans, sword and lance and vessel; and that of the visit to the bespelled castle, the inmates of which enjoy, thanks to the magic vessel, a supernaturally prolonged life, from which they are released by the hero's question concerning that vessel. the one we may call the feud quest, the other the unspelling quest. the proto-mabinogi belonged, as we have already seen (_supra_, p. ), to the first class, and accordingly we find that all relating to the question is obviously interpolated from chrestien. chrestien's model belonged, in all probability if not wholly, chiefly to the first class, and accordingly we find that manessier, certainly more faithful than chrestien to that original, lays no stress upon the question. but in chrestien himself there is a mixture of the two formulas; the question and the food-producing qualities of the magic vessel have been incorporated in the feud formula. once started upon this track the legend continues to mingle the formulas. the mystic procession, which probably owes its form to chrestien, is repeated with monotonous sameness by his continuators; the machinery of the feud quest almost invariably doubles that of the visit to the bespelled castle, and _vice versâ_. thus heinrich von dem türlin, along with the most archaic presentment of the unspelling quest, has that procession of the talismans which properly belongs to the feud quest; and, to complete his conception, we must turn to incidents at present set in the framework of the other formula. for the effect upon the land produced by the hero's action at the castle of talismans is obviously analagous to, though of directly contrary nature to, that produced upon the inmates of the bespelled castle. they are dead though they seem quick, the land is full of life though it seems waste. the question which frees the one from the spell of life-in-death, frees the other from the spell of death-in-life.[ ] the didot-perceval has the complete conception. perceval's question not only releases brons, who may not die until then, but it also ends the enchantment of britain. the identity of hero in stories originally dissimilar was one reason for the confusion between the two formulas; the nature of the grail was another. its attributes were in all probability not very clearly defined in the immediate models of the french romance writers; these found it enveloped in mysterious haze, which simple story-tellers, such as gautier, did not try to clear up, and which gave free play to the mystic imaginings of those writers who used romance as a vehicle for edification. the one tangible thing about it in stories of the one class, its food producing-power, has left its trace upon every one of the romances. but we shall also find in our survey of celtic literature that this attribute, as well as that of healing or restoring to life, is found indifferently in stories of both the classes, to the fusion of which we refer the grail legends in their present form. another link between the two formulas is formed by the sword. it is almost invariably found associated with the healing vessel of balsam in task stories connected with the feud quest of the mabinogi and the conte du graal; it is also a frequent feature in the legend of the unsuccessful visit to the bespelled castle.[ ] finally, the most important reason for running into one the stories derived from these two formulas, and the one which could hardly fail to lead to the fusion, is to be found in the identity of the myth which underlies both conceptions. the castle to which the avenger must penetrate to win the talismans, and that to which the hero comes with the intent of freeing its lord, are both symbols of the otherworld. bearing in mind this double origin of the grail, and reviewing once more the entire cycle, we note that, whilst it is that presentment of the magic vessel due to the second formula which is most prominent in the romances, the feud quest has furnished more and more varied sequences of incident, and is the staple of the oldest literary celtic form (the proto-mabinogi) and of those north french forms which are most closely akin to it. here the magic vessel is at best one of three equally potent treasures; as a matter of fact its _rôle_ in this section of the romances is, as we have seen, inferior to that of the sword. obviously intended to be the immediate cause of restoration to life or health of the hero's kinsman, its functions have been minimised until they have been forgotten. if this is so already in the proto-mabinogi and in the model of the conte du graal, we may expect to find that elsewhere in celtic tradition the magic vessel is of less account than sword or lance. we should likewise misconceive the character of popular tradition if we expected to find certain attributes rigidly ascribed to the mystic vessel in this or that set of stories. the confusion we have noted in the romances may be itself derived from older traditions. certain it is that in what maybe looked upon as the oldest account of the vessel[ ] in celtic literature (although the form in which it has reached us is comparatively modern), there is a vessel of abundance associated with three other talismans, two of them being sword and lance. the tuatha de danann (the race of fairies and wizards which plays a part in irish tradition analogous to that of gwydion ap don, gwynn ap nudd, and their kin in welsh) so runs the tradition preserved by keating in his history of ireland (book i, ed. by joyce, dublin, , p. ), had four treasures: the lia fail, the stone of fate or virtue ("now in the throne upon which is proclaimed the king of the saxons," _i.e._, the stone brought by edward i., from scone); the sword that lug[ ] lamhfhada (lug the longhanded) was wont to use; the spear the same lug used in battle; the cauldron of the dagda, "_a company used not ever go away from it unsatisfied_." keating followed old and good sources, and although the passage i have underlined is not to be found in all mss. of his work (_e.g._, it is missing in that translated by halliday), and although the verse which he quotes, and which probably goes back to the eleventh century, whilst the traditions which it embodies may be regarded as a couple of centuries older, does not mention this property of the dagda's[ ] cauldron, it may, i think, be assumed that the tradition here noticed is genuine, and that a vessel akin to the grail, as well as talismans akin to those that accompany the grail, formed part of the gear of the oldest celtic divinities.[ ] this conclusion appears no rash one when we consider the further references to the cauldron in middle irish literature. the battle of magh rath, a semi-historical romance relating to events which took place in the seventh century, is ascribed by its editor, dr. j. o'donovan, to the latter half of the twelfth century. it relates (pp. , _et seq._) how the sons of the king of alba sought to obtain from their father the "caire ainsicen" so called, because "it was the caire or cauldron which was used to return his own proper share to each, and no party ever went away from it unsatisfied, for whatever quantity was put into it there was never boiled of it but what was sufficient for the company according to their grade or rank." the mediæval story-teller then goes on to instance similar cauldrons to be met with in the older history of ireland. these may nearly all be referred to the oldest heroic irish cycle, the ultonian, of which cuchulainn is the most prominent figure. this cycle, in its origin almost if not wholly mythic, was at an early date (probably as early as the eighth century) euhemerised, and its gods and demi-gods made to do duty as historical personages living at the beginning of the christian era. it is, indeed, not improbable that actual historical events and personages of that period may have coloured and distorted the presentment of the myth; and it is highly probable that the substance of these stories does go back to that age, as they are almost entirely free from any admixture of christian elements, and such admixture as there is can be readily detected as the handiwork of the tenth and eleventh century monks by whom these tales were written in mss. which have for the most part come down to us. the cauldron is found with the same properties as those set forth in the battle of magh rath, in two of the most celebrated tales of this cycle, the toghail bruighne da derga, and the tale of mac datho's pig. turning from irish to welsh literature we may note that the grail has frequently been compared with the cauldron of bran in the mabinogi of branwen, the daughter of llyr. i have dealt with this tale fully (folk-lore record, vol. v.), and see no reason to depart from the conclusion i then arrived at; namely, that it goes back in the main to the eleventh or tenth century. here, the revivifying power of the vessel is dwelt upon, "the property of it is that if one of thy men be slain to-day, and be cast therein, the morrow he will be as well as ever he was at his best, except that he will not regain his speech." we cannot fail to recall that in the queste which, as far as the grail itself is concerned, must be referred on the whole to the feud quest formula, when the sacred vessel appears the assembled company is struck dumb.[ ] later celtic folk-literature has followed the mabinogi rather than the older irish legend in its account of the mystic vessel. where it appears in the folk-tale its function is to heal or to bring back to life. we may leave out of account for the present the references in the welsh "bardic" literature to the cauldron of ceridwen, chief among which is that in the mabinogi of taliesin. i am far from thinking that this literature deserves the wholesale condemnation that has been passed upon it, but it has been too little and too uncritically studied to afford, as yet, a firm basis for investigation. we are on surer ground in dealing with the living folk-tale. thus the tale of fionn's enchantment, although belonging more properly to the other formula, may be noticed here as containing a cup of balsam, the washings of which restore the maimed fionn to complete health. mr. campbell, who has noted the tale, remarks that the cup of healing is common in all the fenian stories, which is what we should naturally expect, seeing the close connection between fionn and peredur (rev. celt. i., p. ). other instances have already been given in chapter vi. of the appearance of the vessel of balsam in connection with the glaive of light, and of its use in bringing back to life the hero's enemies. and here it maybe noted that almost the very mode in which it is introduced in the folk-tales may be paralleled from the romances. the grail appears to perceval and hector, lying well nigh dead upon the field of battle, and makes them whole, even as the vessel of balsam revivifies the dead warriors whom conall gulban has just slain, and heals the latter. it is, perhaps, only a coincidence that the angel in the one, the carlin in the other case, appear in a great flashing of light. but, as a rule, in those task-stories which otherwise present such close similarities to the feud quest of the proto-mabinogi and the conte du graal, the mystic vessel has dropped out altogether, and the sword is the chief if not the only talisman. this is the case in campbell, i., the young king of easaidh ruadh, and in xlvi. mac iain direach. in one instance the glaive of light is met with outside the task group, in campbell xli., the widow and her daughters, variant ii (a bluebeard story), and here it is found associated with the vessel of balsam. in the folk-tales, then, as in one section of the conte du graal, the healing vessel is decidedly of less account than the avenging or destroying weapon. this, as the sword, plays such an important part in the french romances that an examination of its _rôle_ in celtic literature will repay examination. besides the already quoted instances in which the sword of light accompanies the vessel of balsam as one of the treasures which reward the hero's quest, but in which it does not otherwise affect the march of the story, we find others in which the sword is either that weapon which causes the woe, the subject of the story, or else is the one means of testing the hero's fitness for his quest. in either case it is parallel to the sword of the grail romances. apart from these special instances there are general references in the oldest irish literature to the quasi-supernatural nature attributed to the sword. thus the leabhar gabhala, or book of invasions, the tenth and eleventh century tract in which irish mythology was euphemerised into an historical relation of the pre-christian invasion of ireland, has a passage relating to the sword of tethra, king of the fomori,[ ] which spake, and, adds the christian scribe, the ancient irish adored swords.[ ] this is borne out by a passage in the seirglige conculainn, a story belonging to the ultonian cycle, which mr. whitley stokes has translated (rev. celt. i., ). the men of ulster, when showing their trophies, had their swords upon their thighs, "for their swords used to turn against them where they made a false trophy." the christian transcriber notes that it was reasonable for the pagan irish to trust their swords "because demons used to speak from out them." to return to the sword of tethra. the most famous battle of irish mystic history is that of mag-tured, in which the tuatha de danann, the gods of light and life, overcome their enemies the fomori. ogma, the champion of the tuatha de danann, wins the sword of tethra, and as he cleans it it tells him the many and great feats it had wrought. it is, however, in the second of the great heroic cycles of the ancient irish, the fenian or ossianic, that we find the sword put to a use which strongly recalls that of the romances. not until the hero is able to wield the weapon so that it break not in his hand, or to weld it together so that no flaw appears,[ ] is he fit to set forth on the quest. in campbell's lxxvii., "how the een was set up," fionn applies for his sword to ullamh lamhfhada[ ] (ullamh the longhanded), who gives him the most likely sword and the best he found. the hero takes it, shakes it, casts it out of the wooden handle and discards it. thrice is this repeated, and when the right weapon is in fionn's hand, he quells utterly all he sees.[ ] now how had fionn obtained this sword originally? by slaying black arcan, his father's slayer. it may, i think, be looked upon as certain that in an earlier form of the story, the weapon in question would turn out to be the one with which the treacherous deed was done, and fionn, a counterpart of peredur in his bringing up, would also be his counterpart in this incident.[ ] for the sword with which partinal slew goon desert is treasured up for the use of perceval, but only after a repeated essay is he held worthy of it.[ ] the sword incident reappears in a tale of campbell's, manus (vol. iii.), which presents some very remarkable analogies with the romances. manus is driven into various adventures by his aunt; an armourer of his grandfather offers to get him a sword; but all given to him he breaks save the armourer's old sword, and it beat him to break that. the armourer then gives him a cloth, "when thou spreadest it to seek food or drink, thou wilt get as thou usest." subsequently, helped by a lion, he achieves many feats. he comes to the help of the white gruagach by fetching the blood of a venemous horned creature belonging to the king over the great world, by which alone the white gruagach could be restored to life when the magic trout with which his life was bound up had been slain. afterwards he accompanies him against his enemy the red gruagach, who is slain, and his head stuck on a stake. this red gruagach is apparently the father of the aunt who so persecutes manus.[ ] this examination of the sword incident shows that the mabinogi has preserved the original form of the story, and links afresh this portion of the conte du graal with the other celtic stories belonging to the expulsion and return formula group, with which it has so much else in common. in all the formula-stories, except those of the conte du graal and the proto-mabinogi, the hero has to avenge his father, not his uncle; and it is highly suggestive that at least one version of the perceval cycle (the thornton romance) follows suit. with this remark we may take leave of the feud quest. many and interesting as have been the parallels from the older celtic literature to the feud quest, they are far outweighed by those which that literature affords to the second formula--the visit to the bespelled castle--which we have noted in the romances. from the recapitulation (_supra_, pp. , _et. seq._) we may learn several things. the castle lies, as a rule, on the other side of a river; the visitor to it is under a definite obligation; he must either do a certain thing, as, _e.g._, in perceval's visit to the castle of maidens, strike on the table three blows with the hammer, or he must put a certain question, or again he must abstain from certain acts, as that of falling asleep (perceval and gawain) or drinking[ ] (gawain, in heinrich von dem türlin). disregard of the obligation is punished in various ways. in the case of the castle of maidens the craven visitor is allowed to fare forth unheeded without beholding the marvels of the castle; but, as a rule, the hero of the adventure finds himself on the morrow far away from the castle, which has vanished completely. the inmates of this castle fall into two classes--they are supernatural beings like the maidens, who have apparently no object to gain from their mortal visitor, but who love heroism for its own sake, and are as kindly disposed towards the mortal hero in the folk-lore and mythology of the celts as gods, and especially goddesses, are in the mythic lore of all other races; or they suffer from an over-lengthened life, from which the hero alone can release them. this latter feature, seen to perfection only in heinrich von dem türlin, is apparent in the didot-perceval, and has, in the conte du graal, supplied the figure of the old man, father to the fisher king, nourished by the grail. these features sufficiently indicate that the magic castle is the realm of the other world. the dividing water is that across which lies tír-na n-og, the irish avalon, or that engelland dwelt in by the shades which the inhabitants of the belgian coast figured in the west.[ ] in celtic lore the earliest trace of this realm is found, as is the earliest trace of grail and sword, in connection with the tuatha de danann, that race of dispossessed immortals which lives on in the hollow hill sides, and is ever ready to aid and cherish the irish mythic heroes. the most famous embodiment of this conception in irish myth is the brug na boine, the dwelling place of oengus,[ ] son of the dagda, and the earliest account of it is that contained in the book of leinster, the second of the two great irish vellums written down in the twelfth century. it is a land of cockayne; in it are fruit trees ever loaded with fruit, on the board a pig ready roasted which may not be eaten up, vessels of beer which may not be emptied, and therein no man dies.[ ] but oengus is not the only one of the tuatha de danann who has such a fairy palace. the dwelling place of lug is of the same kind, and in the story of the conception of cuchulainn,[ ] which tells how the god carried off dechtire, sister of conchobor, and re-incarnated himself in her as the great ulster hero, we learn that when conchobor and his men go in search of dechtire and her fifty maidens, they first come to a small house wherein are a man and woman; the house suddenly becomes a splendid mansion,[ ] therein are the vanished maidens in the shape of birds (and all sorts of goods, and dishes of divers sorts, known and unknown; never did they have a better night, in the morning they found themselves houseless, birdless in the east of the land, and they went back to emain macha).[ ] although no prohibition is mentioned the similarity in parts of this story, which, it must be repeated, is older than the introduction of christianity in ireland, to the romances is evident. another famous brug of the tuatha de danann is that of manannan mac lir. among the visitors was bran, the son of febal, whose story may be found in the leabhar na h' uidhre, the oldest of the great irish vellums.[ ] one day as he was alone in his palace there came to him soft, sweet music, and he fell asleep. when he awoke a silver branch, covered with flowers, was at his side. a short while after, as he was in the midst of his kinsfolk, his chiefs, and his nobles, an unknown damsel appeared, and bid him to her in the land of _sidhe_, and then vanished, and with her the branch. bran set sail, and with him thirty men. after two days' wandering they met manannan mac lir. they continued their journey until they came to an island dwelt in solely by women; their queen it was who had sent for bran. he stayed with her a while, and then came back to ireland. but the most famous of the visits to the brug of manannan is that of cormac mac art, whom the irish legendary annals place in the third century of our era, and bring into connection with fionn. the story, though only known to us from later mss., can be traced back to the tenth century at least, as the title of it figures in a list preserved in the book of leinster, and as it is apparently alluded to by the eleventh century annalist, tighernach.[ ] the following summary is from a version, with english translation by mr. standish hayes o'grady, in the third volume of the ossianic society's publications. of a time that cormac was in liathdruim he saw a youth having in his hand a glittering fairy branch, with nine apples of red gold upon it.[ ] and this was the manner of that branch, that when any one shook it, men wounded and women with child would be lulled to sleep by the sound of the very sweet fairy music which those apples uttered, and no one on earth would bear in mind any want, woe, or weariness of soul when that branch was shaken for him. cormac exchanged for this branch his wife and son and daughter, overcoming their grief by shaking the branch. but after a year, cormac went in search of them. and he chanced upon a land where many marvels were wrought before his eyes, and he understood them not. at length he came to a house wherein was a very tall couple, clothed in clothes of many colours, and they bade him stay. and the man of the house brought a log and a wild boar, and if a quarter of the boar was put under a quarter of the log, and a true story was told, the meat would be cooked. at cormac's request the host told the first story, how that he had seven swine with which he could feed the world, for if the swine were slain, and their bones put in the sty, on the morrow they would be whole again; and the hostess the second, how that the milk of her seven white kine would satisfy the men of the world. cormac knew them for manannan and his wife, and then told his story how he had lost and was seeking for wife and children. manannan brought in the latter, and told cormac it was he who gave him the branch, that he might bring him to that house. then they sat down to meat, and the table-cloth was such that no food, however delicate, might be demanded of it, but it should be had without doubt; and the drinking cup was such that if a false story was told before it, it went in four pieces, and if a true one, it came whole again, and therewith was the faith of cormac's wife made evident. and manannan gave branch and cloth and goblet to cormac, and thereafter they went to slumber and sweet sleep. where they rose upon the morrow was in the pleasant liathdruim. the foregoing examples have been akin to the incident of the maiden castle. we have seen the race of immortals caring for the sons of men, signalling out and alluring to themselves the brave and wise hero. in the tales we are now about to examine the benefit conferred by the visitor upon the inmates of the magic castle is insisted upon. but we must first notice a tale which presents many of the incidents of the grail romances, without actually belonging to the same story group as they. in campbell's no. lxxxvi, the daughter of king under the waves, diarmaid, the fairest and bravest of the fenian heroes, weds a fay who, as her description indicates, belongs to the same order of beings as the damsels who lure away connla and bran, the son of febal. she comes to him in loathly guise, and the other heroes shrink from her; but diarmaid, courteous as he is brave, gives her the shelter of tent and bed and has his reward. she builds for him such a castle as the fay mistress of the knight of the black tomb (_supra_, p. ) builds for her lover. but she warns him that after a threefold reproach as to how he found her she would have to leave him. through the cunning of fionn he is led to break the taboo and "it was in a mosshole he awoke on the morrow. there was no castle, or a stone left of it on another." diarmaid sets forth to seek his wife, he finds her ailing to death, and to be cured she must have three draughts from the cup of the king of the plain of wonder. helped by a little russet man, he gets the talisman, as was prophesied of him; but, advised by the little russet man, he gives the maiden to drink out of a certain well, which changes their love into aversion, and he returns to the light of day. this last feature should be noted as characteristic. the mortal lover always tires sooner than the fay mistress. oisin cannot stay in tír-na n-og. perceval gives but one night to the lady of the chessboard. we now come to the "unspelling" stories, and i will cite in the first place one which is the most striking testimony i know of to the influence of this formula upon celtic mythic lore. there is a widely spread folk-tale of a hero robbed of three magic gifts and getting them back thus; by chance he eats some fruit or herb which changes him into an ass, causes his nose to grow, sets horns upon his head, or produces some equally unpleasant result. another herb he finds heals him. armed with specimens of either, he wins back his talismans. in grimm it is no. , der krautesel, and in vol. iii., p. , variants are given. in one the hero is one of three soldiers, and he receives the gifts from a little grey man. but neither here nor in the variants given by dr. r. köhler (orient und occident, ii., p. ) is the opening the same as in campbell's no. x.--the three soldiers. the three come to a house in the wilderness dwelt in by three girls who keep them company at night, but disappear during the day. in the house is a table, overnight they eat off it, and when they rise the board is covered, and it would not be known that a bit had ever come off it. at the first night's close one soldier gets a purse never empty; at the second, the next one a cloth always filled with meat; and the third, the youngest (the hero), a transporting whistle. but as they leave he must needs ask them who they are, and they burst out crying, "they were under charms till they could find three lads who would spend three nights with them without putting a question--had he refrained they were free." in one variant the time of probation lasts a year, and the talismans are: a cup that empties not, and a lamp of light, the table-cloth of meat, and a bed for rest. in another the damsels are swanmaids,[ ] and the visitors are bidden "not to think nor order one of us to be with you in lying down or rising up."[ ] there can, i think, be little doubt that this last variant represents the oldest form of the story, and that the swanmaid damsels belong to the otherworld, as do the daughter of king under the waves and the maiden who fetches connla. there is nothing surprising in swanmaids being the object of a taboo, this is so invariably the case in myth and folk-lore that it is needless to accumulate instances; what is unique to my knowledge, i speak under correction, is the fact of these damsels being in possession of the talismans, one of which is so obviously connected with the grail. it may be noted that the obligation laid upon the hero is the direct opposite of that in the grail romances, in the one case a question must not be asked, in the other it must. in this respect campbell's tale of course falls into line with all the widely spread and varying versions of the melusine legend. the supernatural wife always forbids her husband some special act which, as is perhaps natural, he can never refrain from doing. the next form of the bespelled castle legend is one which has attained far greater celebrity than any other on account of its traditional association with historical personages. it pictures the inmate of the castle as a king, with his warriors around him, sunk into magic sleep, and awaiting a signal to come forth and free his folk. to many english readers this legend will be more familiar in connection with frederick barbarossa[ ] or with holger the dane than with any celtic worthy. yet the oldest historic instance is that of arthur.[ ] i have quoted (_supra_, p. ) gerald's words relating to the mountain seat of arthur. a more definite tradition, and one closely resembling the episode in the grail romances, is the one noted by gervasius of tilbury[ ] (c. a.d.). a groom of the bishop of catania, following a runaway horse even to the summit of mount etna, found himself in a far reaching plain, full of all things delightful. a marvellous castle rose before him, wherein lay arthur on a royal bed, suffering from the wound inflicted upon him by modred his nephew, and childeric the saxon, and this wound broke out afresh each year. the king caused the horse to be given to the groom, and made him many rich presents.[ ] this tradition of arthur in sicily raises some very interesting questions. for one thing it is a fresh example of the tremendous and immediate popularity of the arthurian legend. it also shows with what rapidity a tradition, however remote in its origin from a particular spot, may associate itself with that. of more immediate interest to us is the question whether this tradition has any direct connection with the grail romances, whether it has shaped or been shaped by them. martin refers the maimed king of the romances to the same myth-root as the wounded arthur waiting in etna or in avalon till his wound be healed and he come forth. it seems to me more likely that in so far as the wound is concerned there is a coincidence merely between the two stories, and that the wounded king belongs properly to the feud quest. i do not, however, deny that the fact of the lord of the bespelled castle, of the otherworld, being sometimes pictured as suffering from an incurable wound, may have aided that fusion of the two strains of legend which we find in the romances. it is not my purpose to examine here in detail the innumerable versions of this widely-spread tradition[ ], the more so as i have been able to trace no exact parallel to that presentment of the story found in heinrich von dem türlin and in the didot-perceval. no other version of this form of the legend, to my knowledge, pictures the bespelled king as awaiting the deliverance of death at the hands of his visitor. before endeavouring to find a reason for the singularity of heinrich's account, i will first quote one variant of the common form of the legend which has not been printed before save by myself in the folk-lore journal, vol. i., p. .[ ] king arthur sleeps bespelled in the ruins of (richmond) castle. many have tried to find him but failed. one man only, potter thompson by name, wandering one night among the ruins chanced upon the hall wherein sat the king and his men around a table upon which lay a horn and a sword. terrified, he turned and fled, and as he did so a voice sounded in his ears-- "potter thompson, potter thompson, had'st thou blown the horn, thou had'st been the greatest man that ever was born." for then he would have freed arthur from his magic sleep. never again could he reach that hall. this version, besides being practically inedited has the merit of exemplifying that association of the sword with the lord of the bespelled castle to which i have already alluded. the instances of the visit to the otherworld which have thus far been collected from celtic mythic literature, and which have been used as parallels to the unspelling quest of the romances, are more closely akin to one example of this incident, perceval's visit to the castle of maidens, than to that found in heinrich and the didot-perceval. none, indeed, throw any light upon that death-in-life which is the special feature in these two works. all are of one kind in so far as the disposition of the inmates towards the visitor is concerned; he is received with courtesy when he is not actually allured into the castle, and the trials to which he is subjected are neither painful nor humiliating. but it will not have escaped attention that the conte du graal contains another form of the visit, one which i have hitherto left unnoticed, in gawain's visit to the magic castle. a new conception is here introduced: the lord of the castle[ ] is an evil being, who holds captive fair dames and damsels; they it is, and not he, whom the hero must deliver, and the act of deliverance subjects him to trial and peril (_supra_, p. , chr. inc. ). let us see if this form affords any explanation of the mysterious features of heinrich's version. this incident may, it is easily conceivable, be treated in two ways; the hero may be a worthy knight and succeed, or a caitiff and fail. a story of this latter kind may throw some light upon gawain's adventures at the magic castle. the story in question (the son of bad counsel) is ascribed by kennedy, legendary fictions, pp. , _et seq._, to an author of the early eighteenth century, brian dhu o'reilly, and traced back to an older ossianic legend--conan's delusions in ceash, of which kennedy prints a version, pp. , _et seq._ the hero of the story comes to the castle of a gruagach, named the giant of the unfrequented land, and his wife, daughter to the king of the lonesome land. the name of the castle is the uncertain castle. very fair is their daughter, and she is proffered to the hero for his promised aid against other fairy chieftains. after playing at backgammon with the gruagach, the hero lays himself to bed. he is assailed, as he fancies, by great dangers from which he hastens to flee, and, waking, finds himself in a ridiculous plight with his lady-love, and the other folk of the castle laughing at him. in the morning he awakes, "and his bed was the dry grass of a moat." the names of the personages in the story at once recall those of the romances--the waste land or forest, the castle perillous, and the like--and one of the trials, the being shot at with fairy darts, is the same as that to which gawain is exposed in the conte du graal. but it is interesting chiefly as being a version of a wide-spread tale of how gods or heroes penetrating to the other world are made mock of by its inmates. in scandinavian mythology the story is well-known as thor's visit to utgarth loki. it is equally well-known in the fionn saga, and, considering the many points of contact we have hitherto found between fionn and the grail hero, the fenian form claims our notice. the oldest preserved form of the story, that in the book of leinster, has been printed with translation by mr. whitley stokes, revue celt., vol. vii., pp. , _et seq._--fionn comes at nightfall with cailte and oisin to a house he had never heard of in that glen, knowing though he was. a grey giant greets them; within are a hag with three heads on her thin neck, and a headless man with one eye protruding from his breast. nine bodies rise out of a recess, and the hideous crew sing a strain to the guests; "not melodious was that concert." the giant slays their horses; raw meat is offered them, which they refuse; the inmates of the house attack them; they had been dead had it not been for fionn alone. they struggle until the sun lights up the house, then a mist falls into every one's head, so that he was dead upon the spot. the champions rise up whole, and the house is hidden from them, and every one of the household is hidden.--in the later fenian saga (later that is as far as the form in which it has come down to us is concerned) the story closely resembles thor's visit. kennedy (bardic stories, pp. , _et seq._) has a good version.[ ]--fionn and his comrades follow a giant, on his shoulders an iron fork with a pig screeching between the prongs, behind him a damsel scourging him. they follow them to a house wherein is an aged hoary-headed man and a beautiful maid, a rough giant cooking the hog, and an old man having twelve eyes in his head, a white-haired ram, and a hag clad in dark ash coloured garment. two fountains are before the house: fionn drinks of one which at first tastes sweet, but afterwards bitter to death; from the other, and though he never suffered as much as while drinking, when he puts the vessel from his lips he is as whole as ever he was. the hog is then shared; the ram left out of count revenges itself by carrying out the guest's share, and smite it with their swords as they may, they cannot hurt it. the hag then throws her mantle over the guests, and they become four withered drooping-headed old men; on the mantle being removed they resume their first shape. these wonders are explained. the giant is _sloth_, urged on by _energy_; the twelve-eyed old man is the _world_; and the ram the _guilt of man_; the wells are _truth_ and _falsehood_; the hag _old age_. the warriors sleep and in the morning find themselves on the summit of cairn feargaill with their hounds and their arms by them. this tale betrays its semi-literary origin at once; and, though there is no reason to doubt that the irish celts had a counterpart to thor's journey to giantland, i am inclined to look upon the version just summarised as influenced by the norse saga. certain it is that the popular version of fionn's visit to giantland is much more like the eleventh century poem, preserved in the book of leinster, than it is like the mediæval, "how fionn fared in the house of cuana." i have already alluded (_supra_, p. ) to one feature of the tale of fionn's enchantment, but the whole tale is of interest to us.--as fionn and his men are sitting round the fire boasting of their prowess in comes a slender brown hare and tosses up the ashes, and out she goes. they follow her, a dozen, to the house of the yellow face, a giant that lived upon the flesh of men. a woman greets them, and bids them begone before the face returns, but fionn will not flee. in comes the face and smells out the strangers. six of the fenians he strikes with a magic rod, "and they are pillars of stone to stop the sleety wind." he then cooks and devours a boar, and the bones he throws to the fenians. they play at ball with a golden apple, and the face puts an end to fionn's other comrades. hereafter he wrestles with fionn, and the griddle is put on the fire till it is red hot, and they all get about fionn and set him on the griddle till his legs are burnt to the hips ('twas then he said, "a man is no man alone"), and stick a flesh-stake through both his hams, so that he could neither rise nor sit, and cast him into a corner. but he manages to crawl out and sound his horn, and diarmaid hears it and comes to his aid, and does to the face as the face did to fionn, and with the cup of balsam which he wins from him makes fionn whole.--it is not necessary to dwell on the parallel between diarmaid healing his uncle fionn, wounded with a stake through the two thighs, by winning the cup of balsam, and perceval healing his uncle (mehaignié des ii cuisses) by the question as to the grail. this, alone, would be sufficient to show us what _rôle_ the grail played in the oldest form of the feud quest before the latter was influenced by the visit to the bespelled castle. if we look at the stories we have just summarised, we shall easily understand the meaning of the magic castle vanishing at dawn. as sleep is brother to death, so are night and its realm akin to the otherworld; many phantoms haunt them and seem quick and strive with and often terribly oppress the mortal wanderer through this domain, but with the first gleam of sunlight they vanish, leaving no trace behind them, and the awakening hero find himself in his own place. the conditions of the visit to the otherworld are thus partly determined by man's nightly experience in that dreamland which he figures to himself as akin to, if not an actual portion of the land of shades. this visit, as we have seen, is conceived of in several ways. its object is almost invariably to win precious talismans; all we have comes to us from our forefathers, and it is natural to suppose that in the world whence they came, and whither they go back, is to be found all that man seeks here, only in a form as more wonderful than earthly objects as the dwellers in the otherworld are mightier and cleverer than man. at times the talismans are held by beneficent beings, who either gladly yield them to the mortal visitor, or from whom they may be won by the exhibition of valour and magnanimity; at times by evil monsters with whom the mortal must strive. in either case the visitor arrives at nightfall and in the morning awakes to the life of this earth. the secondary or gawain form of the myth, as found in the conte de graal, may help us to understand heinrich's version. it is to free imprisoned damsels that gauvain undergoes the trials of the magic castle. now the effect of his visit in the german poem is to free the sister of gansguoter, who, with her maidens, remains when the other inmates of the castle, released by the question, have utterly vanished.[ ] but what means the death-in-life condition of the king and his men? is it merely an expedient to account for their sudden vanishing at daylight? i rather see here the influence of another form of the unspelling myth, one that mixed with christian elements has powerfully impressed the popular imagination, and is in many european countries the only one in which this old myth still lives on.[ ] the inmates of the magic castle or house are in this form figured as men doomed for some evil deed to haunt that particular spot, until some mortal is bold enough to win their secret and bring them rest. one would think that under the circumstances they would be as amiable as possible to any visitor. but the older form of the story persists, and they have not terrors or trials enough for the man who is to be their deliverer. i will only quote one version, from irish sources.[ ] a youth engages to sleep in a haunted castle. if he is alive in the morning he will get ten guineas and the farmer's daughter to wife. at nightfall he goes thither, and presently three men in old-fashioned dress come down in pieces through a hole in the ceiling, put themselves together, and begin playing at football. jack joins them, and towards daybreak he judges they wish him to speak, so he asks them how he can give them rest if rest they want. "them is the wisest words you ever spoke," is answered to him. they had ground the poor and heaped up wealth evilly. they show him their treasure, and tell him how to make restitution. as they finish, "jack could see the wall through their body, and when he winked to clear his sight the kitchen was as empty as a noggin turned upside down." of course jack does as he is told, and has the daughter to wife, and they live comfortably in the old castle.[ ] we have here, it seems to me, the last echo of such a story as one of those which enter into the grail romances. in heinrich's version, as elsewhere in these romances, different story types can be distinguished, different conceptions are harmonised. many, indeed, are both the early conceptions and the varying shapes in which they embodied themselves, to be traced in the complex mass of the romances. that a kinsman is bound to avenge a blood feud, and that until he does so his kin may suffer from ailment or enchantment and their land be under a curse; that the otherworld is a land of feasting and joyousness and all fair things; that it contains magic treasures which he who is bold may win; that it is peopled with beings whom he may free by his courage; that it is fashioned like dreamland--all these ideas find expression. if the foregoing exposition be accepted we have a valuable criterion for the age of the immediate originals of the romances. that famous version of the legend which pictured the dwellers in the otherworld as kings, spell bound, awaiting the releasing word to come forth and aid their folk, to which special circumstances gave such wide popularity in the later middle ages, causing it to supplant older tales of gods dwelling in the hollow hills, this version has left no trace upon the romances. these must, therefore, be older than the full-blown arthurian legend. one or two minor points may be briefly noticed. the ship in which is found the magic sword which wounds all bold enough to handle it save the destined knight may be thought to have taken the place of an older island. the loathly grail messenger shows the influence of the two formulas: as coming from the bespelled castle,[ ] type of the otherworld, she should be radiantly fair; as the kinswoman of the destined avenger, under spells until the vengeance be accomplished, she is hideous in the last degree. but before we take leave of this incident we must examine two features upon which, as yet, no light has been thrown, the meaning of the epithet the _fisher_ king, and the hero's silence upon his first visit to the castle of talismans. chapter viii. the fisher king in the conte du graal, in the queste, and in borron and the grand st. graal--the accounts of latter complete each other--the fish is the salmon of wisdom--parallel with the fionn saga--the nature of the unspelling quest--the mabinogi of taliesin and its mythological affinities--brons, bran, cernunnos--perceval's silence: conte du graal explanation late; explanation from the fionn saga--comparison of incident with _geasa_; nature of latter; references to it in celtic folk-tales and in old irish literature, book of rights, diarmaid, cuchulainn--_geasa_ and _taboo_. the conte du graal, as we have seen, offers no satisfactory explanation of the fisher king. by chrestien he is represented on perceval's first meeting with him as angling from a boat steered by his companion (v. , ); he directs perceval to his castle. perceval is afterwards informed that, being wounded and consequently unable to mount on horseback, fishing is his only solace, whence the name applied to him (vv. , , _et seq._). this is practically all the conte du graal has to say about him, as the continuators, whilst repeating the epithet, add no fresh details. indeed in none of the after-visits of perceval is the king represented as fishing, or is there the slightest reference to, let alone insistence upon, this favourite occupation of his. it is another proof of the inadequacy of birch-hirschfeld's theory of the development of the legend, that it represents chrestien, who, _ex hypothesi_, divested borron's poem of its religious character, as retaining this feature due wholly to religious symbolism, whilst the continuators with their obvious fondness for such symbolism entirely neglected it. the queste, which in so far as the quest portion is concerned is formally connected with the conte du graal, says nothing about the fisher, nor does that section of the grand st. graal which presents the same early history as the queste. in borron's poem, on the other hand, and in that later section of the grand st. graal which agrees with it, an explanation is given of the epithet. according to borron, brons catches a fish at joseph's bidding; joseph, having placed the vessel on the table and covered it with a towel, takes the fish and lays it opposite the vessel; the people are then called together, and it is possible to distinguish the sinners from the righteous (vv. , - , ). joseph is afterwards told by an angel, that, as brons was a good man, it was the lord's will he should catch the fish (vv. , , _et seq._), and he is to be called the rich fisher (v. , ). in the grand st. graal (vol. ii., pp. , _et seq._) not brons but his son alain is bidden by joseph to fish, and this with a view to providing food for the sinners of the company whom the holy vessel leaves unsatisfied. alain fishes from a boat with a net. he catches but one fish, and there are at first murmurs, but joseph, by virtue of alain's prayers, multiplies the fish so that it feeds the host, and thus alain wins the name of rich fisher. these accounts complete each other. chrestien dwells upon the continued act of fishing which, for aught to the contrary we learn from him or his continuators, is always fruitless. borron and the grand st. graal dwell upon the one successful haul, and especially upon the miraculous properties of the one fish caught. reading the two accounts together, we find that the fisher king passes his life seeking for a fish which, when caught, confers upon him the power of distinguishing good from evil, or enables him to furnish an inexhaustible meal to his men. the conte du graal has been shown to derive more of its substance from the feud quest--the didot-perceval from the unspelling quest. borron's poem, as far as its primitive celtic elements are concerned, is probably to be ranged with the didot-perceval, to which many links unite it. we may, therefore, turn to celtic stories belonging to either of these formulas for parallel features. the inexhaustible nature of the fish at once recalls the pigs of manannan mac lir (_supra_, p. ); they, too, can feed a multitude. but it is in stories formally connected with the feud quest that we find what i venture to suggest is an adequate explanation of the nature of the fisher king and of the fish. the latter is, i think, the salmon of wisdom,[ ] which appears so often and so prominently in irish mythic lore; and the former is that being who passes his life in vain endeavours to catch the wonderful fish, and who, in the moment of success, is robbed of the fruit of all his long toils and watchings. i am prepared to admit that the incident as found in borron's poem has been recast in the mould of mediæval christian symbolism, but i think the older myth can still be clearly discerned and is wholly responsible for the incident as found in the conte du graal.[ ] let us first look at the irish story. this is found in an account, to which allusion has already been made, of the boyish exploits of finn mac cumhail.[ ] it is there told how finn seeks his namesake, finn-eges, to learn poetry from him, as until then he durst not stay in ireland for fear of his foes. now finn-eges had remained seven years by the boyne, watching the salmon of linn-feic, which it had been foretold finn (himself as he thought) should catch and know all things afterwards. finn, who conceals his name, takes service with him and the salmon is caught. finn is set to watch it while it roasts, but warned not to eat of it. inadvertently he touches it with his thumb, which he burns, and carries to his mouth to cool. immediately he becomes possessed of all knowledge, and thereafter he had only to chew his thumb to obtain wisdom. finn-eges recognises that the prophecy has been fulfilled, and hails his pupil as finn. it is needless to dwell upon the archaic features of this tale, which represents the hero seeking service of a powerful magician, from whom he hopes to learn the spells and charms that may guard him against his foes. here, as in many other portions of the ossianic saga, fionn is strikingly like a red indian medicine man, or the corresponding wizard among other savage tribes. it is more to our purpose to note that this tale contains the fullest presentment of fionn as hero of the expulsion and return formula, and that a similar incident is to be found in the lives of other heroes of the formula (notably siegfried: the adventure with mimir.) now, as we have already seen that peredur-perceval is a formula hero, there is nothing remarkable in finding an analogous incident in his _sage_. a formal connection is thus at once made out. but we must look into the matter a little closer, as the incident found in the romances is but a faint echo, and that in part distorted by alien conceptions, of the original story. the unspelling quest in one form resolves itself ultimately into the hero's search for riches, power, or knowledge, in prosecution of which he penetrates to the otherworld. this is figured in the grail romances both by brons' or alain's (who here answers to fionn) catching the wonderful fish, and by peredur-perceval coming to the house of brons, the fisher king (who here answers to finn-eges), winning from him the mysterious vessel of increase, and learning the secret words which put an end to the enchantments of britain. in the grail romances the idea of wisdom is not associated with the grail, the vessel, at all; it is either bound up with the fish, as in the irish tale, or is the possession of the fisher king as the wonder-working spells are the possession of finn-eges. but in the welsh tradition which corresponds to that of fionn and the salmon, it is the vessel, the cauldron, or rather the drink which it holds, which communicates the gift of wisdom and knowledge. i allude, of course, to the story of gwion, set by ceridwen to watch the cauldron of inspiration, inadvertently tasting its contents, becoming thereby filled with knowledge, pursued by ceridwen, who swallows him, and in whom he re-incarnates himself as taliesin, the allwise bard. campbell had already (vol. iv., p. ) drawn attention to the similarity of the two stories, and equated fionn, father of oisin, with gwion, father of taliesin; and, as professor rhys has now (hibbert lectures, p. ) given the equation his sanction, it may be accepted as philologically sound. i have hitherto refrained in the course of these studies from making any use of the mabinogi of taliesin, or of references to the cauldron of ceridwen of a like nature with those contained in that tale; but it will, i think, be admitted now that the welsh mabinogi, however late in form, and however overlaid it may be with pseudo-archaic bardic rubbish, does go back to a primitive stratum of celtic mythology. in connection with this myth the name brons is of high import. this catcher of the fish, this lord of the grail, at once suggests bran, who is also a guardian of the magic cauldron. professor rhys (pp. - ) shows reason for looking upon bran (as he is presented in the mabinogi of branwen) as the representative of an old celtic god, cernunnos, that celtic dis from whom, as cæsar reports, the gauls claimed descent, and who, as god of the otherworld and the shades was also god of knowledge and riches. we are thus brought back again to the fundamental conception of the grail quest. it is to this tale that i would turn for one of the possible explanations of perceval's silence at the court of the fisher king. that the romance writers did not understand this incident is evident from the explanation they give. gonemans' moral advice to his nephew on the evil of curiosity may have its foundation in a possible feature of the original, about which i shall speak presently; or it may simply be an expedient of chrestien's or of his immediate model. in either case its present form is obviously neither old nor genuine. the silence of perceval may, perhaps, be referred to the same myth-root as fionn's concealment of his name whilst in the service of finn-eges.[ ] this prohibition might extend not only to the disclosing of his name by the mortal visitor to the realm of the shades, but to the utterance of any words at all. as he might not eat or drink in the underworld, so he might not speak lest he lose the power to return to the land of the living. one tale we have seen (_supra_, p. ) does contain this very injunction to say no word whilst in company of the dwellers in the bespelled castle. in this case we should have to assume that two varying redactions of the theme have been maladroitly fused into one in the romances--that, namely, which bids the visitor to the otherworld abstain from a certain act, and that which, on the contrary, bids him perform a certain act, failure of compliance with the injunction being punished in either case. the positive injunction of one form of the story is used as an explanation of the hero's failure in another. an alternative hypothesis is that whilst the hero's unreadiness of speech, the cause of his want of success at his first visit, comes wholly from the unspelling quest, the motive by which the romances seek to account for that unreadiness comes from the feud quest. the latter, as has been shown, is closely akin to many task-stories; and it is a frequent feature in such stories, especially in the celtic ones, that the hero has to accomplish his quest in spite of all sorts of odd restrictions which are laid upon him by an enemy, generally by a step-mother or some other evil-disposed relative. in the language of irish mythic tradition perceval would be under _geasa_ to ask no questions, and gonemans' advice would be the last faint echo of such an incident. the form which such prohibitions take in celtic folk-tales is very curious. the _gess_ is generally embodied in a magical formula, the language of which is very old and frequently unintelligible to the narrators themselves. as a rule, the hero, by advice of a friendly supernatural being, lays a counterspell upon his enemy. thus, in "how the great tuairsgeul was put to death" (scot. celt. rev. i., p. ) the magician "lays it as crosses and charms that water leave not your shoe until you found out how the great tuairsgeul was put to death." the hero retorts by laying the same charms that the magician leave not the hillock until he return. in campbell, no. xlvii., mac iain direach, the stepmother, "sets it as crosses, and as spells, and as the decay of the year upon thee; that thou be not without a pool of water in thy shoe, and that thou be wet, cold, and soiled until, etc.;" and the hero bespells her, "that thou be standing with the one foot on the great house and the other foot on the castle: and that thy face be to the tempest whatever wind blows, until i return back." the formula in campbell, no. li, the fair gruagach is very archaic. "i lay thee under spells, and under crosses, under holy herdsmen of quiet travelling, wandering woman, the little calf, most feeble and powerless, to take thy head and thine ear and thy wearing of life from off thee if thou takest rest by night or day; where thou takest thy breakfast that thou take not thy dinner, and where thou takest thy dinner that thou take not thy supper, in whatsoever place thou be, until thou findest out in what place i may be under the four brown quarters of the globe." these instances will suffice to show the nature of the _gess_ in celtic folk-lore, but some references to older irish literature are necessary to show its great importance in the social and religious life of the race. o'donovan (book of rights, p. xlv.) explains the word _geasa_ as "any thing or act forbidden because of the ill luck that would result from its doing;" also "a spell, a charm, a prohibition, an interdiction or hindrance." this explanation occurs in the introduction to a poem on the restrictions (_geasa_) and prerogatives (_buada_) of the kings of eire, found in the book of ballymote (late fourteenth century) and book of lecan (early fifteenth century). the poem is ascribed to cuan o'lochain (a.d. ), and, from the historical allusions contained in it, o'donovan looks upon it as in substance due to that poet, and as embodying much older traditions. some of these _geasa_ may be quoted. for the king of eire, "that the sun should rise upon him on his bed in magh teamhrach;" for the king of leinster, "to go round tuath laighean left hand-wise on wednesday;" for the king of munster, "to remain, to enjoy the feast of loch lein from one monday to another;" for the king of connaught, "to go in a speckled garment on a grey speckled steed to the heath of luchaid;" for the king of ulster, "to listen to the fluttering of the flocks of birds of luin saileach after sunset."[ ] even these instances do not exhaust the force or adequately connote the nature of this curious institution. in the irish hero-tales _geasa_ attach themselves to the hero from his birth up, and are the means by which fate compasses the downfall of the otherwise invincible champion; thus it is a _gess_ of diarmaid that he never hunt a swine, and when he is artfully trapped into doing it by fionn he meets his death; it is a _gess_ of cuchulainn's that he never refuse food offered him by women, and as he goes to his last fight he accepts the poisoned meal of the witches though he full well knows it will be fatal to him.[ ] but, besides this, _geasa_ may also be an appeal to the hero's honour as well as a magic charm laid upon him, and it is sometimes difficult to see by which of the two motives the hero is moved. thus graine, wife of fionn, lays _geasa_ upon diarmaid that he carry her off from her husband, and though he is in the last degree unwilling he must comply.[ ] enough has been said to show that we have in the _geasa_ a cause quite sufficient to explain the mysterious prohibition to ask questions laid upon perceval, if the first explanation i have offered of this prohibition be thought inadequate. chapter ix. summing up of the elements of the older portion of the cycle--parallelism with celtic tradition--the christian element in the cycle: the two forms of the early history; brons form older--brons and bran--the bran conversion legend--the joseph conversion legend: joseph in apocryphal literature--glastonbury--the head in the platter and the veronica portrait--the bran legend the starting point of the christian transformation of the legend--substitution of joseph for bran--objections to this hypothesis--hypothetical sketch of the growth of the legend. i have now finished the examination of all those incidents in the grail quest romances which are obviously derived from some other sources than christian legend, and which are, indeed, referred by pronounced adherents of the christian-origin hypothesis to celtic tradition. i have also claimed a celtic origin for features hitherto referred to christian legend. this examination will, i trust, convince many that nearly all the incidents connected with the quest of the grail are celtic in their origin, and that thus alone can we account for the way in which they appear in the romances. the latter are, as we have seen, in the highest degree inconsistent in their account of the mystic vessel and its fortunes; the most cursory examination shows the legend to be composed of two parts, which have no real connection with each other; the older of these parts, the quest, can easily be freed from the traces of christian symbolism; this older part is itself no homogeneous or consistent tale, but a complex of incidents diverse in origin and character. these incidents are: the rearing of the hero in ignorance of the world and of men; his visit to the court of the king, his uncle; his slaying of his father's murderer, the trial made of him by means of the broken sword; his service with the fisher king; his quest in search of the sword and of the vessel by means of which he is to avenge the death or wounding of his kinsman; his accomplishment of this task by the aid of a kinsman who is under spells from which he will not be loosed until the quest be ended; the adventure of the stag-hunt, in which the bespelled kinsman tests the hero's skill and courage; the hero's visit to the castle of talismans; the prohibition under which he labours; his failure to accomplish certain acts; the effects of his failure; his visit to the magic castle, the lord of which is under the enchantment of death-in-life; his visit to the castle of maidens; his visit to the castle perillous; and his deliverance of the captive damsels by means of the trials which he successfully undergoes. to one and all of these incidents celtic parallels have been adduced; these have in each case been drawn from stories which present a general similarity of outline with the grail romances, or share with them similar guiding conceptions, whilst at the same time they are so far disconnected with them that no hypothesis of borrowing can account for the features they have in common. the inconsistencies of the romances have been explained by the fusion into one of two originally distinct groups of stories, and this explanation is confirmed by the fact that traces of this fusion may readily be found in the parallel celtic tales. these latter, when studied by scholars who never thought of comparing them with the grail romances, have been found to contain mythical elements which other scholars had detected independently in the romances. those features of the romances which have perplexed previous students, the fisher king and the omitted question, have been explained from the same group of celtic traditions, and in accordance with the same scheme of mythical interpretation which have been used to throw light upon the remainder of the cycle. finally, the one celtic version of the grail quest, the mabinogi, which presents no admixture of christian symbolism, has been shown, when cleared of certain easily distinguishable interpolations, to be genuine in character, and to present the oldest form of one of the stories which enters into the romances. i have tried not to force these parallels, nor to go one step beyond what the facts warrant. i have also tried to bear in mind that a parallel is of no real value unless it throws light upon the puzzling features in the development of the romances. i thus rest my case, not so much upon the accumulative effect of the similarities which i have pointed out between the romances and celtic tradition, as upon the fact that this reference of the romances to certain definite cycles of celtic myth and legend makes us understand, what otherwise we cannot do, how they came by their present shape. it now remains to be seen if this reference, can in any way explain the christian element in the legend, which i have hitherto left almost entirely out of account. birch-hirschfeld's hypothesis is condemned, in my opinion, by its failure to account for the celtic element; although i do not think an explanation of a late and intruding feature is as incumbent upon me as that of the original celtic basis of the legend is upon him, i yet feel that an hypothesis which has nothing to say on such a vital point can hardly be considered satisfactory. it is the christian transformation of the old celtic myths and folk-tales which gave them their wide vogue in the middle ages, which endowed the theme with such fascination for the preachers and philosophers who used it as a vehicle for their teaching, and which has endeared it to all lovers of mystic symbolism. the question how and why the celtic tales which i have tried, not unsuccessfully i trust, to disentangle from the romances were ever brought into contact with christ and his disciples, and how the old mystic vessel of healing, increase, and knowledge became at last the sacramental cup, must, therefore, be faced. the hypotheses set forth in the preceding page might be accepted in their entirety, and the merit of this transformation still be claimed, as birch-hirschfeld claims it, for the north french poets, to whom we owe the present versions of the romances. on first reading birch-hirschfeld's book, i thought this claim one of the flaws in his argument, and, as will be seen by reference to chapter iv., other investigators, who accept the christian origin of the larger part of the legend, hold that it has been shaped in these islands, or in accordance with celtic traditions now lost. i think we can go a step farther. a number of myths and tales have been used to illustrate the romances. in them may be found the personages through whom probably took place the first contact between celtic mythic tradition and christian legend. we must revert for one moment to the results obtained in chapter iii. by an examination of the way in which the grail and its fortunes are mentioned in the romances. we there distinguished two forms of the distinctively christian portion of the legend, the early history. in both joseph is the first possessor and user of the holy vessel, but in one its farther fortunes are likewise bound up with him or with his seed. he, or his son, it is who leads the grail host to britain, who converts the island, and by whom the precious vessel is handed down through a chosen line of kings in anticipation of the promised knight's coming. in the other form, on the contrary, joseph has nothing to do with britain, which is converted by brons and his son, alain; brons is the guardian of the holy vessel, and, in one version, the fisher of the mystic fish, whilst in another his son takes this part. there is repeated insistence upon the connection between the grail host and avalon. finally brons is the possessor of "secret words," and may not die until he has revealed them to his grandson. this account is, we saw, later in form than the joseph one. as we have it, it was written after the greater portion of the conte du graal, after that redaction of the early history made use of by the author of the queste and of the first draft of the grand st. graal. its influence only makes itself felt in the later stages of development of the legend. but none the less it clearly represents an older and purer form of the early history than that of the queste and of chrestien's continuators. it has not been doctored into harmony with the full-blown arthurian legend as the joseph early history has. it is still chiefly, if not wholly, a legend, the main purport of which is to recount the conversion of britain. such a legend is surely more likely to have been shaped by welsh or breton monks than by north french _trouvères_. and when we notice the celtic names of the personages, and their connection with the celtic paradise, avalon, there can remain little, if any, doubt respecting the first home of the story. we may thus look upon brons, owner of a mystic vessel, fisher of a mystic fish, as the hero of an early conversion legend. but the name brons has at once suggested to most students of the cycle that of bran. the latter is, as we saw in the last chapter, the representative of an old celtic god of the otherworld. he is the owner of the cauldron of renovation. he is also the hero in welsh tradition of a conversion legend, and is commonly known as bran the blessed. unfortunately the only explanation we have of this epithet occurs in a late triad, to which it is not safe to assign an earlier date than the fourteenth century. he is described therein as son of llyr llediath, "as one of the three blissful rulers of the island of britain, who first brought the faith of christ to the nation of the cymry from rome, where he was seven years a hostage for his son caradawc."[ ] but if late in form this triad may well embody an old tradition. it gives the significant descent of bran from llyr, and thereby equates him with mannanan mac lir, with whom he presents otherwise so many points of contact. it is quite true that the bran legend, as is pointed out to me by professor rhys, is mentioned neither in the earliest genealogies nor in geoffrey. but it should be noted that the grand st. graal does bring one member of the brons group, petrus, into contact with king luces, the lucius to whom geoffrey ascribes the conversion. again, the epithet "blessed" is applied to bran in the mabinogi of branwen, daughter of llyr. i have placed this tale as a whole as far back as the eleventh-tenth centuries, and my arguments have met with no opposition, and have won the approval of such authorities as professor windisch and monsieur gaidoz. but the mabinogi, as we have it, was written down in the fourteenth century; the last transcriber abridged it, and at times did not apparently understand what he was transcribing. by his time the full-blown bran legend of the triad was in existence, and it may be contended that the epithet was due to him and did not figure in his model. on the other hand, stephens (lit. of the cymry, p. ) quotes a triad of kynddelw, a poet of the twelfth century, referring to the three blessed families of the isle of britain, one of which is declared by a later tradition to be that of bran.[ ] again, the triads of arthur and his warriors, printed by mr. skene, four ancient books, vol. ii., p. , from ms. hengwrt, , of the beginning of the fourteenth century, and probably at least fifty years older, mentions the "blessed head of bran."[ ] on the whole, in spite of the silence of older sources, i look upon the epithet and the legend which it presupposes as old, and i see in a confusion between bran, lord of the cauldron, and bran the blessed, the first step of the transformation of the peredur _sage_ into the quest of the holy grail. in the first capacity bran corresponds to the lord of the castle of talismans. from the way in which the fish is dwelt upon in his legend, it may, indeed, be conjectured that he stood to peredur in some such relation as finn-eges to fionn. as hero of a conversion legend he came into contact with joseph. we do not know how or at what date the legend of the conversion of britain by joseph originated. it is found enjoying wide popularity in the latter half of the twelfth century, the very time in which the romances were assuming their present shape. wülcker (das evangelium nicodemi in der abendländischen literatur, paderborn, ) shows that the legend is not met with before william of malmesbury; and zarncke, as already stated (_supra_, p. ), has argued that the passage in william is a late interpolation due to the popularity of the romances.[ ] but to accept zarncke's contention merely shifts back the difficulty. if william did not first note and give currency to the tradition, the unknown predecessor of robert de borron and of the authors of the queste and grand st. graal did so; and the question still remains how did he come by the tradition, and what led him to associate it with glastonbury. birch-hirschfeld, it is true, makes short work of this difficulty. the fact that there is no earlier legend in which joseph figures as the apostle of britain is to him proof that borron evolved the conception of the grail out of the canonical and apocryphal writings in which joseph appears, and then devised the passage to britain in order to incorporate the arthurian romances with the legend he had invented. it is needless to repeat that this theory, unacceptable on _a priori_ grounds, is still more so when tested by facts. but joseph under other aspects than that of apostle of britain is worthy of notice. the main source whence the legend writers drew their knowledge of him was the evangelium nicodemi, the history of which has been investigated by wülcker. the earliest allusion in western literature to this apocryphal gospel is that of gregory of tours (wülcker, p. ), but no other trace of its influence is to be met with in france until we come to the grail romances, and to mystery-plays which relate christ's harrowing of hell. in provence, italy, and germany the thirteenth and twelfth centuries are the earliest to which this gospel can be traced. in england, on the contrary, it was known as far back as the latter quarter of the eighth century; cynewulf based upon it a poem on the harrowing of hell, and alludes to it in the crist; the ninth century poem, "christ and satan," likewise shows knowledge of it, and there is a west-saxon translation dating from the early eleventh century. whence this knowledge and popularity of the gospel in england several centuries before it entered prominently into the literature of any other european people? wülcker can only point by way of answer to the early spread of christianity in these islands, and to the possibility of this gospel having reached england before it did france or germany. he also insists upon the early development of anglo-saxon literature. whether the fact that the apocryphal writings which told of joseph were known here when they were unknown on the continent be held to warrant or no the existence of a specifically british joseph legend, they at all events prove that he was a familiar and favourite legendary figure on british soil. it would be rash to go any farther, and to argue from the inadequacy of the reasons by which wülcker seeks to account for the early knowledge of the evangelium nicodemi in england, that joseph enjoyed particular favour among the british christians, and that it was from them the tidings of him spread among their saxon conquerors. the legendary popularity of joseph in these islands, though not in any special capacity of apostle of britain, is thus attested. let us admit for argument's sake that the conversion legend did first take shape in the twelfth century, is it not more likely to have done so here, where the apocryphal writings about him were widely spread, than in france, where they were practically unknown? and why if borron, or any other french poet, wanted to connect the holy vessel legend which he had imagined with arthur, should he go out of his way to invent the personages of brons and alain? the story as found in the queste would surely have been a far more natural one for him. and why the insistence upon avalon? we have plain proof that borron did not understand the word, as he explains it by a ridiculous pun (_supra_, p. ).[ ] these difficulties are met in a large measure if we look upon bran (brons) as the starting point of the christian transformation of the legend. in any case we may say that a conversion legend, whether associated with joseph or anyone else, would almost inevitably have gravitated towards glastonbury, but there are special reasons why this should be the case with a bran legend. avalon is certainly the welsh equivalent of the irish tír na n-og, the land of youth, the land beyond the waves, the celtic paradise. when or how this cymric myth was localised at glastonbury we know not.[ ] we only know that glastonbury was one of the first places in the island to be devoted to christian worship. is it too rash a conjecture that the christian church may have taken the place of some celtic temple or holy spot specially dedicated to the cult of the dead, and of that lord of the shades from which the celts feigned their descent? the position of glastonbury, not far from that western sea beyond which lie the happy isles of the dead, would favour such an hypothesis. although direct proof is wanting, i believe that the localisation is old and genuine: bran, ruler of the otherworld, of avalon, would thus come into natural contact with glastonbury; and if, as i assume, joseph took his place in the conversion legend the association would extend to him. the after development of the legend would then be almost a matter of course. bran, the ruler in avalon, would pass on his magic gear (cauldron, spear, and sword, as in the case of the tuatha de dannan) to bran the blessed, who would in his turn transfer them to joseph. and once the latter had entered into the legend, he would not fail to recall that last scene of the lord's life with which he was so closely associated, not by any pseudo-gospel but by the canonical writings themselves, and thus the gear of the old celtic gods became transformed into such objects as were most prominent in the story of the passion and of the scene that immediately preceded it. the spear became that one wherewith christ's side was pierced. as for the vessel, the sacramental nature is the last stage of its christian development; its original object was merely to explain the sustenance of joseph in prison, and to provide a miraculous refreshment for the grail host, as is shown by the early history portion of the conte du graal and by the queste. in a dim and confused way the circumstances of the resurrection helped to effect the change of the pagan resuscitation-cauldron into a symbol of the risen lord. and some now lost feature of the original legend--some insistence upon the _contents_ of the vessel, some assimilation of them to blood--may have suggested the use to which the vessel was first put. this hypothesis assumes many things. it assumes a bran conversion legend, of which the only evidence of anything like the same date as the romances is a single epithet; it assumes that the hero of this legend was originally an old celtic divinity; it assumes a joseph conversion legend, for which there is really no other evidence than that of the romances; it assumes the amalgamation of the two legends, and that joseph took over in a large measure the _rôle_ and characteristics of brons. and when it is recollected that the primary assumption, the identification of the two brans, rests in a large measure upon the appearance of the fish in the brons legend, that this fish is nowhere in celtic tradition associated with bran, that it is associated on the other hand with a being, fionn, whom we have compared with peredur, but that it is absent from the peredur-saga, the hypothesis must be admitted to be of a tentative nature. i fully appreciate the force of the objections that can be urged against it; at the same time it has the merit of accounting for many puzzling features in the legend. when in the same story two personages can be distinguished whose _rôle_ is more or less of the same nature, when the one personage is subordinated in one version and has disappeared altogether from the other, it is quite legitimate to conclude that two originally independent accounts have become blended, and that one has absorbed the other. the hypothesis is on safe ground so far. it thus explains the presence of brons in the legend, as well as his absence from some versions of it; it has something to say in explanation of the connection with glastonbury; it explains in what way the celtic traditions were started on their path of transformation; and it provides for that transformation taking the very course it did. there is nothing to be urged against it on _a priori_ grounds; once admit the premisses, and the rest follows easily and naturally. its conjectural character (the main objection to it) is shared in an even higher degree by the other hypotheses, which have essayed to account for the growth and origin of the legend, and _they_ have the disadvantage of being inherently impossible. in the light of the foregoing investigations and hypotheses we may now amplify the sketch history of the whole cycle given in chapter iii. the peredur-saga probably came into existence in much its later form at an early date in the middle ages. a number of older mythical tales centered in a, perhaps, historical personage. the circumstances of his life and adventures may have given them not only cohesion, but may also have coloured and distorted them; nevertheless they remained, in the main, mythical tales of the same kind as those found all over the world. one of these tales was undoubtedly a cymric variant of the celtic form of the expulsion and return formula; another dealt with the hero's journey to the land of shades; traces of many others are to be found in the mabinogi. another celtic worthy, gwalchmai, was early associated with peredur, and the two stood in some such relation to each other as the twin brethren of a widely spread folk-tale group. curiously enough, whilst comparatively few incidents in the peredur-saga were worked up into the version which served as immediate model to the north french romances, that version contained many adventures of gwalchmai's which have not been preserved in welsh. we can trace three main crystallizations of the original saga-mass; one represented by the proto-mabinogi contained the feud quest, and, probably, some only of the other adventures found in the present mabinogi; the second, based more on the lines of the expulsion and return formula, is represented by the thornton ms. romance; in the third the feud quest was mixed up with the hero's visit to the bespelled castle, and those portions of the gwalchmai-saga which told of his visit to castle perillous as well as to the bespelled castle. whilst the proto-mabinogi was probably in prose, the proto-conte du graal was probably in verse, a collection of short _lais_ like those of marie de france. meanwhile, one of the chief personages of the older mythic world which appear in the peredur-saga, bran, the lord of the land of shades, of the bespelled castle, of the cauldron of healing, increase and wisdom, and of the knowledge-giving salmon, had become the apostle of britain, his pagan attributes thus suffering a christian change, which was perfected when joseph took the place of brons, bringing with him his gospel associations and the apocryphal legends that had clustered round his name. thus a portion of the saga was christianised, whilst the other portion lost its old, fixed popular character, owing to the fusion of originally distinct elements, and the consequent unsettling both of the outlines and of the details of the story. incidents and features which in the earlier folk-tale stage were sharply defined and intelligible became vague and mysterious. in this state, and bearing upon it the peculiarly weird and fantastic impress of celtic mythic tradition, the story, or story-mass rather, lay ready to the hand of courtly poet or of clerical mystic. at first christian symbolism was introduced in a slight and meagre way--the brons-joseph legend supplied the christian meaning of the talismans, and that was all. but the joseph legend was soon vigorously developed by the author of the work which underlies the queste and the grand st. graal. he may either not have known or have deliberately discarded brons, the old celtic hero of the conversion, as he certainly deliberately thrust down from his place of pre-eminence perceval, the celtic hero of the quest, substituting for him a new hero, galahad, and for the adventures of the conte du graal, based as they were upon no guiding conceptions, fresh adventures intended to glorify physical chastity. with all his mystic fervour he failed to see the full capacities of the theme, his presentment of the grail itself being in especial either over-material or over-spiritual. but his work exercised a profound influence, as is seen in the case of chrestien's continuators. robert de borron, on the other hand, if to him the merit must be assigned, if he was not simply transcribing an older, forgotten version, was a more original thinker, if a less gifted writer. although he was not able to entirely harmonise the conflicting accounts of which he made use, he yet succeeded in keeping close to the old lines of the legend whilst giving a consistent symbolical meaning to all its details. his work came too late, however, to exercise the influence it should have done upon the development of the legend; the writers who knew it were mere heapers together of adventures, and the very man who composed a sequel to it abandoned robert's main conception. the history of the legend of the holy grail is, thus, the history of the gradual transformation of old celtic folk-tales into a poem charged with christian symbolism and mysticism. this transformation, at first the inevitable outcome of its pre-christian development, was hastened later by the perception that it was a fitting vehicle for certain moral and spiritual ideas. these have been touched upon incidentally in the course of these studies, but they and their manifestation in modern as well as in mediæval literature deserve fuller notice. chapter x. popularity of the arthurian romance--reasons for that popularity--affinities of the mediæval romances with early celtic literature; importance of the individual hero; knighthood; the _rôle_ of woman; the celtic fairy and the mediæval lady; the supernatural--m. renan's views--the quest in english literature, malory--the earliest form of the legend, chrestien, his continuators--the queste and its ideal--the sex-relations in the middle ages--criticism of mr. furnivall's estimate of the moral import of the queste--the merits of the queste--the chastity ideal in the later versions--modern english treatments: tennyson, hawker--possible source of the chastity ideal in popular tradition--the perceval quest in wolfram; his moral conception; the question; parzival and conduiramur--the parzival quest and faust--wagner's parsifal--the christian element in the legend--ethical ideas in the folk-tale originals of the grail romances: the great fool, the sleeping beauty--conclusion. few legends have attained such wide celebrity, or been accepted as so thoroughly symbolical of one master conception, as that of the holy grail. poets and thinkers from mediæval times to our own days have used it as a type of the loftiest goal of man's effort. there must be something in the romances which first embodied this conception to account for the enduring favour it has enjoyed. nor is it that we read into the old legend meanings and teachings undreamt of before our day. at a comparatively early stage in the legend's existence its capacities were perceived, and the works which were the outcome of that perception became the breviary and the exemplar of their age. there are reasons, both general and special, why the celtic mythic tales grew as they did, and had such overwhelming vogue in their new shapes. in no portion of the vast arthurian cycle is it more needful or more instructive to see what these reasons were than in that which recounts the fortunes of the grail. the tales of peredur and gwalchmai, bound up with the arthurian romance, shared its success, than which nothing in all literary history is more marvellous. it was in the year that geoffrey of monmouth first made the legendary history of britain accessible to the lettered class of england and continent. he thereby opened up to the world at large a new continent of romantic story, and exercised upon the development of literature an influence comparable in its kind to that of columbus' achievement upon the course of geographical discovery and political effort. twenty years had not passed before the british heroes were household names throughout europe, and by the close of the century nearly every existing literature had assimilated and reproduced the story of arthur and his knights. charlemagne and alexander, the sagas of teutonic tribes, the tale of imperial rome itself, though still affording subject matter to the wandering jongleur or monkish annalist, paled before the fame of the british king. the instinct which led the twelfth and thirteenth centuries thus to place the arthurian story above all others was a true one. it was charged with the spirit of romance, and they were pre-eminently the ages of the romantic temper. the west had turned back towards the east, and, although the intent was hostile, the minds of the western men had been fecundated, their imagination fired by contact with the mother of all religions and all cultures. the achievements of the crusaders became the standard of attainment to the loftiest and boldest minds of western christendom. for these men alexander himself lacked courage and roland daring. the fathers had stormed jerusalem, and the sons' youth had been nourished on tales of araby the blest and ophir the golden of strife with the paynim, of the sorceries and devilries of the east. nothing seemed impossible to a generation which knew of toils and quests greater than any minstrel had sung, which had beheld in the east sights as wondrous and fearful as any the jongleur could tell of. moreover, the age was that of knight errantry, and of that phase of love in which every knight must qualify himself for the reception of his lady's favours by the performance of some feat of skill and daring. such an age and such men demanded a special literature, and they found it in adaptations of celtic tales. the mythic heroic literature of all races is in many respects alike. the sagas not only of greek or persian, of celt or hindu, of slav or teuton, but also of algonquin or japanese, are largely made up of the same incidents set in the same framework. but each race shapes this common material in its own way, sets upon it its own stamp. and no race has done this more unmistakably than the celtic. stories which go back to the first century, stories taken down from the lips of living peasants, have a kinship of tone and style, a common ring which no one who has studied this literature can fail to recognise. what stamps the whole of it is the prevailing and abiding spirit of romance. to rightly urge the celtic character of the arthurian romances would require the minute analysis of many hundred passages, and it would only be proving a case admitted by everyone who knows all the facts. it will be more to the point to dwell briefly upon those outward features which early (_i.e._, pre-eleventh century) celtic heroic literature has in common with the north french romances of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, especially as we thus gain a clue to much that is problematic in the formal and moral growth of the arthurian cycle in general and of the grail cycle in particular. in celtic tradition, as little as in mediæval romance, do we find a record of race-struggles such as meets us in the nibelungenlied, in the dietrich saga, or the carolingian cycle.[ ] in its place we have a glorification of the individual hero. the reason is not far to seek. the celtic tribes, whether of ireland or britain, were surrounded by men of their own speech, of like institutions and manners. the shock of opposing nations, of rival civilisations, could not enter into their race-tradition. the story-teller had as his chief theme the prowess and skill of the individual "brave," the part he took in the conflicts which clan incessantly waged with clan, or his encounters with those powers of an older mythic world which lived on in the folk-fancy. to borrow mr. fitzgerald's convenient terminology, the "constants" of this tradition may be the same as in that of other aryan races, the "resultants" are not. to give one instance: the conception of a chief surrounded by a picked band of warriors is common to all heroic tradition, but nowhere is it of such marked importance, nowhere does it so mould and shape the story as in the cycles of conchobor and the knights of the red branch, of fionn and the fianna, and of arthur and his knights. the careers of any of the early irish heroes, the single-handed raids of cét mac magach or conall cearnach, above all the fortunes of cuchullain, his hero's training in the amazon-isle, his strife with curoi mac daire, his expeditions to fairy-land, his final holding of the ford against all the warriors of erinn, breathe the same spirit of adventure for its own sake, manifest the same subordination of all else in the story to the one hero, that are such marked characteristics of the arthurian romance. again, in the bands of picked braves who surround conchobor or fionn, in the rules by which they are governed, the trials which precede and determine admission into them, the duties and privileges which attach to them, we have, it seems to me, a far closer analogue to the knighthood of mediæval romance than may be found either in the peers of carolingian saga or in the chosen warriors who throng the halls of walhalla. in the present connection the part played by woman in celtic tradition is perhaps of most import to us. in no respect is the difference more marked than in this between the twelfth century romances, whether french or german, and the earlier heroic literature of either nation. the absence of feminine interest in the earlier _chansons de geste_ has often been noted. the case is different with teutonic heroic literature, in which woman's _rôle_ is always great, sometimes pre-eminently so. but a comparison of the two strains of traditions, celtic and teutonic, one with the other, and again with the romances, may help to account for much that is otherwise inexplicable to us in the mediæval presentment of the sex-feelings and sex-relations. the love of man, and immortal, or, if mortal, semi-divine maid is a "constant" of heroic tradition. teuton and celt have handled this theme, however, in a very different spirit. in the legends of the former the man plays the chief part; he woos, sometimes he forces the fairy maiden to become the mistress of his hearth. as a rule, overmastered by the prowess and beauty of the hero, she is nothing loth. but sometimes, as does brunhild, she feels the change a degradation and resents it. it is otherwise with the fairy mistresses of the celtic hero; they abide in their own place, and they allure or compel the mortal lover to resort to them. connla and bran and oisin must all leave this earth and sail across ocean or lake before they can rejoin their lady love; even cuchullain, mightiest of all the heroes, is constrained, struggle as he may, to go and dwell with the fairy queen fand, who has woed him. throughout, the immortal mistress retains her superiority; when the mortal tires and returns to earth she remains, ever wise and fair, ready to welcome and enchant a new generation of heroes. she chooses whom she will, and is no man's slave; herself she offers freely, but she abandons neither her liberty nor her divine nature. this type of womanhood, capricious, independent, severed from ordinary domestic life, is assuredly the original of the vivians, the orgueilleuses, the ladies of the fountain of the romances; it is also one which must have commended itself to the knightly devotees of mediæval romantic love. their "_dame d'amour_" was, as a rule, another man's wife; she raised in their minds no thought of home or child. in the tone of their feelings towards her, in the character of their intercourse with her, they were closer akin to oisin and neave, to cuchullain and fand, than to siegfried and brunhild, or to roland and aude. even where the love-story passes wholly among mortals, the woman's _rôle_ is more accentuated than in the teutonic sagas. she is no mere lay-figure upon a fire-bound rock like brunhild or menglad, ready, when the destined hero appears, to fall straightway into his arms. emer, the one maiden of erinn whom cuchullain condescends to woo, is eager to show herself in all things worthy of him; she tests his wit as well as his courage, she makes him accept her conditions.[ ] in the great tragic tale of ancient ireland, the fate of the sons of usnech, deirdre--born like helen or gudrun, to be a cause of strife among men, of sorrow and ruin to whomsoever she loves--deirdre takes her fate into her own hands, and woos noisi with outspoken passionate frankness. the whole story is conceived and told in a far more "romantic" strain than is the case with parallel stories from norse tradition, the loves of helgi and sigrun, or those of sigurd and brunhild-gudrun. and if the lament of deirdre over her slain love lacks the grandeur and the intensity with which the norse heroines bewail their dead lords, it has, on the other hand, an intimate, a personal touch we should hardly have looked for in an eleventh century irish epic.[ ] another link between the celtic sagas and the romances is their treatment of the supernatural. heroic-traditional literature is made up of mythical elements, of scenes, incidents, and formulas which have done service in that account of man's dealings with and conceptions of the visible world which we call mythology. all such literature derives ultimately from an early, wholly animistic stage of culture. small marvel, then, if in the hero-tales of every race there figure wonder-working talismans and bespelled weapons, if almost every great saga has, as part of its _dramatis personæ_, objects belonging to what we should now call the inanimate world. upon these a species of life is conferred, most often by power of magic, but at times, it would seem, in virtue of the older conception which held all things to be endowed with like life. all heroic literatures do not, however, accentuate equally and similarly this magic side of their common stock. celtic tradition is not only rich and varied beyond all others in this respect, it often thus secures its chief artistic effects. the talismans of celtic romance, the fairy branch of cormac, the ga-bulg of cuchullain, the sounding-hammer of fionn, the treasures of the boar trwyth after which prince kilhwch sought, the glaives of light of the living folk-tale, have one and all a weird, fantastic, half-human existence, which haunts and thrills the imagination. no celtic story-teller could have "mulled" the nibelung-hoard as the poet of the nibelungenlied has done. how different in this respect the twelfth century romances are from the earlier german or french sagas, how close to the irish tales is apparent to whomsoever reads them with attention.[ ] i do not for one moment imply that the romantic literature of the middle ages was what it was, wholly or even mainly in virtue of its celtic affinities. that literature was the outcome of the age, and something akin to it would have sprung up had celtic tradition remained unknown to the continent. the conception of feudal knighthood as a favoured class, in which men of different nations met on a common footing; the conception of knightly love as something altogether disassociated from domestic life, must in any case have led to the constitution of such a society as we find portrayed in the romances. what is claimed is that the spirit of the age, akin to the celtic, recognised in celtic tales the food it was hungering for. it transformed them to suit its own needs and ideas, but it carried out the transformation on the whole in essential agreement with tradition. in some cases a radical change is made; such a one is presented to us in the grail cycle. the legend thus started with the advantages of belonging to the popular literature of the time, and of association through brons with christian tradition. its incidents were varied, and owing to the blending of diverse strains of story vague enough to be plastic. the formal development of the cycle has been traced in the earlier chapters of these studies; that of its ideal conceptions will be found to follow similar lines. various ethical intentions can be distinguished, and there is not more difference between the versions in the conduct of the story than in the ideals they set forth. to some readers it may have seemed well nigh sacrilegious to trace that ... vanished vase of heaven that held like christ's own heart an hin of blood, to the magic vessels of pagan deities. in england the grail-legend is hardly known save in that form which it has assumed in the queste. this french romance was one of those which malory embodied in his _rifacimento_ of the arthurian cycle, and, thanks to malory, it has become a portion of english speech and thought.[ ] in our own days our greatest poet has expressed the quintessence of what is best and purest in the old romance in lines of imperishable beauty. as we follow sir galahad by secret shrine and lonely mountain mere until ah, blessed vision! blood of god, the spirit beats her mortal bars, as down dark tides the glory slides, and star-like mingles with the stars. we are under a spell that may not be resisted. and yet of the two main paths which the legend has trodden that of galahad is the least fruitful and the least beautiful. compared with the perceval quest in its highest literary embodiment the galahad quest is false and antiquated on the ethical side, lifeless on the æsthetic side. as it first meets us in literature the legend has barely emerged from its pure and simple narrative stage. there is a temptation to exaggerate chrestien's skill of conception when speculating how he would have finished his work, but we know enough, probably, to correctly gauge his intentions. it has been said he meant to portray the ideal knight in perceval. as was formerly the wont of authors he presents his hero in a good light, and he may be credited with a perception of the opportunity afforded him by his subject for placing that hero in positions wherein a knight could best distinguish himself. in so far his work may be accepted as his picture of a worthy knight. but i can discover in it no scheme of a quest after the highest good to be set forth by means of the incidents at his command. perceval is brave as a matter of course, punctual in obeying the counsels of his mother and of his teachers, gonemans and the hermit-uncle, unaffectedly repentant when he is convicted of having neglected his religious duties. but it cannot be said that the hermit's exhortations or the hero's repentance, confession, and absolution mark, or are intended to mark, a definite stage in a progress towards spiritual perfection. the explanation of the hero's silence as a consequence of his sin in leaving his mother, shows how little real thought has been bestowed upon the subject. this explanation, whether wholly chrestien's, as i am tempted to think, or complacently reproduced from his model, gives the measure of his skill in constructing an allegory. beyond insistence upon such points (the hero's docility) as were indicated to him by his model, or, as in the case of his religious opinions, were a matter of course in a work of the time, chrestien gives perceval no higher morality, no loftier aims than those of the day. the ideal of chastity, soon to become of such importance in the development of the legend, is nowhere set forth. perceval, like gawain, takes full advantage of what _bonnes fortunes_ come in his way. and if the quest connotes no spiritual ideal, still less does it one of temporal sovereignty. had chrestien finished his story he would have made perceval heal the maimed king and win his kingdom, but that kingdom would not have been a type of the highest earthly magnificence. we have seen reason to hold that chrestien made one great change in the story as he found it in his model; he assigns the fisher-king's illness to a wound received in battle. this he did, i think, simply with a view to shortening the story by leaving out the whole of the partinal episode. no mystical conception was floating in his mind. yet, as we shall see, the shape which he gave to this incident strongly influenced some of the later versions, and gave the hint for the most philosophical _motif_ to be found in the whole cycle. the immediate continuators of chrestien lift the legend to no higher level. i incline to think that gautier, with less skill of narrative and far greater prolixity, yet trod closely in chrestien's footsteps. in the love episodes he is as full of charm as the more celebrated poet. the second meeting of perceval and blanchefleur is told with that graceful laughing _naïveté_ of which french literature of the period has the secret. but of a plan, an animating conception even such slight traces as chrestien had introduced into the story are lacking. here, as in chrestien, the mysterious talismans themselves in no way help forward the story. chrestien certainly had the christian signification of them in his mind, but makes no use of it. the vessel of the last supper, the spear that pierced christ's side might be any magic spear or vessel as far as he is concerned. the original pagan essence is retained; the name alone is changed. thus far had the legend grown when it came into the hands of the author of the queste. the subject matter had been partly shaped and trimmed by a master of narrative, the connection with christian tradition had been somewhat accentuated. it was open to the author of the queste to take the story as it stood, and to read into its incidents a deep symbolical meaning based upon the christian character of the holy talismans. he preferred to act otherwise. he broke entirely with the traditional framework, dispossessed the original hero, and left not an incident of his model untouched. but his method of proceeding may be likened to a shuffle rather than to a transformation. the incidents reappear in other connection, but do not reveal the author's plan any more than is the case in the conte du graal. the christian character of the talismans is dwelt upon with almost wearisome iteration, the sacramental act supplies the matter of many and of the finest scenes, and yet the essence of the talismans is unchanged. the holy grail, the cup of the last supper, the sacramental chalice is still when it appears the magic food-producing vessel of the old pagan sagas. what is the author's idea? undoubtedly to show that the attainment of the highest spiritual good is not a thing of this world; only by renouncing every human desire, only by passing into a land intermediary between this earth and heaven, is the quest achieved. in the story of the prosecution of that quest some attempt may be traced at portraying the cardinal virtues and deadly sins by means of the adventures of the questers, and of the innumerable exhortations addressed to them. but no skill is shown in the conduct of this plan, which is carried out chiefly by the introduction of numerous allegorical scenes which are made a peg for lengthy dogmatic and moral expositions. in this respect the author compares unfavourably with robert de borron, who shapes his story in full accord with his conception of the grail itself, a conception deriving directly from the symbolic christian nature he attributed to it, and who makes even such unpromising incidents as that of the magic fisher subserve his guiding idea.[ ] if the author's way of carrying out his conception cannot be praised, how does it stand with the conception itself? the fact that the quest is wholly disassociated from this earth at once indicates the standpoint of the romance. the first effect of the quest's proclamation is to break up the table round, that type of the noblest human society of the day, and its final achievement brings cheer or strengthening to no living man. the successful questers alone in their unhuman realm have any joy of the grail. the spirit in which they prosecute their quest is best exemplified by sir bors. when he comes to the magic tower and is tempted of the maidens, who threaten to cast themselves down and be dashed to pieces unless he yield them his love, he is sorry for them, but unmoved, thinking it better "they lose their souls than he his." so little had the christian writer apprehended the signification of christ's most profound saying. the character of the principal hero is in consonancy with this aim, wholly remote from the life of man on earth. a shadowy perfection at the outset, he remains a shadowy perfection throughout, a bloodless and unreal creature, as fit when he first appears upon the scene as when he quits it, to accomplish a quest, purposeless, inasmuch as it only removes him from a world in which he has neither part nor share. such human interest as there is in the story is supplied by lancelot, who takes over many of the adventures of perceval or gawain in the conte du graal. in him we note contrition for past sin, strivings after a higher life with which we can sympathise. in fine, such moral teaching as the queste affords is given us rather by sinful lancelot than by sinless galahad. but the aversion to this world takes a stronger form in the queste, and one which is the vital conception of the work, in the insistence upon the need for physical chastity. to rightly understand the author's position we must glance at the state of manners revealed by the romances, and in especial at the sex-relations as they were conceived of by the most refined and civilised men and women of the day. the french romances are, as a rule, too entirely narrative to enable a clear realisation of what these were. wolfram, with his keener and more sympathetic eye for individual character--wolfram, who loves to analyse the sentiments and to depict the outward manifestations of feeling of his personages--is our best guide here. the manners and customs of the day can be found in the french romances; the feelings which underlie them must be sought for in the german poet. the marked feature of the sex-relations in the days of chivalry was the institution of _minnedienst_ (love-service). the knight bound himself to serve a particular lady, matron or maid. to approve himself brave, hardy, daring, patient, and discreet was his part of the bargain, and when fulfilled the lady must fulfil hers and pay her servant. the relation must not for one moment be looked upon as platonic; the last favours were in every case exacted, or rather were freely granted, as the lady, whether maid or wedded wife, thought it no wrong thus to reward her knight. it would have been "bad form" to deny payment when the service had been rendered, and the offender guilty of such conduct would have been scouted by her fellow-women as well as by all men. nothing is more instructive in this connection than the delightfully told episode of gawain and orgueilleuse. the latter is unwedded, a great and noble lady, but she has already had several favoured lovers, as indeed she frankly tells gawain. he proffers his service, which she hardly accepts, but heaps upon him all manner of indignity and insult, which he bears with the patient and resourceful courtesy, his characteristic in mediæval romance. whilst the time of probation lasts, no harsh word, no impatient gesture, escapes him. but when he has accomplished the feat of the ford perillous he feels that he has done enough, and taking his lady-love to task he lectures her, as a grave middle-aged man might some headstrong girl, upon the duties of a well-bred woman and upon the wrong she has done knighthood in his person. to point the moral he winds up, at mid-day in the open forest, with a proposition which the repentant scornful one can only parry by the naïve remark, "seldom she had found it warm in the embrace of a mail-clad arm." not only was it the lady's duty to yield after a proper delay, but at times she might even make the first advances and be none the worse thought of. blanchefleur comes to perceval's bed with scarce an apology.[ ] orgueilleuse, overcome with admiration at the red knight's prowess, offers him her love. true, she has doubts as to the propriety of her conduct, but when she submits them to gawain, the favoured lover for the time being, he unhesitatingly approves her--perceval's fame was such that had he accepted her proffered love she could have suffered naught in honour. customs such as these, and a state of feelings such as they imply, are so remote from us, that it is difficult to realise them, particularly in view of the many false statements respecting the nature of chivalrous love which have obtained currency. but we must bear in mind that the age was pre-eminently one of individual prowess. the warlike virtues were all in all. that a man should be brave, hardy, and skilful in the use of his weapons was the essential in a time when the single hero was almost of as much account as in the days of achilles, siegfried, or cuchullain. that _minnedienst_ tended to this end, as did other institutions of the day which we find equally blamable, is its historical excuse. even then many felt its evils and perceived its anti-social character. some, too, there were who saw how deeply it degraded the ideal of love. a protest against this morality was indeed desirable. such a one the queste does supply. but it is not enough to protest in a matter so profoundly affecting mankind as the moral ideas which govern the sex-relations. not only must the protest be made in a right spirit, and on the right lines, but a truer and loftier ideal must be set up in place of the one attacked. in how far the queste fulfils these conditions we shall see. meanwhile, as a sample of the feelings with which many englishmen have regarded it, and as an attempt to explain its historical and ethical _raison d'être_, i cannot do better than quote mr. furnivall's enthusiastic words: "what is the lesson of it all? is the example of galahad and his unwavering pursuit of the highest spiritual object set before him, nothing to us? is that of perceval, pure and tempted, on the point of yielding, yet saved by the sight of the symbol of his faith, to be of no avail to us? is the tale of bohors, who has once sinned, but by a faithful life ... at last tasting spiritual food, and returning to devote his days to god and good--is this no lesson to us?... on another point, too, this whole arthur story may teach us. monkish, to some extent, the exaltation of bodily chastity above almost every other earthly virtue is; but the feeling is a true one; it is founded on a deep reverence for woman, which is the most refining and one of the noblest sentiments of man's nature, one which no man can break through without suffering harm to his spiritual life." it would be hard to find a more striking instance of how the "editorial idol" may override perception and judgment. he who draws such lofty and noble teachings from the queste del saint graal, must first bring them himself. he must read modern religion, modern morality into the mediæval allegory, and on one point he must entirely falsify the mediæval conception. whether this is desirable is a question we can have no hesitation in deciding negatively. it is better to find out what the author really meant than to interpret his symbolism in our own fashion. the author of the queste places the object and conditions of his mystic quest wholly outside the sphere of human action or interest; in a similar spirit he insists, as an indispensable requirement in the successful quester, upon a qualification necessarily denied to the vast majority of mankind. his work is a glorification of physical chastity. "blessed are the pure--in body--for they shall inherit the kingdom of heaven," is the text upon which he preaches. in such a case everything depends upon the spirit of the preacher, and good intent is not enough to win praise. his conception, says mr. furnivall, is founded upon a deep reverence for woman. this is, indeed, such a precious thing that had the mediæval ascetic really felt it we could have forgiven the stupidity which ignores all that constitutes the special dignity and pathos of womanhood. but he felt nothing of the kind. woman is for him the means whereby sin came into the world, the arch stumbling-block, the tool the devil finds readiest to his hands when he would overcome man. only in favour of the virgin mother, and of those who like her are vowed to mystical maidenhood, does the author pardon woman at all. one single instance will suffice to characterize the mediæval standpoint. when the quest of the holy grail was first proclaimed in arthur's court there was great commotion, and the ladies would fain have joined therein, "car cascune dame ou damoiselle (qui) fust espousée ou amie, dist à son chiualer qu'ele yroit od lui en la queste." but a hermit comes forward to forbid this; "no dame or damsel is to accompany her knight lest he fall into deadly sin." wife or leman, it was all one for the author of the queste; woman could not but be an occasion for deadly sin, and the sin, though in the one case less in degree (and even this is uncertain), was the same in kind. fully one-half of the romance is one long exemplification of the essential vileness of the sex-relation, worked out with the minute and ingenious nastiness of a jesuit moral theologian. the author was of his time; it was natural he should think and write as he did, and it would be uncritical to blame him for his degrading view of womanhood or for his narrow and sickly view of life. but when we are bidden to seek example of him, it is well to state the facts as they are.[ ] if his transformation of the story has been rudely effected without regard to its inherent possibilities, if the spirit of his ideal proves to be miserably ascetic and narrow, what then remains to the queste, and how may we account for its popularity in its own day, and for the abiding influence which its version of the legend has exercised over posterity. its literary qualities are at times great; certain scenes, especially such as set forth the sacramental nature of the grail, are touched with a mystical fervour which haunts the imagination. it has given some of the most picturesque features to this most picturesque of legends. but i see in the idea of the mystic quest proclaimed to and shared in by the whole table round the real secret of the writer's success. this has struck the imagination of so many generations and given the queste an undeserved fame. in truth the conception of arthur's court, laying aside ordinary cares and joys, given wholly up to one overmastering spiritual aim, is a noble one. it is, i think, only in a slight degree the outcome of definite thought and intent but was dictated to the writer by the form into which he had recast the story. galahad had supplanted perceval, but the latter could not be suppressed entirely. the achievement of the quest involved the passing away out of this world of the chief heroes, hence a third less perfect one is joined to them to bring back tidings to earth of the marvels he had witnessed. lancelot, to whom are assigned so many of perceval's adventures, cannot be denied a share in the quest; it is the same with gawain, whose character in the older romance fits him, moreover, excellently for the _rôle_ of "dreadful example." by this time the arthurian legend was fully grown, and the mention of these knights called up the names of others with whom they were invariably connected by the romance writers. well nigh every hero of importance was thus drawn into the magic circle, and the mystic quest assumed, almost inevitably, the shape it did. this conception, to which, if i am right, the author of the queste was led half unconsciously, seems to us the most admirable thing in his work. it was, however, his ideal of virginity which struck the idea of his contemporaries, and which left its mark upon after versions. an age with such a gross ideal of love may have needed an equally gross ideal of purity. physical chastity plays henceforth the leading part in the moral development of the cycle. with robert de borron it is the sin of the flesh which brings down upon the grail host the wrath of heaven, and necessitates the display of the grail's wondrous power. here may be noted the struggle of the new conception with the older form of the story. alain, the virgin knight, would rather be flayed than marry, and yet he does marry in obedience to the original model. robert is consistent in all that relates to the symbolism of the grail, but in other respects, as we have already seen, he is easily thrown off his guard. in the didot-perceval, written as a sequel to robert's poem, the same struggle between old and new continues, and the reconciling spirit goes to work in naïve and unskilful style. the incidents of the conte du graal are kept, although they accord but ill with the hero's ascetic spirit. in the portion of the conte du graal itself which goes under manessier's name, along with adventures taken direct from chrestien's model, and far less christianised than in the earlier poet's work, many occur which are simply transferred from the queste. no attempt is made at reconciling these jarring elements, and the effect of the contrast is at times almost comic. in two of the later romances of the cycle the fusion has been more complete, and the result is, in consequence, more interesting. the prose perceval le gallois keeps the original hero of the quest as far as name and kinship are concerned, but it gives him the aggressive virginity and the proselytising zeal of galahad. gerbert's finish to the conte du graal is, perhaps, the strangest outcome of the double set of influences to which the later writers were exposed. without doubt his model differed from the version used by gautier and manessier. it is more celtic in tone, and is curiously akin to the hypothetical lost source of wolfram von eschenbach. the hero's absence from his lady-love is insisted upon, and the need of returning to her before he can find peace. the genuineness of this feature admits of little doubt. many folk-tales tell of the severance of lover and beloved, and of their toilful wanderings until they meet again; such a tale easily lends itself to the idea that separation is caused by guilt, and that, whilst severed, one or other lover must suffer misfortune. often, as in the case of diarmaid and the daughter of king under the waves (_supra_, p. ), definite mention is made of the guilt, as a rule an infringed taboo. such an incident could scarcely fail to assume the ethical shape gerbert has given it. thus he had only to listen to his model, to take his incidents as he found them, and he had the matter for a moral conception wholly in harmony with them. the chastity ideal has been too strong for him. his lovers do come together, but only to exemplify the virtue of continence in the repulsive story of their bridal night. after gerbert the cycle lengthens, but does not develop. the queste retains its supremacy, and through malory its dominant conception entered deeply into the consciousness of the english race. how far the author of the queste must be credited with the new ideal he brought into the legend is worth enquiry. like so much else therein, it may have its roots in the folk and hero tales which underlie the romances. the castle of talismans visited by perceval is the land of shades. in popular tradition the incident takes the form of entry into the hollow hill-side where the fairy king holds his court and hoards untold riches. poverty and simplicity are the frequent qualifications of the successful quester; oftener still some mystic birthright, the being a sunday's child for instance, or a seventh son; or again freedom from sin is required, and, perhaps, most frequently maidenhood.[ ] the stress which so many peoples lay upon virginity in the holy prophetic maidens, who can transport themselves into the otherworld and bring thence the commands of the god, may be noted in the same connection. no celtic tale i have examined with a view to throwing light upon the grail romances insists upon this idea, but some version, now lost, may possibly have done so. celtic tradition gave the romance writers of the middle ages material and form for the picture of human love; it may also have given them a hint of the opposing ideal of chastity.[ ] all this time it should be noted that no real progress is made in the symbolical machinery of the legend. the holy grail becomes superlatively sacrosanct, but it retains its pristine pagan essence, even in the only version, the grand st. graal, which knew of borron and of his mystical conception. such, then, had been the growth of the legend in one direction. the original incidents were either transformed, mutilated, or, where they kept their first shape, underwent no ethical deepening or widening. the talismans themselves had been transferred from celtic to christian mythology, but their fate was still bound up with the otherworld. he who would seek them must turn his back upon this earth from which the palace spiritual and the city of sarras were even more remote than avalon or tir-na n-og. was no other course open? could not framework and incidents of the celtic tales be retained, and yet, raised to a loftier, wider level, become a fit vehicle for philosophic thought and moral exhortation? one side of popular tradition figured the hero as wresting the talismans from the otherworld powers for the benefit of his fellow men. could not this form of the myth be made to yield a human, practical conception of the quest and winning of the holy grail? we are luckily not reduced to conjecture in this matter. a work largely fulfilling these hypothetical requirements exists in the parzival of wolfram von eschenbach. on the whole it is the most interesting individual work of modern european literature prior to the divina commedia, and its author has a better claim than any other mediæval poet to be called a man of genius. he must, of course, be measured by the standard of his time. it would be useless to expect from him that homogeneity of narrative, that artistic proportion of style first met with years later in italy, and which from italy passed into all european literatures. compared with the unknown poets who gave their present shape to the nibelungenlied or to the chanson de roland he is an individual writer, but he is far from deserving this epithet even in the sense that chaucer deserves it. his subject dominates him. even when his philosophic mind is conceiving it under a new aspect he anxiously holds to the traditional form. hence great inconsistencies in his treatment of the theme, hence, too, the frequent difficulty in interpreting his meaning, the frequent doubt as to how far the interpretation is correct. here, as in the discussion respecting the _origines_ of the grail legend, resort must often be had to conjecture, and any solution of the fascinating problems involved is necessarily and largely subjective. wolfram's relation to his predecessors must be taken into account in estimating the value of the parzival. the earlier portion of his work differs entirely, as we have seen, from any existing french romance; so does the finish in so far as it agrees with the opening. the greater part of the story is closely parallel to chrestien; there are points of contact, peculiar to these two writers, with gerbert. little invention, properly so called, of incident can be traced in the parzival. the part common to it and chrestien is incomparably fuller and more interesting in the german poet, but the main outlines are the same. wolfram has, however, been at some pains to let us know what was his conception of the legend. that much is allowed to remain at variance therewith is a clear proof of his timidity of invention. doubt, he says, is the most potent corrupter of the soul. whoso gives himself over to unfaith and unsteadfastness treadeth in truth the downward path. god himself is very faithfulness. strife against him, doubt of him, is the highest sin. but humility and repentance may expiate it, and he who thus repents may be chosen by god for the grail kingship, the summit of earthly holiness. peace of soul and all earthly power are the chosen one's; alone, unlawful desire and the company of sinners are denied him by the grail. how is this leading conception worked out? the framework and the march of incidents are the same as in the conte du graal. one capital change at once, however, lifts the story to a higher level. the fisher king suffers from a wound received in the cause of unlawful love, in disobedience to those heavenly commands which govern the grail community. the healing question can be put only by one worthy to take up the high office amfortas has dishonoured, in virtue of having passed through the strife of doubt, and become reconciled to god by repentance and humble trust. if parzival neglected to put the question on his first arrival at the grail castle, it was that in the conceit of youth he fancied all wisdom was his. childish insistence upon his mother's counsels had brought down reproof upon him; he had learnt the world's wisdom from gurnemanz, he had shown himself in defence of conduiramur a valiant knight, worthy of power and woman's love. when brought into contact with the torturing sorrow of amfortas, he is too full of himself, of his teacher's wisdom, to rightly use the opportunity. the profound significance of the question which at once releases the sinner, and announces the one way in which the sin may be cancelled, namely, by the coming of a worthier successor, is due, if we may credit birch-hirschfeld, to an accident. wolfram only knew chrestien. the latter never explains the real nature of the grail, and the german poet's knowledge of french was too slight to put him on the right track. the question, "whom serve they with the grail?" which he found in chrestien, was necessarily meaningless to him, and he replaced it by his, "uncle, what is it tortures thee?" the change _may_ be the result of accident as is so much else in this marvellous legend, but it required a man of genius to turn the accident to such account. it is the insistence upon charity as the herald and token of spiritual perfection that makes the grandeur of wolfram's poem, and raises it so immeasureably above the queste. the same human spirit is visible in the delineation of the grail kingship as the type of the highest good. wolfram's theology is distinctively antinomian--no man may win the grail in his own strength; it choseth whom it will--and has been claimed on the one hand[ ] as a reflex of orthodox catholic belief, on the other as a herald of the lutheran doctrine of grace.[ ] theological experts may be left to fight out this question among themselves. apart from this, wolfram has a practical sense of the value of human effort. with him the quest is not to be achieved by utter isolation from this earth and its struggles. the chief function of the grail kingdom is to supply an abiding type of a divinely ordered society; it also trains up leaders for those communities which lack them. it is a civilising power as well as a palace spiritual. in the relation of man to heaven, wolfram, whilst fully accepting the doctrines of his age, appeals to the modern spirit with far greater power and directness than the queste. in the other great question of the legend, the relation of man to woman, he is likewise nearer to us, although it must be confessed that he builds better than he knows. to the love ideal of his day, based wholly upon passion and vanity and severed from all family feeling, he opposes the wedded love of parzival and conduiramur. the hero's recollection of the mother of his children is the one saving influence throughout the years of doubt and discouragement which follow kundrie's reproaches. whilst still staggering under this blow, so cruelly undeserved as it seems to him, he can wish his friend and comrade, gawain, a woman chaste and good, whom he may love and who shall be his guardian angel. the thought of conduiramur holds him aloof from the offered love of orgeluse. in his last and bitterest fight, with his unknown brother, when it had nigh gone with him to his death, he recalls her and renews the combat with fresh strength. she it is for whom he wins the highest earthly crown, of which her pure, womanly heart makes her worthy. reunion with her and with his children is parzival's first taste of the joy that is henceforth to be his. passages may easily be multiplied that tally ill with the ideas of the poem as here briefly set forth. but the existence of these ideas is patent to the unprejudiced reader. despite its many shortcomings, the poem which contains them is the noblest and most human outcome of that mingled strain of celtic fancy and christian symbolism whose history we have traced.[ ] in wolfram, equally with the majority of the french romance writers, there is little consistency in the formal use of the mystic talismans. be the reason what it may, wolfram certainly never thought of associating the grail with the last supper. but its religious character is, at times, as marked with him as with robert de borron or the author of the queste. it is the actual vehicle of the deity's commands; it restrains from sin; it suffers no unchaste servant; it may be seen of no heathen; the simple beholding of it preserves men from death. this last characteristic would be thought in modern times a sufficient tribute to the original nature of the old pagan cauldron of increase and rejuvenescence. but wolfram was of his time, and followed his models faithfully. along with the lofty spiritual attributes of his grail, he pictures in drastic fashion its food-dispensing powers. the mystic stone, fallen from heaven itself, renewed each good friday by direct action of the spirit, becomes all at once a mere victual producing machine. we can see how little wolfram liked this feature of his model, and how he felt the contrast between it and his own more spiritual conception. but here, as elsewhere in the poem, he allowed much to stand against which his better judgment protested. his own share in the development of the legend must be gauged by what is distinctively his, not by what he has in common with others. judged thus, he must be said to have developed the christian symbolic side of the legend as much as the human philosophic side. if in robert de borron the grail touches its highest symbolic level through its identification with the body of the dead and risen lord, we can trace in wolfram the germ of that approximation of the grail-quester to the earthly career of the saviour which wagner was to develop more than years later.[ ] what influence wolfram's poem, with its practical, human enthusiasm, its true and noble sexual morality, might have had on english literature is an interesting speculation. it would have appealed, one would think, to our race with its utilitarian ethical instinct, with its lofty ideal of wedded love. the true man, parzival, should, in the fitness of things, be the english hero of the quest, rather than the visionary ascetic galahad. mediæval england was dominated by france and knew nothing of germany, and when in the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries we can trace german influence on english thought and writ, taste had changed, and the parzival was well-nigh forgotten in its own land. it remained so almost until our own days. the quest after perfection still haunted the german mind, but it was conceived of on altogether different lines from those of the twelfth century poet. the nation of scholars pictured the quester as a student, not as a knight. when it took shape in the dreary period of protestant scholasticism the quest is wholly cursed. faust's pursuit of knowledge is unlawful, a rebellion against god, which dooms him irrevocably. not until goethe's day is the full significance of the legend perceived, is the theme widened to embrace the totality of human striving. thus the last glimpse we have of faust is of one devoted to the service of man; the last words of the poem are a recognition of the divine element in the love of man and woman.[ ] in germany, as in england, the old legend has appealed afresh to poets and thinkers, and then, as was natural, they turned to germany's greatest mediæval poet. wagner's parsifal would, in any case, be interesting as an expression of one of the strongest dramatic geniuses of the century. considered purely as a work of literature, apart from the music, it has rare beauty and profound significance. the essentially dramatic bent of wagner's mind, the stage destination of the poem, must be borne in mind when considering it. wolfram's conception--youthful folly and inexperience chastised by reproof, followed by doubt and strife, cancelled by the faithful steadfastness of the full-grown man--is obviously unsuited for dramatic purposes. at no one point of wolfram's poem do we find that clash of motives and of characters which the stage requires. in building up _his_ conception wagner has utilised every hint of his predecessor with wonderful ingenuity. klinschor, the magician, becomes with him the active opponent of the grail king, amfortas, from whom he has wrested the holy spear by the aid of kundry's unholy beauty. kundry is wagner's great contribution to the legend. she is the herodias whom christ for her laughter doomed to wander till he come again. subject to the powers of evil, she must tempt and lure to their destruction the grail warriors. and yet she would find release and salvation could a man resist her love spell.[ ] she knows this. the scene between the unwilling temptress, whose success would but doom her afresh, and the virgin parsifal thus becomes tragic in the extreme. how does this affect amfortas and the grail? in this way. parsifal is the "pure fool," knowing nought of sin or suffering. it had been foretold of him he should become "wise by fellow-suffering," and so it proves. the overmastering rush of desire unseals his eyes, clears his mind. heart-wounded by the shaft of passion, he feels amfortas' torture thrill through him. the pain of the physical wound is his, but far more, the agony of the sinner who has been unworthy his high trust, and who, soiled by carnal sin, must yet daily come in contact with the grail, symbol of the highest purity and holiness. the strength which comes of the new-born knowledge enables him to resist sensual longing, and thereby to release both kundry and amfortas. in the latest version of the perceval quest, as in the galahad quest, the ideal of chastity is thus paramount. this result is due to wagner's dramatic treatment of the theme. the conception that knowledge of sin and fellowship in suffering are requisite to enable man to resist temptation, and that thus alone does he acquire the needful strength to assist his fellows, however true and profound, can obviously only be worked out on the stage through the medium of one form of sin and suffering. the long psychological process of wolfram's poem, the slow growth of the unthinking youth into the steadfast, faithful man, is replaced by a mystic, transcendental conversion. from out a world of human endeavour, human motive, we have stepped into one wholly ascetic and symbolical. the love of man for woman only appears in the guise of forbidden desire; the aims and needs of this world are not even thought of. every incident has been remoulded in accord with christian tradition. wagner fully accepts the sacramental nature of the grail, and the grail feast is with him a faithful reproduction of the last supper. holiness and purity are the essence of the grail, which is cleared from every taint of its pagan origin. and whilst wagner, following the french models, identifies the grail with the most sacred object of christian worship, he also, developing hints of wolfram's, reshapes the career of his grail-seeker in accord with that of christ. parsifal, the releaser of sin-stricken kundry, of sin-stricken amfortas--parsifal, the restorer of peace and holiness to the grail kingdom--becomes a symbol of the saviour. in the reasoned, artistic growth of the legend, the plastic, living element is that supplied by christian tradition. from the moment that the celtic lord of the underworld is identified with the evangelist of britain we see the older complex of tales acquire consistency, life, and meaning. even where the direct influence of the intruding element is slightest, as in the conte du graal, we can still perceive that it is responsible for the germs of after development. sometimes violently and unintelligently, sometimes with a keen feeling for the possibilities of the original romance, sometimes with the boldest introduction of new matter, sometimes with slavish adherence to pre-christian conceptions, the transformation of the celtic tales goes on. the cauldron of increase and renovation, the glaive of light, the magic fish, the visit to the otherworld, all are gradually metamorphosed until at last the talisman of the irish gods becomes the symbol of the risen lord, its seeker a type of christ in his divinest attributes. the ethical teaching of the legend becomes also purely christian as the middle ages conceived christianity. renunciation of the world and of the flesh is its key-note. once only in wolfram do we find an ideal human in its essence, though dogmatic in form; the path thus opened is not trodden further, and the legend remains as a whole, on the moral side, a monument of christian asceticism. we have seen reason to surmise that the folk-tales which underlie the romances themselves gave the hint for the most characteristic manifestation of this ascetic ideal. it is worth enquiry if these tales have developed themselves independently from the christianised legend, and if such development shows any trace of ethical conceptions comparable with those of the legend. can we gather from the tales as fashioned by the folk teaching similar to that of the preachers, philosophers, and artists by whom the legend has been shaped? few enquiries can be more interesting than one which traces such a conception as the quest after the highest good as pictured by the rudest and most primitive members of the race. many of the tales which formed a part of the (hypothetical) welsh original of the earliest grail romances have been shown to come under the aryan expulsion and return formula (_supra_, ch. vi). among most races this formula has connected itself with the national heroes, and has given rise to hero-tales in which the historical element outweighs the ethical. sometimes, as in the tale of perseus, the incidents are so related as to bring out an ethical _motif_; perseus is certainly thought of as avenging his mother's undeserved wrongs. i cannot trace anything of the kind among the celts. all the incidents of the formula in celtic tradition which i know of are purely historical in character. this element of the old saga-mass thus yields nothing for the present enquiry. others are more fruitful. perceval is akin not only to fionn, but also to the great fool. the lay of the great fool was found to tally closely with adventures in the mabinogi and in the conte du graal (_supra_, ch. vi). it also sets forth a moral conception that admits of profitable comparison with that of the grail romances. ultimately, the lay is, i have little doubt, one of the many forms in which a mortal's visit to the otherworld was related. wandering into the glen of glamour, the hero and his love encounter a magician; the hero drinks of the proffered cup, despite his love's remonstrances, and forthwith loses his two legs. this is obviously a form of the widely-spread myth which forbids the visitant to the otherworld to partake of aught there under penalty of never returning to earth. but this mythical _motif_ has taken an ethical shape in popular fancy. according to kennedy's version, it is the hero's excess in draining the cup to the dregs which calls for punishment. this change is of the same nature as that noted with regard to a similar incident in the grail romances. there, the old mythic taboo of sleeping or speaking in the otherworld called at last for an explanation, and found one in wolfram's philosophic conception. the parallel does not end here. perceval may retrieve his fault, and so may the great fool; wolfram makes his hero win salvation by steadfast faith, the folk-tale makes its hero in the face of every form of temptation a pattern of steadfast loyalty to the absent friend and to the pledged word. it may, or may not, be considered to the advantage of the folk-tale that, unlike the mediæval romance, it deals neither in mysticism nor in asceticism. the sin and atonement of the great fool are such as the popular mind can grasp; he is an example of human weakness and human strength. the woman he loves is no temptress, no representative of the evil principle--on the contrary, she is ever by his side to counsel and to cheer him. when it is remembered that the two off-shoots, romantic-legendary and popular, from the one traditional stem have grown up in perfect independence of each other, the kinship of moral idea is startling. the folk-lorist has often cause to wonder at the spontaneous flower-like character of the object of his study; folk-tradition seems to obey fixed laws of growth and to be no product of man's free thought and speech. the few partisans of the theory that folk-tradition is only a later and weakened echo of the higher culture of the race are invited to study the present case. a celtic tale, after supplying an important element to the christianised grail legend, has gone on its way entirely unaffected by the new shape which that legend assumed, and yet it has worked out a moral conception of fundamental likeness to one set forth in the legend. it would be difficult to find a more perfect instance of the spontaneous, evolutional character of tradition contended for by what, in default of a better name, must be called the anthropological school of folk-lorists. we must quit celtic ground to find another example of an element in the originals of the grail romances, embodying a popular ethical idea. this instance is such an interesting one that i cannot pass it by in silence. as was shown in chapter vii, one of the many forms of the hero's visit to the otherworld has for object the release of maidens held captive by an evil power. a formal connection was established between this section of the romance and the folk-tale of the sleeping beauty. as a whole, too, this tale admits of comparison with the legend. its origin is mythic without a doubt. whether it be regarded as a day or as a year myth, as the rescue of the dawn from night, or of the incarnate spring from the bonds of winter, it equally pictures a victory of the lord of light and heat and life over the powers of darkness, cold, and death. with admirable fidelity folk-tradition has preserved the myth, so that its true nature can be recognised without fail. it would be wrong, though, to conclude that retention of the mythic framework implied any recognition of its mythic character on the part of those who told or listened to the story. some investigators, indeed, hold it idle to consider it otherwise than as a tale told merely for amusement. but a story, to live, must appeal to moral as well as to æsthetic emotions. in the folk-mind this story sets forth, dimly though it may be, that search for the highest human felicity which is likewise a theme of the grail romances. what better picture of this quest could be found than the old mythic symbol of the awakening of life and increase beneath the kiss of the sun-god. the hero of the folk-tale makes his way through the briars and tangle of the forest that he may restore to the deserted castle life and plenty; so much has the tale retained of the original mythic signification. as regards the quester himself, the maiden he thus woos is his reward and the noblest prize earth has to offer him. where the romance writers made power, or riches, or learning, or personal salvation the goal of man's effort, the folk-tale bids him seek happiness in the common human affections. such, all too briefly sketched, has been the fate and story of these tales, first shaped in a period of culture wellnigh pre-historic, gifted by reason of their celtic setting with a charm that commended them to the romantic spirit of the middle ages, and made them fit vehicles for the embodiment of mediæval ideas. quickened by christian symbolism they came to express and typify the noblest and the most mystic longings of man. the legend, as the poets and thinkers of the twelfth century fashioned it, has still a lesson and a meaning for us. it may be likened to one of the divine maidens of irish tradition. she lives across the western sea. ever and again heroes, filled with mysterious yearning for the truth and beauty of the infinite and undying, make sail to join her if they may. they pass away and others succeed them, but she remains ever young and fair. so long as the thirst of man for the ideal endures, her spell will not be weakened, her charm will not be lessened. but each generation works out this quest in its own spirit. this much may be predicted with some confidence: henceforth, whosoever would do full justice to the legend must take pattern by wolfram von eschenbach rather than by any of his rivals; he must deal with human needs and human longings; his ideal must be the widening of human good and human joy. above all, he must give reverent yet full expression to all the aspirations, all the energies of man and of woman. finis. appendix a. the relationship of wolfram von eschenbach and chrestien. the various arguments for and against the use of any other french source than chrestien by wolfram have been clearly summed up by g. bötticher, die wolfram literatur seit lachmann, berlin, . the chief representative of the negative opinion is birch-hirschfeld, who first gives, chapter viii. of his work, a useful collection of passages relating to the grail, the castle, and the quest, from both authors. his chief argument is this:--the grail in all the romances except in wolfram is a cup or vessel, but in wolfram a stone, a peculiarity only to be explained by wolfram's ignorance of any source than chrestien, and by the fact that the latter, in accordance with his usual practice of leaving objects and persons in as mysterious an atmosphere as possible, nowhere gives a clear description of the grail. he undoubtedly would have done so if he had finished his work. such indications as he gave led wolfram, who did not understand the word _graal_, to think it was a stone. it is inconceivable that kyot, if such a personage existed, should have so far departed from all other versions as not to picture the grail as a vessel, inconceivable, again, that his account of it should have been just as vague as chrestien's, that he should have afforded wolfram no hint of the real nature of the object. in chrestien perceval's question refers to the grail, but wolfram, missing the significance of the holy vessel owing to the meagreness of the information respecting it given to him by chrestien, was compelled to transform the whole incident, and to refer it solely to the sufferings of the wounded king. again, chrestien meant to utilise the sword, and to bring gawain to the grail castle; but his unfinished work did not carry out his intention, and in wolfram gawain also fails to come to the grail castle; the sword is passed over in silence in the latter part of the poem.--simrock, jealous for the credit of wolfram, claimed for him the invention of all that could not be traced to chrestien, resting the claim chiefly upon consideration of a sentimental patriotic nature.--in opposition to these views, although the fact is not denied that wolfram followed chrestien closely for the parts common to both, it is urged to be incredible that he, a german poet, should invent a prologue to chrestien's unfinished work connecting with an angevin princely genealogical legend. it was also pointed out, with greatest fulness by bartsch, die eigennamen im parcival und titurel, germanist. studien, ii., , _et seq._, that the german poet gives a vast number of proper names which are not to be found in chrestien, and that these are nearly all of french, and especially southern french and provençal origin.--simrock endeavoured to meet this argument in the fifth edition of his translation, but with little success.--bötticher, whilst admitting the weight of birch-hirschfeld's arguments, points out the difficulties which his theory involves. if wolfram simply misunderstood chrestien and did not differ from him personally, why should he be at the trouble of inventing an elaborately feigned source to justify a simple addition to the original story? if he only knew of the grail from chrestien, what gave him the idea of endowing it, as he did, with mystic properties? martin points out in addition (zs. f. d. a., v. ) that wolfram has the same connection of the grail and swan knight story as gerbert, whom, _ex hypothesi_, he could not have known, and who certainly did not know him.--in his zur gralsage, martin returned to the question of proper names, and showed that a varying redaction of a large part of the romance is vouched for by the different names which heinrich von dem türlin applies to personages met with both in chrestien and in wolfram. if, then, one french version, that followed by heinrich, who is obviously a translator, is lost, why not another? the first thorough comparison of chrestien and wolfram is to be found in otto küpp's unmittelbaren quellen des parzival, (zs. f. d. ph. xvii., l). he argues for kyot's existence. some of the points he mentions in which the two poems differ, and in which wolfram's account has a more archaic character, may be cited: the mention of gurnemanz's sons; the food producing properties of the grail on parzival's first visit; the reproaches of the varlet to parzival on his leaving the grail castle, "you are a goose, had you but moved your lips and asked the host! now you have lost great praise;"[ ] the statement that the broken sword is to be made whole by dipping in the lake lac, and the mention of a sword charm by virtue of which parzival can become lord of the grail castle; the mention that no one seeing the grail could die within eight days. in addition küpp finds that many of the names in wolfram are more archaic than those of chrestien. on the other hand, küpp has not noticed that chrestien has preserved a more archaic feature in the prohibition laid upon gauvain not to leave for seven days the castle after he had undergone the adventure of the bed. küpp has not noticed that some of the special points he singles out in wolfram are likewise to be found in chrestien's continuators, _e.g._, the mention of the sons of gurnemanz, by gerbert. i believe i have the first pointed out the insistence by both wolfram and gerbert upon the hero's love to and duty towards his wife. the name of parzival's uncle in wolfram, gurnemanz, is nearer to the form in gerbert, gornumant, than to that in chrestien, gonemant. the matter may be summed up thus: it is very improbable that wolfram should have invented those parts of the story found in him alone; the parts common to him and chrestien are frequently more archaic in his case; there are numerous points of contact between him and gerbert. all this speaks for another french source than chrestien. on the other hand, it is almost inconceivable that such a source should have presented the grail as wolfram presents it. i cannot affect to consider the question decidedly settled one way or the other, and have, therefore, preferred to make no use of wolfram. i would only point out that if the contentions of the foregoing studies be admitted, they strongly favour the genuineness of the non-chrestien section of wolfram's poem,[ ] though i admit they throw no light upon his special presentment of the grail itself. appendix b. the prologue to the grand st. graal and the brandan legend. i believe the only parallel to this prologue to be the one furnished by that form of the brandan legend of which schröder has printed a german version (sanct brandan) at erlangen, in , from a ms. of the fourteenth century, but the first composition of which he places (p. ) in the last quarter of the twelfth century. the text in question will be found pp. , _et seq._: brandan, a servant of god, seeks out marvels in rare books, he finds that two paradises were on earth, that another world was situated under this one, so that when it is here night it is day there, and of a fish so big that forests grew on his back, also that the grace of god allowed some respite every saturday night to the torments of judas. angry at all these things he burnt the book. but the voice of god spake to him, "dear friend brandan thou hast done wrong, and through thy wrath i see my wonders lost." the holy christ bade him fare nine years on the ocean, until he see whether these marvels were real or a lie. thereafter brandan makes ready a ship to set forth on his travels. this version was very popular in germany. schröder prints a low german adaptation, and a chap book one, frequently reprinted during the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries. but besides this form there was another, now lost, which can be partially recovered from the allusions to it in the wartburg krieg, a german poem of the thirteenth and early fourteenth century, and which is as follows:--an angel brings brandan a book from heaven: brandan finds so many incredible things in it that he taxes book and angel with lying, and burns the book. for his unfaith he must wander till he find it. god's grace grants him this at last; an angel gives him the sign of two fires burning, which are the eyes of an ox, upon whose tongue he shall find the book. he hands it to uranias, who brings it to _scotland_ (_i.e._, of course ireland) schröder, p. . the closeness of the parallel cannot be denied, and it raises many interesting questions, which i can here only allude to. the isle of brandan has always been recognized as a christian variant of the celtic tír-na n-og, the land of the shades, avalon. schröder has some instructive remarks on this subject, p. . the voyage of brandan may thus be compared with that of bran, the son of febal (_supra_, p. ), both being versions of the wide-spread myth of a mortal's visit to the otherworld. it is not a little remarkable that in the latin legend, which differs from the german form by the absence of the above-cited prologue, there is an account (missing in the german), of a "conopeus" ("cover" or "canopy,") _cf._ ducange and diez, _sub voce_; the old french version translates it by "pavillon of the colour of silver but harder than marble, and a column therein of clearest crystal." and on the fourth day they find a window and therein a "calix" of the same nature as the "conopeus" and a "patena" of the colour of the column (schröder, p. , and note ). thus there is a formal connection between the brandan legend and the grail romances in the prologue common to two works of each cycle, and there is a likeness of subject-matter between the brandan legend and the older celtic traditions which i have assumed to be the basis of the romances. but german literature likewise supplies evidence of a connection between brandan and bran. professor karl pearson has referred me to a passage in the pfaffe amis, a thirteenth century south german poem, composed by der stricker, the hero of which, a prototype of eulenspiegel, goes through the world gulling and tricking his contemporaries. in a certain town he persuades the good people to entrust to him their money, by telling them that he has in his possession a very precious relic, the head of st. brandan, which has commanded him to build a cathedral (lambl's edition, leipzig, , p. ). the preservation of the head of bran is a special feature in the mabinogi. i have instanced parallels from celtic tradition (branwen, p. ), and professor rhys has since (hibb. lect., p. ) connected the whole with celtic mythological beliefs. this chance reference in a german poem is the only trace to my knowledge of an earlier legend in which, it may be, bran and brandan, the visitor to and the lord of the otherworld, were one and the same person. it is highly desirable that every form of or allusion to the brandan legend should be examined afresh, as, perhaps, able to throw fresh light upon the origin and growth of the grail legend. in pseudo-chrestien perceval's mother goes on a pilgrimage to the shrine of st. brandan. index i. dramatis personÆ. [this index is to the summaries contained in chapter ii, and the references are not to page and line, but to version and incident. the versions are distinguished by the following abbreviations:-- conte du graal =co=, pseudo-chrestien =pc=, chrestien =c=, gautier =g=, manessier =ma=, gerbert =ge=, wolfram =w=, heinrich von dem türlin =h=, mabinogi of peredur =m=, thornton ms. sir perceval =t=, didot-perceval =d=, borron's poem =b=, queste =q= (=q={ } and =q={ } refer to the different drafts of the romance distinguished p. ) grand st. graal =gg=. with the less important entries, or when the entries are confined to one version, a simple number reference is given. but in the case of the more important personages, notably perceval, gawain, and galahad, an attempt has been made to show the life history, by grouping together references to the same incident from different versions; in this case each incident group is separated from other groups by a long dash ----. any speciality in the incident presented by a version is bracketed _before_ the reference initial, and, when deemed advisable, reference has been made to allied as well as to similar incidents. this detail, to save space, is, as a rule, given only once, as under perceval, and not duplicated under other headings, the number reference alone being given in the latter cases. the fullest entry is perceval, which practically comprises such entries as fisher king, grail, sword, lance, etc.] =abel= =q= , =gg= . =abrioris= =g= . =acheflour= =t= . =adam= =q= , =gg= . =addanc of lake= =m= , . =agaran= =q= . =agrestes= =gg= . =aguigrenons= =co=, _kingrun_ =w=, anonymous =m=, =c= , =w=, =m= . =alains=, celidoine's son =gg= . =alains= or =alein= (=li gros= =d=, =q=, =gg=) =b= ----=dprol=, , , , =q= , =gg= , , , , , . =aleine=, gawain's niece, =d= . =alfasem= =gg= , . =amangons= =pc= , , . =amfortas=, see fisher king. =aminadap= =gg= . =angharad= law eurawc, =m= , . =antikonie=, see facile damsel. =argastes= =q= . =arides= of cavalon =ma= , (a king of cavalon mentioned =c= corresponds to _vergulat_ of askalon in =w=). =arthur= =pc= , , , =c= , =dprol=----arrival of perceval at his court =c= , =w=, =m= , =t= , =dprol=----=c= , , , =w=, =m= , , ----=m= , ----=c= , =w=, =m= ----=t= ----=c= , =w=----=g= , =w=----=g= , , , , , , , , , =ma= , , , =ge= , =h=, =d= , , , , , , =m= , =q= , , , =gg= , , . =augustus cÆsar= =gg= . =avalon= or =avaron= =b= , , =d= . =bagommedes= =g= , . =bandamagus= =q= , , . =bans= =q= , =gg= , . =beau mauvais=, le, =g= , =d= . =beduers= =d= . =blaise= =dprol=, . =blanchefleur= =co=, conduiramur =w=, anonymous =m=, _cf._ lufamour =t=----perceval's cousin =co=, =w=----first meeting with perceval =c= , =w=, =m= ----second meeting with perceval =g= ----third meeting =ma= - ----third meeting and marriage with perceval =ge= - , _cf._ =w=. =blihis= =pc= = blaise? =blihos bliheris= =pc= . =bliocadrans= (of wales, perceval's father), =pc= . =bors, bohors, boort= =q= , , , , , , , , =ma= ----=q= , - . =brandalis= =g= , . =brios= =g= . =brons, bron=, or =hebron=. =b= , , , , =dprol=, , , =gg= , , _cf._ p. . =bruillant= =gg= = urlain =q= . =brun de branlant= =g= . =cain= =q= , =gg= . =caiphas= =gg= , . =caius= =gg= . =calides= =ma= . =calogrenant= =q= . =calogrinant= =ma= ----_calocreant_ in =h=, one of the three grail-seekers. =carahies= =g= . =carchelois= =q= . =carduel= =c= ----_carduel_ of nantes =g= . =castrars= =pc= . =catheloys= =gg= . =cavalon= =c= ----=ma= , . =celidoine= =gg= , , , , , , , , , =q= . =chanaan= =gg= , . =chessboard castle= =g= , =d= , =m= ----=g= ----=g= , =d= . =christ= =b= - , , , , , =q= , , , , , , , =dprol=, , =ge= , =gg= - , , , , , , , , , , , , , . =clamadex= =c= , clamide =w=, the earl =m= = the sowdane =t= . =clarisse= =co= mons ms. or _clarissant_ montpellier ms., itonje =w=----=c= , =g= , =w=. =claudius= =gg= . =claudius=, son of claudas =q={ } . =corbenic= =q=, =gg=, =corbiÈre= =ma= , =q= , , , =gg= . =corsapias= =gg= . =coward knight= =ma= , . =crudel= =q= , , =ge= , =gg= - . =david= =q= . =dodinel= =ma= . =eliezer= =q= . =empty seat=, see seat perillous. =enygeus=, =enysgeus=, or =anysgeus= =b= , , , . =erec= =d= . =ernous= =q= . =escorant= =q={ } . =escos= =gg= . =espinogre= =ma= . =estrois de gariles= =q={ } . =etlym gleddyv coch= =m= - . =evalach.= evalach li mescouncus =gg=, eualac =q= (anelac ), evelac =ma=, =ge=. overcoming tholomes =gg= , , , , , , =q= , , , =ma= , =ge= , name changed to _mordrains_, which see. =eve= =q= , =gg= . =facile damsel=, anonymous =co=, =h=, =m=, _antikonie_ =w=, =c= , =w=, =h=, =m= . =feirefiz= =w=. =felix= =gg= , . =fisher king.= anonymous =co=, amfortas =w=, brons =b=, =d=, alain =gg=. anonymous (?), =q={ }, pelles =q={ }. in =m= the fisher corresponds to gonemans. in all the french works of the cycle the adjective rich is commonly applied to the fisher. splendour of court =pc= ----learned in black art =pc= ----old and sick =dprol=, first meeting with perceval =c= , =w=, =d= , _cf._ =pc= , =m= ----=c= , =w=, _cf._ =d= , ----=c= , =w=, _cf._ =d= , =m= ----=g= , , , , , , ----second meeting with perceval =g= , =ma= - or =ge= - , =d= , _cf._ =m= ----=ma= ----third meeting with perceval =ma= , =ge= , =w=----grandfather of galahad =q={ } , . see also maimed king. surname given to brons =b= , to alain =gg= . vessel given to him =d= ----commanded to go to the west =d= . =flegentyne= =gg= , , , , . =gahmuret= =w=. =galahad= (galaad). _father_: lancelot =q=, =gg=----_mother_: daughter of king pelles =q={ }, =gg=, or fisher king =q={ }----seat perillous =q= ----sword =q= ----quest proclaimed =q= ----evelac's shield =q= , =gg= ----devil-inhabited tomb =q= , _cf._ =ge= ----melians' discomforture =q= ----castle of maidens =q= ----overcoming of lancelot and perceval =q= ----destined achiever of quest =q= ----rescue of perceval =q= ----genealogy =q= , =gg= , , ----likening to a spotless bull =q= ----overcoming of gawain =q= ----stay on ship =q= , ----sword =q= ----maimed king =q={ } ----capture of castle carchelois =q= ----stag and lions =q= , _cf._ =gg= ----castle of the evil custom =q= ----stay with father =q= ----healing of mordrains =q= , _cf._ =gg= ----cooling of fountain =q= ----making white the cross =gg= ----release of symeu =q= , =gg= ----making whole sword =gg= ----release of moys =gg= ----five years' wanderings =q= ----arrival at king peleur's =q={ }, maimed king's =q={ }, witnessing of grail and healing of maimed king =q= - ----sarras, crowning, death =q= , . =galahad= (galaad) son of joseph =gg= , , ----king of hocelice and ancestor of urien =gg= ----founding of abbey for symeu =gg= . =gansguoter= =h=. =ganort= =gg= , . =garalas= =g= . =gawain.= gauvain =co=, =q=, =gg=, gwalchmai =m=, gawan =w=, gawein =h=, gawayne or wawayne =t=----of the seed of joseph of arimathea =gg= , arthur's nephew =co=, =q=----conquers blihos bliheris =pc= ----allusion to his finding the grail =pc= ----one of the knights met by perceval in wood =m= , =t= ----helps perceval to disarm red knight =t= ----meeting with perceval after blood-drops incident =c= , =w=, =m= ----vow to release imprisoned maiden =c= , =m= ----reproached by guigambresil =c= , (kingrimur) =w=, (anonymous) =m= ----tournament at tiebaut's =c= , (lippaot) =w=, (leigamar) =h=, _cf._ =d= , where perceval is hero but gawain best knight after him----adventure with the facile damsel =c= , (antikonie) =w=, =h=, =m= ----injunction to seek bleeding lance =c= , =w=, (grail) =h=----adventure with griogoras =c= , (urjan) =w=, (lohenis) =h=----meeting with scornful damsel, orgeuilleuse, arrival at ferryman's =c= , =w=----magic castle =c= , =w=, _cf._ =gg= ----may not leave castle =c= ----second meeting with orgueilleuse =c= , =w=, (mancipicelle) =h=----ford perillous, guiromelant =c= , (gramoflanz) =w=, (giremelanz) =h=----marriage with orgueilleuse =w=, (?) =c= ----arrival of arthur to witness combat with guiromelant =c= continued by =g= , =w=, =h=----fight with perceval =w=, _cf._ =t= ----reconciliation with guiromelant =g= , =w=, =h=----departure on grail quest and winning various talismans =h=----[first arrival at grail castle according to montpellier ms. of =co=]----brun de branlant, brandalis =g= and ----slaying of unknown knight and quest to avenge him =g= ----chapel of black hand =g= ----arrival at grail castle (first according to mons ms. of =co=), half successful =g= , wholly successful =h=, _cf._ =m= found by peredur at castle of talismans, and reference in =q= welsh version----greetings of country folk =g= , _cf._ =ge= ----meeting with his son =g= ----mount dolorous quest =g= ----renewed grail quest, reproached for conduct at fisher king's, slaying of margon =ma= ----rescue of lyonel =ma= ----rescue by perceval =ge= . joins in search for grail with remainder of table round =d={ }, =q=, betraying knowledge of maimed king =q= . meeting with ywain, gheheris and confession to hermit =q= . meeting with hector de mares =q= . overcoming at galahad's hand =q= . =gheheries= =q= . =giflÈs= =c= , =g= . =gonemans= or =gonemant= =co=, gornumant =ge=, gurnemanz =w=, fisher uncle =m=, =c= , =w=, =m= , uncle to blanchefleur =c= , =c= , =w=, second meeting with perceval =ge= - , _cf._ =t= . =goon desert= =ma= . =grail=, early history of. last supper cup given to joseph =b= , , , =gg= , =q= , =ma= ----solace of joseph =b= , , =gg= , =d= , =ma= (montpellier ms.)----grail and fish =b= , _cf._ =gg= ----directs joseph what to do with alain =b= , _cf._ =gg= , confided to brons =b= , , =dprol= , (alain) =gg= ----=d= , ----feeds host =gg= , =q= , also =gg= ----blinding of nasciens =gg= , , , , passage to england , =d= , =q= , , ----crudel =gg= , =q= , =ge= ----blinding of mordrains =gg= , , , only feeds the sinless , , refuses meat to chanaan and symeu , resting-place, castle corbenic =gg= . book of, revealed to hermit =gg= . =grail=, quest of _by perceval_: first seen at fisher king's =pc= , =c= , =w=, =d= ----properties of =c= , =w=, =d= ----=c= , =w=----=c= , =w=----lights up forest =g= ----=g= ----seen for second time =g= -=ma= - or =ge= - , =d= ----heals hector and perceval =ma= ----taken from earth =ge= , _cf._ =w=----opposed by witch, =ge= , ----connection with shield =ge= ----seen for third time =ma= , , =ge= ; _by gawain_: =h= and =g= ; _by lancelot_: =q= , , ; _by galahad_: =q= , feeds arthur's court =q= , quest proclaimed =q= , feeds host =q= , =gg= , denied to gawain and hector =q= , , accomplished =q= - . =grail-messenger=, see loathly damsel. =gramoflanz= see guiromelant. =griogoras= =c= = lohenis =h=. =guiromelant= =co=, gramoflanz =w=, giremelanz =h=, =c= -=g= , =w=, =h=. =hector= (de =mares= =q=) =q= , , , =ma= . =helain= =q= . =helicoras= =gg= . =helyab= =gg= , , . =helyas= =q= = ysaies =gg= , . =herzeloyde= =w=. =huden= =pc= . =hurgains= or =hurganet= =d= , . =jonaans= =q= , =jonans= =gg= , =jonas= =gg= . =joseph of arimathea.= d'arymathye =b=, de arimathie =gg=, d'abarimathie or d'arimathie =q=, de barimacie =g=, and =ma= (montpellier ms.), josep (without mention of town =ma=, mons ms.), de barismachie =ge=----care of christ's body, captivity, solace, release =b= - , =gg= , , =d= , _cf._ =q= , =ma= ----stay in sarras =gg= - , =q= , , =ge= , =ma= ----=b= ----passage to england =gg= , =q= ----feeding by grail =gg= , =q= , _cf._ =b= , ----moys =b= , , =dprol=, _cf._ =gg= ----=b= - ----=gg= , , =q= , =ge= ----=gg= , , , , --=d= , , . =josephes=, =josephe=, =josephus=, or =josaphes=, son of joseph of arimathea, =gg= , , , , =q= , , , , , =q= , and , =q= , =q= and , , =q= _cf._ =d= , , , , , , =q= , =q= , . =josue= =gg= , . =kalafier= =gg= , . =kardeiz= =w=. =kay.= kex =co=----=t= ----=c= , =w=, =m= ----=c= , =w=, =m= ----=c= , =c= ----=c= , =w=, =m= ----=m= ----=t= ----=g= , , =ma= , =ge= , =d= ----one of the three grail-questers =h=. =klinschor= =w.= =laban= =q= (query variant of lambar?). =label= =gg= . =label's daughter= =gg= , , , . =lambar= or =labran= =q= , =lambor= =gg= . =lance= (spear) =pc= , , =c= , , =m= , =c= , , , =g= , , =ma= , , , =ge= , =h=, =d= , , , =q= , , =gg= , , . =lancelot=, lancelot of lake's grandfather =q= , =gg= , . =lancelot.= galahad's father =q=, =gg=, =q= , , (_cf._ =c= ), , , (_cf._ =c= and =g= ), , , , , (_cf._ =gg= ) , , , , , =gg= , , , , , , =pc= . =leucans= =gg= . =lionel q= , , attacks bors =q= , =ma= . =loathly damsel.= anonymous =co=, kundrie =w=, perceval's cousin =m=, reproaches perceval =c= , =w=, =m= ----announces end of quest, =ma= , =m= . =logres= =pc= , =g= , =q= , , . =lohenis= =h= = griogoras =c= . =loherangrin= =w=. =longis= =pc= , =ma= , =d= . =lot= =gg= . =luces= =gg= . =lufamour= =t= , _cf._ blanchefleur. =maidens' castle= =pc= , =g= =a=, =ge= ----=q= . =maimed= or =lame king=. same personage as fisher king. designated in this way _only_ =m=, almost entirely so =q={ } ( , , also =q={ } , , , ), never so =b=, =d=. =gg= applies the designation to pelleans. =manaal= =gg= . =mancipicelle=, see orgueilleuse. =margon= =ma= . =marie la venissienne= =gg= = verrine, =b= , =w=. =marpus= (=warpus= =q= ) =gg= , . =meaux= =gg= . =melians=, galahad's companion =q= , . =melians de lis= =c= , =d= . =merlin= (see p. d) =g= , =dprol=, , , =q= . =mordrains= =gg=, mordains =q=, _once_ noodrans =ma=, _once_ mordrach =ge=----baptism =gg= , , =q= , , =ma= =ge= ----=gg= , , vision of descendants , =q= ----=gg= , , stay on island , _cf._ =q= ----=gg= , =q= ----=gg= crudel, and blinding by grail , , =q= , =ge= ----retires to hermitage =gg= , =q= ----his shield =gg= , =q= . =mordred= =gg= . =mordret= =ge= , . =morghe la fÉe= =g= . =moroneus= =q={ } . =mors del calan= =pc= . =mount dolorous= =g= , , =ge= . =moys=, =moyses= (=b=). seat perillous =b= , , , =dprol=, , =gg= , . =nasciens= =gg=, =q=, natiien =ma=----baptism =gg= , =q= , , =ma= ----blinded by grail =gg= ----=gg= , , , , , turning isle and solomon's ship, - , =q= - ----=gg= , , , , , crudel , , (called seraphe) =q= ----=gg= ----his tomb =gg= ----death =gg= ----appears as hermit in arthur's time =q= , , , . =nasciens=, son of celidoine, =gg= . =nasciens=, grandson of celidoine =gg= , . =nicodemus= =b= , , . =noirons=, _i.e._, nero =gg= . =orcanz= =gg= . =orgueilleuse.= orguellouse =c=, orgeluse =w= = mancipicelle =h=, =c= ----=g= , =w=, =h=. =owain= =m=, =ewayne= =t=, =yones= =c= , =ywain= "li aoutres" =q= , , , , =gg= ----meets perceval =m= , =t= ----helps him =m= , =c= . =partinal= =ma= , , , . =pecorins= =pc= . =peleur= =q={ } , , . =pelleans= =gg= . =pellehem= =q={ } . =pelles= =q={ } - , , , , , , , =gg= . =perceval= =co=, =d=, =q=, =gg=; parzival =w=, =h=; peredur =m=; percyvelle =t=.--_father_: bliocadrans =pc=; anonymous =co=, =q=; alain =d=; gahmuret =w=; evrawe =m=; percyvelle =t=; pellehem =q={ }. _mother_: anonymous =co=, =d=, =q=, =m=; herzeloyde =w=; acheflour (arthur's sister) =t=----brought up in wood =c= , =w=, =m=, =t= ----meets knights ( ) =c= , =w=, ( ) =m= , =t= ----leaves mother =c= , =w=, =d=, =m= , =t= ----first meeting with lady of tent =c= , (ieschute) =w=, =m= , =t= ----arrival at arthur's court =c= , =w=, =d=, =m= , =t= ----laughing prophetic damsel =c= , =w=, dwarves =m= ----slays _red_ knight =c= , (ither of gaheviez) =w=, (colour not specified) =m= , =t= ----overcomes knights =m= ----burns witch =t= ----arrival at house of first uncle, gonemans =c= , gurnemanz =w=, anonymous =m= , and (different adventure partly corresponding to =ge= ) =t= ----first arrival at castle of lady love, blanchefleur =c= , conduiramur =w=, anonymous =m= , lufamour =t= ----first arrival at fisher king's =c= , =w=, =d= , =m= ----is reproached by wayside damsel, cousin: (anonymous) =c= , (sigune) =w=, =d= , foster sister =m= ----second meeting with lady of tent =c= , =w=, =m= ----overcoming of sorceresses of gloucester =m= ----blood drops in the snow =c= , =w=, =m= ----adventures with angharad law eurawc; at the castle of the huge grey man; serpent on the gold ring; mound of mourning; addanc of the lake; countess of achievements =m= - ----reproaches of the loathly damsel =c= , (kundrie) =w=, =m= ----good friday incident and confession to uncle =c= , (trevrezent) =w=, =d= , =m= ----the castle of the horn =g= ----the castle of the chessboard =g= , =d= , =m= ----meeting with brother of red knight =g= ----ford _amorous_ =g= , _perillous_ =d= ----second meeting with blanchefleur =g= ----meeting with rosette and le beau mauvais =g= , =d= ----meeting with sister and visit to hermit =g= , =d= and ----the castle of maidens =g= =a=----meeting with the hound-stealing damsel =g= , =d= , =m= ----meeting with the damsel of the white mule =g= ----tournament at castle orguellous =g= = =d= (melianz de lis) and =m= (?)----deliverance of knight in tomb =g= ----second visit to the castle of the chessboard =g= , =d= ----delivery of bagommedes =g= ----arrival at mount dolorous =g= ----the black hand in the chapel =g= ----second arrival at grail castle =g= -=ma= - and =ge= , =d= , (with final overcoming of sorceresses of gloucester) =m= . puts on red armour for love of aleine, accomplishes the feat of the seat perillous, and sets forth on quest =d= and . slays the red knight, orgoillous delandes, =d= . overcomes black knight, slays giant and finds mother =t= . perceval and saigremors =ma= ----second visit to chapel of the black hand =ma= ----the demon horse =ma= , =q= ----stay on the island =q= , and , and temptation by damsel , =ma= ----delivery of dodinel's lady love =ma= ----tribuet =ma= ----third meeting with blanchefleur =ma= ----meeting with coward knight =ma= ----combat with hector =ma= ----slaying of partinal =ma= ----third arrival at grail castle =ma= ----learns death of his uncle the fisher king from loathly damsel =ma= , =w=----retires into wilderness =q= , =ma= ----dies =q= , goes to palestine and dies (?) =t=. encounter, unknown to either, with galahad =q= . meeting with recluse aunt =q= . assistance at the hands of the red knight =q= . adventure of the ship =q= , essay to draw sword =q= . receives galahad's sword =q= , bears galahad company for five years =q= ----adjusts the sword at the court of pelles =q={ } . breaking of sword at the gate of paradise =ge= ----blessings of the country folk for putting question =ge= ----mending of sword at forge of the serpent =ge= ----accomplishment of the feat of the perillous seat =ge= ----adventures at sister's castle, with mordret, and at cousin's, castle of maidens =ge= ----encounter with kex, gauvain, and tristan =ge= , _cf._ =t= ----meeting with gornumant =ge= (_cf._ =t= ) and fight with the resuscitating hag----third arrival at blanchefleur's castle, marriage =ge= ----deliverance of maiden, abolition of evil custom, knight on fire =ge= - ----obtains the promised shield =g= ----combat with the dragon king =ge= ----arrival at abbey and story of mordrains =ge= , =q= ----the swan-drawn coffin =ge= ----devil in tomb =ge= , _cf._ =q= ----deliverance of maiden from fountain =ge= ----punishment of traitress damsel =ge= ----combat with giant =ge= , _cf._ =t= ----encounters kex =ge= ----third arrival at grail castle =ge= . =perceval's aunt= =q= , . =perceval's sister=, daughter to pellehem =q={ }, =g= , =d= - , =q= , , , , ----_cf._ =m= . =perceval's uncle=, see gonemans, fisher king. =petrone= =gg= . =petrus= =b= , , , , =peter= =gg= , =pierron= =gg= , , . =philosophine= =ge= , . =pilate= =b= , =gg= , =b= , . =priadam the black= =q= . =quiquagrant= =ma= . =red knight.= slain by perceval =c= , , =t= , , who takes his arms, and is mistaken for him =c= , =t= , transferred to galahad when latter takes perceval's place =q= , ----=g= , . =rosette=, loathly maiden, =g= , =d= . =saigremors= =c= , =ma= , , , =d= . =sarraquite= =gg= , , , , , . =sarras= =gg= , , , , , =ma= , =q= , , , =gg= . =seat perillous= (empty) =b= , =dprol=, ----=q= , =gg= , =ge= , =q= . =seraphe= =gg=, =q=, =ge=, _once_ salafrès =ma=----battle with tholomes =gg= , , =q= , , =ma= , =ge= , renamed _nasciens_, which see. =sevain of meaux= =gg= . =solomon's ship= =q= - , =gg= , , , . =solomon's sword= =q= , , =gg= , _cf._ =q= . =sorceresses of gloucester= =m= , . =stag hunt= =g= , , , , =d= , , =m= . =sword= =pc= , =c= , , =m= , =g= , , , =ma= , , =ge= , , , , , =h=, =q= , , , =gg= , , . see also solomon's sword. =symeu= =q= , =gg= , , . =tholomes= =q= , =ge= , =gg= , , . =tholome cerastre= =gg= . =tiberius cÆsar= =gg= , , =ma= . =titus= =gg= . =trebucet= or =tribuet= =c= , =w=, =ma= . =urban of the black thorn= =d= , =co=. =urlain= or =urban= =q= = bruillant =gg= . =uther pendragon= =gg= , _cf._ p. d. =verrine= =b= = marie la venissienne =gg= . =vespasian= =b= , =gg= , , =ma= , =q= . =waste city=, king of the, =ge= . =waste land= =pc= , (forest) , =q= , , =gg= . =ysaies= =gg= , = helyas, =q= . =ywain=, see owain. index ii. [this index comprises the whole of the work with exception of the summaries, for which see index i. the references are to the pages. the entries apply solely to the page number or page group-number which they immediately precede, and not to all the pages between themselves and the next entry. in the majority of cases a simple number reference is given, and the fuller entries are to those points which the author wishes specially to emphasise.] abundia and herodias, . adonis, . alain (son of brons), , , , , , , , , , , as fisher king, , , , , . amfortas, fisher king in wolfram, , in wagner's parsifal, - , . aminadap, . arbois de jubainville, - , , - . arthur, arthur saga, arthurian romance or legend, , , , , martin's interpretation of, - , , , , , , , , , , , a's waiting, - , a and potter thompson, , , , , , , popularity of, - , celtic character of, , , , , , . avalon (avaron), , punning explanation of, , parallel to the grail, - and , with the magic castle, , , , , connection with glastonbury, , , parallel with brandan's isle, . baldur, . ban, , . baring-gould, . bartsch, . battle of magh rath, , . bergmann's san grëal, . bespelled castle in celtic tradition, - . birch-hirschfeld, , , , , , _d_, , full analysis of his work, - , martin's criticism, - , , objections to his hypothesis, - , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , wolfram and chrestien, - . blaise, . blanchefleur, , , , , comparison of chrestien and mabinogi, , , , , , example of sex-relations of the time, . blood-drops in the snow, - . books of rights and geasa, . borron, robert de, author of the joseph d'arimathie, bibliographical details, , ms. statements respecting, - , , passage of grail to england, - , , , , hucher's views, - , relation to other versions according to birch-hirschfeld, - , , - , martin's views, - , , , , secret words, , , fisher king in, - , , , , his conception, , chastity ideal in, , , , . bors, , exemplification of spirit of queste, . bötticher, wolfram and chrestien, . bran (the blessed), , and cernunnos, , connection with conversion of britain, - , , connection with brandan legend, . bran the son of febal, , , , . brandan legend, - . branwen (mabinogi of), , , , , , cauldron, , , , . britain, evangelisation of, , , , - , , , , connection with the brons and joseph legends, - . brons, , , , , , special form of early history, - , , , two accounts respecting, - , , , , , in the didot-perceval, , , , , , , , , , , , , , as fisher king, - , as apostle of britain, - , . bruillans, . brunhild, . bundling, . caesarius of heisterbach, . campbell, j. f., - , , - , cup of healing, , . campbell, no. young king of easaidh ruadh, ; no. the three soldiers, - ; no. the widow and her daughters, ; no. mac iain direach, , ; no. the fair gruagach, ; no. the knight of the red shield, - , the resuscitating carlin, - ; no. the rider of grianaig, , ; no. conall gulban, , ; no. how the een was set up, , ; no. manus, - ; no. the daughter of king under the waves, - , . campbell, j. g., muilearteach, . catheloys, . celidoine, , . celtic tradition, origin of or elements in grail legend, , how affected by placing of versions, - , opinions of previous investigators, - , birch-hirschfeld, - - - - - , martin, - , hertz, , grail apparently foreign to, , - , carlin in, - , - , , - , vessel in, - , sword in, - , , , , , , origin of legend, - , - , relation to mediæval romance, , individualism in, , woman in, - , the supernatural in, , , chastity ideal, , , , transformation of, , . ceridwen, , - . cernunnos, . cét mac magach, . chanson de roland, . charlemagne, carolingian saga, , , , . chastity ideal in the queste, - , in later versions, - , in popular and celtic tradition, - . chessboard castle, - , - . chrestien, bibliographical description, , , statements of mss. respecting, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , views of previous investigators, - , birch-hirschfeld, - , , , , , relation to didot-perceval, - , to mabinogi, - , nature of model, - , relation to sir perceval, - , relation to great fool, - - - , , , visit to grail castle in, - , , represents mainly feud quest, - , , , , , , his ideal, - , , , , relation to wolfram, - . christian origin of or elements in grail legend, christian tradition, legend, etc.; as affected by placing of versions, , , , , , , - , , , , , as affected by my hypothesis, - , , , - , relation to the talismans, - , - , influence on the legend as a whole, . chronological arrangement of versions, , author's, - , zarncke's, , birch-hirschfelds', - . conall cearnach, . conan's delusions, . conchobor, , , . conduiramur, , and parzival, - . connla, , , , . constituent elements in the romances, - . corbenic, , . cormac's visit to the otherworld, - , . counsels, the, in the romances, . crestiens, p. = nasciens, p. . cuchulainn, , , , , conception of, , _gess_ of, , parallel of legend to mediæval romances, - . cumhall, father of fionn, - . curoi mac daire, . cynewulf, . dagda, the, and the cauldron, - , . deirdre, , and the sons of usnech, . diarmaid, , _gess_ of, . didot-perceval, prose sequel to borron's poem, numbered as c , , , , , , , , , , , , the quest in, - , , , , , zarncke's opinion of, , authorship of according to birch-hirschfeld, - , , , , , , relationship to conte du graal, - , origin of, , , , stag hunt in, - , - , - , , , , - , , . dietrich saga, . domanig, parzival-studien, . duvau, . dwarves incident in chrestien and mabinogi, . elton, . emer, wooing of, - . encyclopædia britannica, . england, arrival of grail in - , birch-hirschfeld , joseph legend in - . enygeus (brons' wife), , . evangelium nicodemi, - . espinogre, . expulsion and return formula (aryan), , - , , , - , , , , . fand, . faust, . fenian saga or cycle, sword in, - , . feud-quest in the romances and in celtic tradition, - . finn-eges, - , . fionn (finn), fionn-saga, - , , connection with great fool and boyhood of peredur, - , - , fionn's enchantment, - , and sword, - , , in the otherworld, - , and salmon, - , , , , , , . fish, according to birch-hirschfeld, , martin, - , . see also salmon. fisher king, fisher or rich fisher, , , as grail-keeper, - , relation the promised knight, - , , , , , accounted for by birch-hirschfeld, , , , , , , , , , , , , author's explanation of, - , , in wolfram, . fisher king's daughter, - . fisher king's father, , , , . fitzgerald, , . fomori, , . förster on peredur, . frederick ii, , in the kyffhäuser, - . frederick i (barbarossa), - . furnivall, , , - , estimate of queste criticised, - . gaelic talismans = grail and lance, . gaidoz, . galahad, galahad quest, , , - , as promised knight, - , , , , , , , , , , comparison with perceval quest, , morality of, , - , , . gaston paris on relation between chrestien and mabinogi, . gautier (de doulens), pseudo-gautier, numbered a ii., - , statements respecting in ms., , berne ms. of, , - , , - , - , , , - , , , , , , - , relation to didot-perceval, - , to mabinogi , and - , , , visit to grail castle in, - , gawain quest in, and - , , , , , . gautier (walter) de montbeliart and borron, , , , , . gawain (gauvain), , , , visit to grail king, , , , martin's view of, and , , , , special form of quest, - , , , , visit to magic castle, - , in heinrich, - , , and orgueilleuse, - , , , - . geasa, - . geoffrey of monmouth, , , , . gerald (giraldus cambrensis), testimony respecting map's authorship, - , . gerbert, numbered a iv., , , , love _motif_ in, , , , , , the witch who brings the dead to life in, - , , - , , , , chastity ideal in, , , relation to wolfram, - . gervasius of tilbury, , . glastonbury, skeat's view, , zarncke, , , and avalon, - . goethe, . gonemans, - , and fisher king, , , and the witch, - , advice to perceval, - . see also gurnemanz. goon desert, , . grail, , hypothetical christian origin of, , first possessor of, - , solace of joseph, - , connection with sacrament, and , and trinity, , properties and effect of, - , name, , arrival in england, - , - , - , , , , - , phraseology used by romances in mentioning it, , - , symbol of christ's body, , , symbol of avalon, , - , , - , absence of from mabinogi and thornton sir p., , apparently foreign to celtic legend, , , various forms of visit to castle of, - , double nature of, - , parallel to magic vessel of celtic tradition, - , and fionn, , , , mode of transformation, , , , in wolfram, - , in wagner, - , - . grail (early history of), two forms, - , joseph form, , relation to christian origin hypothesis, , , brons form, , , two forms in french romances, - , later than queste, , - , , according to birch-hirschfeld, - , , , origin of, and . grail (quest of), two forms, - , perceval form, , relation to celtic origin hypothesis, , , , , , object of according to different versions, - , original form of, , , perceval form older, - , - , - , - , , , mabinogi form of, - , , inconsistency of accounts respecting, - , two formulas fused in, , constituent elements in, - , mode of transformation, , - , , , , , . grail legend, romance or cycle, origin of according to birch-hirschfeld, , , christian element in, , genesis and growth of, - , popularity of, , , development of ethical ideas in, _et seq._, , future of, , . grail-keeper and promised knight, - . grail-messenger and rosette, . see also loathly damsel. graine, . gramoflanz, . grand st. graal, numbered e , authorship ascribed to borron, , helinandus' testimony, , - , , - , - , , conflicting accounts respecting promised knight in, - , , , , - , , - , , authorship of, - , , , , - , , , , prologue of and brandan legend, - . great fool, lay or tale of the, - , , prose opening, - , comparison with romances, - , originality of, , relation to fionn legend, , lay, - , , , ethical import of, - . gregory of tours and evangelium nicodemi, . greloguevaus, . grimm, no. , der krautesel, , , , - , . gudrun, . guinevere, . gurnemanz, , , , - . see also gonemans. guyot = kiot, . gwalchmai, - , . see gawain. gwion and fionn, . hahn, j. g. von, - . halliwell, , . haunted castle, - . hawker, . hebron, = brons, which see. hector, . heinrich von dem türlin, numbered k, , citation of chrestien, , , , martin's view of, , , visit to grail castle in, - and , double origin, , , special form of quest, - and , parallel with sleeping beauty, . hélie de borron, - , testimony of, - , . helinandus, , , , . helyas, = ysaics, . hennessy, . henry ii, - . herodias, , . hertz' views, - . how the great tuairsgeul etc., . hucher, , attempt to harmonise conflicting accounts in borron, , statement of views, - , criticised by birch-hirschfeld, and , , and cauldron, . iduna, apples of, . john the baptist, . jonaans, , . joseph of arimathea, joseph legend, - , , , and grail, - , , , and england, - , , , , , , , , , , , - , - , , , and the fisher, , , apocryphal legend of, - , . joseph, metrical, poem by robert de borron, numbered b , author of, , - , , - , - , - , two accounts in, - , , , - , - , relation to didot-perceval according to birch-hirschfeld, - , . josephes (son of joseph), and veronica, , - , . josue, , , . kay, . keating and the treasures of the tuatha de danann, . kennedy's fellow with the goat-skin, , castle knock, , great fool, - , son of bad counsel, - , fionn's visit to cuana, , haunted castle tale, , . kiot, , san marte's view, - , - , , and wolfram, - . klinschor, , . knight errantry, . knighthood, prototype of in celtic tradition, . knights of the red branch, . knowles' said and saiyid, . koch, kyffhäuser sage, . köhler, . kundry in wagner, - , . see loathly damsel. küpp on pseudo-chrestien, , , and the branch, , . kynddelw, . lambar, - , , . lame king, see maimed king. lance, , and grail legend according to birch-hirschfeld, , , . lancelot, , , , , , , , , - , , , . latin original of french romances probable, . liebrecht, - . llyr llediath, - . loathly damsel, , and rosette, , in mabinogi and chrestien, , hero's cousin, - , double origin of in romances, - , and wagner, . longis, . luces de gast, - . luces (lucius), , . lufamour, . lug lamhfhada, , , . mabinogi of peredur (generally mabinogi sometimes peredur) numbered h , , , , , villemarqué on, - , , simrock on, , , nash, , , hucher, , lateness of according to birch-hirschfeld, - , - , relation to conte du graal, - , dwarves incident in, , greater delicacy in blanchefleur incident, , blood drops incident, - , differences with chrestien, - , machinery of quest in, - , relation to manessier, - , origin and development of, - , special indebtedness to chrestien, , , relation to sir perceval, - , counsels in, , apparent absence of grail from, , comparison with great fool tale, - , with great fool lay, - , , with gerbert's witch incident, - , , visit to talismans castle in, - and , , , , , , , fusion of numerous celtic tales in, - , sex-relations in, , . maidens' castle, parallels to in celtic tradition, - . maimed or lame or sick king, , - , , , , parallel with arthur, , probable absence from proto mabinogi, , belongs to feud quest, , parallel to fionn, , . malory, . manaal, . manannan mac lir, - , , and bran, . manessier, numbered a iii, - , date etc., - , - , - , , , , , , , , , relation to the mabinogi, - , - , , , disregard of question, - , , - . manus, - . mapes or map, , , , not author of queste or grand st. graal according to birch-hirschfeld, - . martin's views, - , kyffhäuser hypothesis criticised, , , wolfram and gerbert, . meaux, . menglad, . merlin, , , . merlin, borron's poem, , d, , , - , . meyer, kuno, , . minnedienst, - . modred, . montsalvatch, . mordrains, , - , , . morgan la fay, . morvan lez breiz, , , . moys or moses, - , , , , . mythic conceptions in the romances, . nasciens, , , , . nash, . nibelungenlied, , , . nicodemus, . noisi, , . o'daly, - , . odin, - . o'donovan, , , . oengus of the brug, - , and swanmaid, . o'flanagan, . ogma, . oisin, , , and gwion, , . o'kearney, . orgueilleuse, celtic character of, and , illustrates mediæval morality, - , . osiris, . pagan essence of grail etc. in the christianised romances, . partinal, , , - . parzival, , - . see perceval and wolfram. paulin-paris, , explanation of word grail, , , - , . pearson on the veronica legend, , and st. brandan, . peleur, . pelleans or pellehem, - , . pelles, - , . perceval, perceval-quest, type hero of quest, - , , , relation to the grail-keeper, - , - , - , oldest hero of quest, , , , , - , according to birch-hirschfeld, - , , in didot-perceval and conte du graal, - , in mabinogi and conte du graal, - , relation to (bespelled) cousin, - , relation of existing versions to earliest form, , in the thornton ms. romance, - , hero of expulsion and return formula, - , parallel with highland folk-tales, - , relation to twin brethren folk-tale and dualism in, - , , versions of quest, - , visit to the maidens' castle, - , , , significance of didot-perceval form, , , and sword, , castle of maidens, , , , parallel with diarmaid, , possible hero of haunted castle form, - , relation to fisher, , his silence, - , , superiority to galahad quest, , - , - , , , , , - . see also parzival and peredur. perceval's aunt, . perceval's sister, - , . perceval's uncle, . perceval le gallois, numbered g , authorship, , - , , , , , . peredur (hero of mabinogi = perceval), peredur-saga, , mother of, , - , parallel to tom of the goat-skin, , the sword test, , hero of the stag hunt, - , , original form of saga, - , - , , , , , - , and fionn, and , , fish absent from, , genesis and growth of, - , , blanchefleur incident in, . see perceval. peronnik l'idiot, , . perseus, . petrus, , , - , , , , connection with geoffrey conversion legend, . pfaffe amis, . pilate, , . potter thompson and arthur, , . potvin, , , , his views, , , . prester john, . procopius, . promised or good knight, and grail keeper, - , galahad as, - work of, - , qualifications of, - , , . prophecy incident in grail romances, . pseudo-chrestien, , . pseudo-gautier, numbered aii_a_, , - , , , , , , , . pseudo-manessier, numbered aiii_a_, , , - . queste del st. graal, numbered d - , varying redactions distinguished typographically, , - , , - , , three drafts of, - , - , glorification of virginity in, , , , , relation to grand st. graal, - , to conte du graal, - , , , authorship of, - , , , , , visit to grail castle in, - , , , , , , , , , , , ideal of, - and - , ideal criticised, - , merits of, - , , inferiority to wolfram, , . question, birch-hirschfeld's opinion, , , belongs to unspelling quest, - , , , , wolfram's presentment, - . red knight, - , - , , . renan on celtic poetry, - . rhys, , , , bran legend, - , . rich fisher or king. see fisher king. riseut, . robert de borron. see borron. rochat, , his views, - . roland, , . roménie, . rosette, , . see loathly damsel. salmon of wisdom, - . san marte, views, - , - , and wolfram, - . sarras, , , . schröder, brandan legend, - . seat, empty or perillous, - , - . secret words, , , . seraphe, . sex-relations in middle ages, - . siegfried, , , , , - . simei, . simrock, views, - , , , , , , - . skeat, . skene, - . sleep and the magic castle myth, - . sleeping beauty, parallel with heinrich's version, , ethical import of, . solomon's sword, . see sword. sons of usnech, , . sorceresses of gloucester, , , . spontaneity of folk tradition, , - . stag hunt in conte du graal and mabinogi, - , in didot-perceval, , parallel with lay of great fool, . steinbach on sir perceval, - . stephens, - . stokes, , , . suetonius, . sword, , , belongs more to feud quest, - , found also in unspelling quest, , of lug, , in celtic myth, - , - . taboo and geasa, . taliesin, , , and oisin, - . templars, . tennyson, , . tethra, . thor, irish parallels to, - . thornton ms. sir perceval (often simply sir perceval), numbered i , , - , - , , , steinbach's theory of, - , criticised, , absence of grail from, , connection with great fool tale, - , , - , witch incident, , , . tír-na n-og, , , , , . titurel, . titus, . trinity, symbolizing of, . tuatha de danann, treasures of, - , - , , . two brothers tale, , - . ultonian cycle, . unspelling quest, , celtic parallels to, - , . urban (urlain), , , . van santen, . vanishing of bespelled castle, - . veronica (verrine), , , ward's theory, . vespasian, , . vessel in celtic myth, , in ultonian cycle, , in welsh myth, , in celtic folk-tales, . see grail. villemarqué, views - , , , . virginity, . wagner, - . ward, , . wartburg krieg and brandan legend, . william of malmesbury, , zarncke's opinion of, , , ward's opinion of, . windisch, , . witch who brings the dead to life, - . wolfram von eschenbach, numbered f , sources, , - , - , , and gerbert, , - , , , - , , , brother incident in, , - , branch in, , magician lord, , account of mediæval morality, - , , ideal of, - , , , , pattern for future growth of legend, , relation to chrestien, - . woman in celtic tradition, - . wülcker, evangelium nicodemi, - . zarncke, views, - , , , . harrison and sons, printers in ordinary to her majesty, st. martin's lane, london. footnotes: [ ] fully described by potvin, vi, lxix, etc. [ ] potvin, vi, lxxv, etc. [ ] birch-hirschfeld: die sage vom gral, vo., leipzig, , p. . [ ] birch-hirschfeld, p. . [ ] birch-hirschfeld, p. . [ ] birch-hirschfeld, p. , quoting the colophon of a paris ms., after paulin paris, cat. des mss. français, vol. ii, pp. , etc. [ ] birch-hirschfeld, p. . [ ] this prologue is certainly not chrestien's work; but there is no reason to doubt that it embodies a genuine tradition, and affords valuable hints for a reconstruction of the original form of the story. _cf._ otto küpp in zeitschrift für deutsche philologie, vol. xvii., no. . [ ] potvin's text, from the mons ms., is taken as basis. [ ] several mss. here intercalate the history of joseph of arimathea: joseph of barimacie had the dish made; with it he caught the blood running from the saviour's body as it hung on the cross, he afterwards begged the body of pilate; for the devotion showed the grail he was denounced to the jews, thrown into prison, delivered thence by the lord, exiled together with the sister of nicodemus, who had an image of the lord. joseph and his companions came to the promised land, the white isle, a part of england. there they warred against them of the land. when joseph was short of food he prayed to the creator to send him the grail wherein he had gathered the holy blood, after which to them that sat at table the grail brought bread and wine and meat in plenty. at his death, joseph begged the grail might remain with his seed, and thus it was that no one, of however high condition, might see it save he was of joseph's blood. the rich fisher was of that kin, and so was greloguevaus, from whom came perceval. it is hardly necessary to point out that this must be an interpolation, as if gauvain had really learnt all there was to be told concerning the grail, there would have been no point in the reproaches addressed him by the countryfolk. the gist of the episode is that he falls asleep before the tale is all told. [ ] the existence of this fragment shows the necessity of collating all the mss. of the conte du graal and the impossibility of arriving at definite conclusions respecting the growth of the work before this is done. the writer of this version evidently knew nothing of queste or grand st. graal, whilst he had knowledge of borron's poem, a fact the more remarkable since none of the other poets engaged upon the conte du graal knew of borron, so far, at least, as can be gathered from printed sources. it is hopeless in the present state of knowledge to do more than map out approximately the leading sections of the work. [ ] it is by no means clear to me that gerbert's portion of the conte du graal is an interpolation. i am rather inclined to look upon it as an independent finish. as will be shown later on, it has several features in common with both mabinogi and wolfram, features pointing to a common prototype. [ ] in the solitary ms. which gives this version, it follows, as has already been stated, prose versions of robert de borron's undoubted poems, "joseph of arimathea" and "merlin." [ ] birch-hirschfeld, in his summary (p. , l. ) or his ms. authority, b.m., xix, e. iii., has transposed the relationships. [ ] and buried it, adds b. h. in his summary, whether on ms. authority or not i cannot say, but the welsh translation has--"there was a period of years" (an obvious mistake on the part of the translator) "after the passion of j. c. when jos. of a. came; he who buried j. c. and drew him down from the cross." [ ] thus was evelach called as a christian, adds b. h. here w. agrees with furnivall. [ ] here birch-hirschfeld's summary agrees with w. [ ] b. h. agrees with w. [ ] according to b. h., the recluse tells him he has fought with his friends, whereupon, ashamed, he hurries off. [ ] b. h. here agrees with w. [ ] b. h. has _five_ candles. [ ] b. h.: "when will the holy vessel come to still the pain i feel? never suffered man as i." [ ] b. h. agrees with w. [ ] b. h. agrees with furnivall. [ ] b. h., the _ninth_. [ ] b. h., the vision is that of a crowned old man, who with two knights worships the cross. [ ] b. h., nasciens. [ ] b. h. has all this passage, save that the references to the vision at the cross-ways seem omitted. [ ] b. h., the latter. [ ] b. h., in chaldee. [ ] b. h., labran slays urban. [ ] the text has urban. [ ] b. h., thus was the king wounded, and he was galahad's grandfather. [ ] it does not appear from b. h.'s summary whether his text agrees with f. or w. [ ] b. h., seven knights. [ ] b. h., that was the castle of corbenic where the holy grail was kept. [ ] b. h., the castle of the maimed king. [ ] b. h., ten. obviously a mistake on the part of his text, as the nine with the three grail questers make up twelve, the number of christ's disciples. [ ] b. h., three. [ ] b. h. agrees with f. [ ] one cannot see from b. h. whether his text agrees with f. or w. [ ] b. h. agrees with f. [ ] it will be advisable to give here the well-known passage from the chronicle of helinandus, which has been held by most investigators to be of first-rate importance in determining the date of the grand st. graal. the chronicle ends in the year , and must therefore have been finished in that or the following year, and as the passage in question occurs in the earlier portion of the work it may be dated about two years earlier (birch-hirschfeld, p. ). "hoc tempore ( - ) in britannia cuidam heremitae demonstrata fuit mirabilis quaedam visio per angelum de joseph decurione nobili, qui corpus domini deposuit de cruce et de catino illo vel paropside, in quo dominus caenavit cum discipulis suis, de quo ab eodem heremita descripta est historia quae dicitur gradale. gradalis autem vel gradale gallice dicitur scutella lata et aliquantulum profunda, in qua preciosae dapes divitibus solent apponi gradatim, unus morsellus post alium in diversis ordinibus. dicitur et vulgari nomine greal, quia grata et acceptabilis est in ea comedenti, tum propter continens, quia forte argentea est vel de alia preciosa materia, tum propter contentum .i. ordinem multiplicem dapium preciosarum. hanc historiam latine scriptam invenire non potui sed tantum gallice scripta habetur a quibusdem proceribus, nec facile, ut aiunt, tota inveniri potest." the grand st. graal is the only work of the cycle now existing to which helinandus' words could refer; but it is a question whether he may not have had in view a work from which the grand st. graal took over its introduction. helinandus mentions the punning origin of the word "greal" (_infra_, p. ), which is only hinted at in the grand st. graal, but fully developed elsewhere, _e.g._, in the didot-perceval and in borron's poem. another point of great interest raised by this introduction will be found dealt with in appendix b. [ ] the ms. followed by furnivall has an illustration, in which joseph is represented as sitting under the cross and collecting the blood from the sides and feet in the basin. [ ] ms. reading. [ ] i have not thought it necessary to give a summary of the prose romance perceval le gallois. one will be found in birch-hirschfeld, pp. - . the version, though offering many interesting features, is too late and unoriginal to be of use in the present investigation. [ ] _cf._ p. as to this passage. [ ] it is forty-two years, according to d. queste (p. ), after the passion that joseph comes to sarras. [ ] it is plain that b i is abridged in the passage dealt with, from the following fact: joseph (v. , , etc.) praying to christ for help, reminds him of his command, that when he (joseph) wanted help he should come "devant ce veissel precieus où est votre sans glorieus." now christ's words to joseph in the prison say nothing whatever about any such recommendation; but e, grand st. graal, does contain a scene between our lord and joseph, in which the latter is bidden, "et quant tu vauras à moi parler si ouuerras l'arche en quel lieu que tu soies" (i, - ) from which the conclusion may be drawn that b i represents an abridged and garbled form of the prototype of e. [ ] in the mabinogi of branwen, the daughter of llyr, the warriors cast into the cauldron of renovation come forth on the morrow fighting men as good as they were before, except that they are not able to speak (mab., p. ). [ ] the version summarised by birch-hirschfeld. [ ] curiously enough this very text here prints urban as the name of the maimed king; urban is the antagonist of lambar, the father of the maimed king in the original draft of the queste, and his mention in this place in the text seems due to a misprint. in the episode there is a direct conflict of testimony between the first and second drafts, lambar slaving urlain in the former, urlain lambar in the latter. [ ] this account agrees with that of the second draft of the queste, in which urlain slays lambar. [ ] only _one_ beholder of the quest is alluded to, although in the queste, from which the grand st. graal drew its account, _three_ behold the wonders of the grail. [ ] this, of course, belongs to the second of the two accounts we have found in the poem respecting the promised knight, the one which makes him the grandson and not the son merely of brons. [ ] the object of the quest according to heinrich von dem türlin will be found dealt with in chapter vii. [ ] this is one of a remarkable series of points of contact between gerbert and wolfram von eschenbach. [ ] it almost looks as if the author of c were following here a version in which the hero only has to go once to the grail castle; nothing is said about perceval's first unsuccessful visit, and merlin addresses perceval as if he were telling him for the first time about matters concerning which he must be already fully instructed. [ ] it is remarkable, considering the scanty material at his disposal, how accurate schulz' analysis is, and how correct much of his argumentation. [ ] wagner has admirably utilised this hint of simrock's in his parsifal, when his kundry (the loathly damsel of chrestien and the mabinogi) is herodias. _cf._ _infra_, ch. x. [ ] excepting, of course, the late fifteenth and early sixteenth century paris imprints, which represented as a rule, however, the latest and most interpolated forms, and mons. fr. michel's edition of borron's poem. [ ] hucher's argument from v. (_supra_ p. ) that the poem knew of the grand st. graal is, however, not met. [ ] _vide_ p. , for birch-hirschfeld's summary comparison of the two works, and _cf._ _infra_ p. . [ ] _cf._ _infra_ p. , for a criticism of this statement. [ ] opera v. : unde et vir ille eloquio clarus w. mapus, oxoniensis archidiaconus (cujus animae propitietur deus) solita verborum facetia et urbanitate praecipua dicere pluris et nos in hunc modum convenire solebat: "multa, magister geralde, scripsistis et multum adhue scribitis, et nos multa diximus. vos scripta dedistis et nos verba." [ ] printed in full, hucher, i. , etc. [ ] printed by hucher, i. p. , etc. [ ] the remainder of birch-hirschfeld's work is devoted to proving that chrestien was the only source of wolfram von eschenbach, the latter's kiot being imagined by him to justify his departure from chrestien's version; departures occasioned by his dissatisfaction with the french poet's treatment of the subject on its moral and spiritual side. this element in the grail problem will be found briefly dealt with, appendix a. [ ] i have not thought it necessary, or even advisable, to notice what the "encyclopædia britannica" (part xli, pp. , ) and some other english "authorities" say about the grail legends. [ ] they are brought together by hucher, vol. i, p. , etc. [ ] in the preface to the second volume of his edition of chrestien's works (halle, ), w. förster distinguishes peredur from the lady of the fountain and from geraint, which he looks upon as simple copies of chrestien's poems dealing with the same subjects. peredur has, he thinks, some welsh features. [ ] it is perhaps only a coincidence that in gautier the "pucelle de malaire" is named riseut la bloie, and that rosette la blonde is the name of the loathly damsel whom perceval meets in company of the beau mauvais, and whom birch-hirschfeld supposes to have suggested to chrestien _his_ loathly damsel, the grail messenger. but from the three versions one gets the following:--riseut (gautier), loathly damsel (didot-perceval), grail messenger (chrestien), = peredur's cousin, who in the mabinogi is the loathly grail messenger, and the protagonist in the stag-hunt. [ ] i have not thought it necessary to discuss seriously the hypothesis that chrestien may have used the mabinogi as we now have it. the foregoing statement of the facts is sufficient to negative it. [ ] the counsels. _chrestien_ (v. , , etc.): aid dames and damsels, for he who honoureth them not, his honour is dead; serve them likewise; displease them not in aught; one has much from kissing a maid if she will to lie with you, but if she forbid, leave it alone; if she have ring, or wristband, and for love or at your prayer give it, 'tis well you take it. never have comradeship with one for long without seeking his name; speak ever to worthy men and go with them; ever pray in churches and monasteries (then follows a dissertation on churches and places of worship generally). _mabinogi_ (p. ): wherever a church, repeat there thy paternoster; if thou see meat and drink, and none offer, take; if thou hear an outcry, especially of a woman, go towards it; if thou see a jewel, take and give to another to obtain praise thereby; pay thy court to a fair woman, _whether she will or no_, thus shalt thou render thyself a better man than before. (in the italicised passage the mabinogi gives the direct opposite of chrestien, whom he has evidently misunderstood.) _sir perceval_ (p. ): "luke thou be of mesure bothe in haulle and boure, and fonde to be fre." "there thou meteste with a knyghte, do thi hode off, i highte, and haylse hym in hy" (he interprets the counsel to be of measure by only taking half the food and drink he finds at the board of the lady of the tent. the kissing of the lady of the tent which follows is in no way connected with his mother's counsel.) _wolfram_: "follow not untrodden paths; bear thyself ever becomingly; deny no man thy greeting; accept the teaching of a greybeard; if ring and greeting of a fair woman are to be won strive thereafter, kiss her and embrace her dear body, for that gives luck and courage, if so she be chaste and worthy." beside the mother's counsels perceval is admonished by gonemans or the personage corresponding to him. in _chrestien_ ( , , _et seq._) he is to deny mercy to no knight pleading for it; to take heed he be not over-talkful; to aid and counsel dames and damsels and all others needing his counsel; to go often to church; not to quote his mother's advice, rather to refer to him (gonemans). in the _mabinogi_ he is to leave the habits and discourse of his mother; if he see aught to cause him wonder not to ask its meaning. in _wolfram_ he is not to have his mother always on his lips; to keep a modest bearing; to help all in need, but to give wisely, not heedlessly; and in especial not to ask too much; to deny no man asking mercy; when he has laid by his arms to let no traces thereof be seen, but to wash hands and face from stain of rust, thereby shall ladies be pleased; to hold women in love and honour; never to seek to deceive them (as he might do many), for false love is fleeting and men and women are one as are sun and daylight.--there seems to me an evident progression in the ethical character of these counsels. originally they were doubtless purely practical and somewhat primitive of their nature. as it is, chrestien's words sound very strange to modern ears. [ ] in the notes to my two articles in the "folk-lore record" will be found a number of references establishing this fact. [ ] the hero renews his strength after his various combats by rubbing himself with the contents of a vessel of balsam. he has moreover to enter a house the door of which closes to of itself (like the grail castle portcullis in wolfram), and which kills him. he is brought to life by the friendly raven. the mysterious carlin also appears, "there was a turn of her nails about her elbows, and a twist of her hoary hair about her toes, and she was not joyous to look upon." she turns the hero's companions into stone, and to unspell them he must seek a bottle of living water and rub it upon them, when they will come out alive. this is like the final incident in many stories of the two brothers class. _cf._ note, p. . [ ] o'daly's version consists of quatrains; campbell's of . the correspondence between them, generally very close (frequently verbal), is shown by the following table:-- o'd., , . c., , . -- c., . o'd., . c., . o'd., - . -- o'd., . c., . o'd., - . c., - . o'd., . -- -- c., - . o'd., - . c., - . o'd., - . -- o'd., - . c., - . o'd., . -- o'd., - . c., - . o'd., . c., . o'd., . c., . o'd., , . c., , . o'd., . c., . o'd., . c., . -- c., . o'd., . c., . o'd., . -- o'd., . c., . o'd., . c., . o'd., - . c., - . o'd., - . -- o'd., , . c., , . -- c., . o'd., . -- o'd., . c., . o'd., - . -- [ ] of this widely spread group, grimm's no. , die zwei brüder, may be taken as a type. the brethren eat heart and liver of the gold bird and thereby get infinite riches, are schemed against by a goldsmith, who would have kept the gold bird for himself, seek their fortunes throughout the world accompanied by helping beasts, part at crossways, leaving a life token to tell each one how the other fares; the one delivers a princess from a dragon, is cheated of the fruit of the exploit by the red knight, whom after a year he confounds, wins the princess, and, after a while, hunting a magic hind, falls victim to a witch. his brother, learning his fate through the life token, comes to the same town, is taken for the young king even by the princess, but keeps faith to his brother by laying a bare sword twixt them twain at night. he then delivers from the witch's spells his brother, who, learning the error caused by the likeness, and thinking advantage had been taken of it, in a fit of passion slays him, but afterwards, hearing the truth, brings him back to life again. grimm has pointed out in his notes the likeness between this story and that of siegfried (adventures with mimir, fafnir, brunhilde, and gunnar). in india the tale figures in somadeva's katha sarit sagara (brockhaus' translation, ii., , _et seq._). the one brother is transformed into a demon through accidental sprinkling from a body burning on a bier. he is in the end released from this condition by his brother's performing certain exploits, but there is no similarity of detail. other variants are _zingerle_ (p. ) where the incident occurs of the hero's winning the king's favour by making his bear dance before him; this i am inclined to look upon as a weakened recollection of the incident of a hero's making a princess _laugh_, either by playing antics himself or making an animal of his play them (_see_ _supra_, p. , kennedy's irish tale). grimm also quotes _meier_ and , but these are only variants of the dragon-killing incident. in the variant of , given p. , the hero makes the king laugh, and in both stories occurs the familiar incident of the hero coming unknown into a tournament and overcoming all enemies, as in peredur (inc. ). _wolf._, p. , is closer, and here the hero is counselled by a grey mannikin whom he will unspell if he succeeds. _stier_, no. i. (not p. , as grimm erroneously indicates) follows almost precisely the same course as grimm's , save that there are three brothers. _graal_, p. , has the magic gold bird opening, but none of the subsequent adventures tally. _schott_, no. , is also cited by grimm, but mistakenly; it belongs to the faithful-servant group. very close variants come from sweden (cavallius-oberleitner, v_a_, v_b_) and italy (pentamerone, i. and i. ). the swedish tales have the miraculous conception opening, which is a prominent feature in tales belonging to the expulsion and return group (_e.g._, perseus, cu-chulaind, and taliesin), but present otherwise very nearly the same incidents as grimm. the second of the italian versions has the miraculous conception opening so characteristic of this group of folk-tales, and of the allied formula group, the attainment of riches consequent upon eating the heart of a sea dragon, the tournament incident (though without the disguise of the hero), the stag hunt, wherein the stag, an inimical wizard haunting the wood, is a cannibal and keeps the captured hero for eating. in the story of the delivery by the second brother, the separating sword incident occurs. the first version opens with what is apparently a distorted and weakened form of the hero's clearing a haunted house of its diabolical inmates (_see_ _infra_ ch. vii., gawain) and then follows very closely grimm's two brothers, save that the alluring witch is young and fair, the whole tale being made to point the moral, "more luck than wit." straparola, _a_ , is a variant of the dragon fight incident alone. it is impossible not to be struck by the fact that in this widely spread group of tales are to be found some of the most characteristic incidents of the perceval and allied great fool group. the only version, however, which brings the two groups into formal contact is o'daly's form of the great fool. [ ] the brother feature appears likewise in wolfram von eschenbach, where parzival's final and hardest struggle is against the unknown brother, as the great fool's is against the gruagach. this may be added to other indications that wolfram _did_ have some other version before him besides chrestien's. [ ] i cannot but think that these words have connection with the incident in the english sir perceval of the hero's throwing into the flames and thus destroying his witch enemy. [ ] i must refer to my mabinogion studies, i. branwen for a discussion of the relation of this tale with branwen and with the teutonic heldensage. [ ] another parallel is afforded by the tale of conall gulban (campbell, iii., ). conall, stretched wounded on the field, sees "when night grew dark a great turkish carlin, and she had a white glaive of light with which she could see seven miles behind her and seven miles before her; and she had a flask of balsam carrying it." the dead men are brought to life by having three drops of balsam put into their mouths. the hero wins both flask and glaive. [ ] _cf._ my branwen for remarks on the mythological aspect of the ballad. it should be noted that most of the ballads traditionally current in the highlands are of semi-literary origin, _i.e._, would seem to go back to the compositions of mediæval irish bards, who often sprinkled over the native tradition a profusion of classical and historical names. i do not think the foreign influence went farther than the "names" of some personages, and such as it is is more at work in the ballads than in the tales. [ ] this may seem to conflict with the statement made above (p. ), that the mabinogi probably took over the maimed uncle from chrestien. but there were in all probability several forms of the story; that hinted at in chrestien and found in manessier had its probable counterpart in celtic tradition as well as that found in gerbert. it is hardly possible to determine what was the form found in the proto-mabinogi, the possibility of its having been exactly the same as that of gerbert is in no way affected by the fact that the mabinogi, as we now have it, has in this respect been influenced by chrestien. meanwhile birch-hirschfeld's hypothesis that gerbert's section of the conte du graal is an interpolation between gautier and manessier is laid open to grave doubt. it is far more likely that gerbert's work was an independent and original attempt to provide an ending for chrestien's unfinished poem, and that he had before him a different version of the original from that used by gautier and manessier. [ ] it occurs also in peredur (inc. ), where the hero comes to the castle of the youths, who, fighting every day against the addanc of the cave, are each day slain, and each day brought to life by being anointed in a vessel of warm water and with precious balsam. [ ] for the second time, if gerbert's continuation be really intended for our present text of gautier, and if potvin's summary of gerbert is to be relied upon; birch-hirschfeld seemingly differs from him here, and makes the king at once mention the flaw. [ ] it may be worth notice that v. , is the same as chrestien, v. , . [ ] it is evident that, although in the ms. in which this version is found it is followed by manessier's section, the poem was intended by gerbert to end here. [ ] told at other times, and notably by gautier himself (inc. ), of perceval, where the feature of a dead knight lying on the altar is added. [ ] according to the montpellier ms., which here agrees substantially with potvin's text (the mons ms.), this is gauvain's second visit to the grail castle. at his first visit he had been subjected to the sword test and had slept. the mystic procession is made up as follows:--squire with lance; maidens with plate; two squires with candlesticks; fair maiden weeping, in her hands a "graal;" four squires with the bier, on which lies the knight and the broken sword. gauvain would fain learn about these things, but is bidden first to make the sword whole. on his failure he is told vous n'avez par encore tant fet d'armes, que vous doiez savoir, etc., and then goes to sleep. his awakening finds him in a marsh. [ ] it may be conjectured that the magic vessel which preserves to this enchanted folk the semblance of life passes into the hero's possession when he asks about it, and that deprived of it their existence comes to an end, as would that of the anses without the apples of iduna. i put this into a note, as i have no evidence in support of the theory. but read in the light of this conjecture some hitherto unnoticed legend may supply the necessary link of testimony. [ ] nearly all the objections to the view suggested in the text may be put aside as due to insufficient recognition of the extent to which the two formulas have been mingled, but there is one which seems to me of real moment. the wasting of the land which i have looked upon as belonging to the unspelling formula, is traced by the queste to the blow struck by king lambar against king urlain, a story which, as we have seen, is very similar to that which forms the groundwork of one at least of the models followed by the conte du graal in its version of the feud quest. it does not seem likely that the queste story is a mere echo of that found in the conte du graal, nor that the fusion existed so far back as in a model common to both. but the second alternative is possible. [ ] i do not follow m. hucher upon the (as it seems to me) very insecure ground of gaulish numismatic art. the object which he finds figured in pre-christian coins may be a cauldron--and it may not--and even if it is a cauldron it may have no such significance as he ascribes to it. [ ] _cf._ as to lug d'arbois de jubainville, cycle mythologique irlandais; paris, , p. . he was revered by all celtic races, and has left his trace in the name of several towns, chief among them lug-dunum = lyons. in so far as the celts had departmental gods, he was the god of handicraft and trade; but _cf._ as to this rhys, hibb. lect., p. - . [ ] _cf._ d'arbois de jubainville, _op. cit._, p. - . the dagda--the good god--seems to have been head of the irish olympus. a legend anterior to the eleventh century, and belonging probably to the oldest stratum of celtic myth, ascribes to him power over the earth: without his aid the sons of miledh could get neither corn nor milk. it is, therefore, no wonder to find him possessor of the magic cauldron, which may be looked upon as a symbol of fertility, and, as such, akin to similar symbols in the mythology of nearly every people. [ ] _cf._ as to the mythic character of the tuatha de danann, d'arbois de jubainville, _op. cit._, and my review of his work, folk-lore journal, june, . [ ] i at one time thought that the prohibition to reveal the "secret words," which is such an important element in robert de borron's version, might be referred to the same myth-root as the instances in the text. there is little or no evidence to sustain such a hazardous hypothesis. nevertheless it is worth while drawing attention in this place to that prohibition, for which i can offer no adequate explanation. [ ] powers of darkness and death. tethra their king reigns in an island home. it is from thence that the maiden comes to lure away connla of the golden hair, as is told in the leabhar na-h-uidhre, even as the grail messenger comes to seek perceval--"'tis a land in which is neither death nor old age--a plain of never ending pleasure," the counterpart, in fact, of that avalon to which arthur is carried off across the lake by the fay maiden, that avalon which, as we see in robert de borron, was the earliest home of the grail-host. [ ] _cf._ d'arbois de jubainville, _op. cit._ p. . [ ] when cuchulainn was opposing the warriors of ireland in their invasion of ulster one of his feats is to make smooth chariot-poles out of rough branches of trees by passing them through his clenched hand, so that however bent and knotted they were they came from his hands even, straight, and smooth. _tain bo cualgne_, quoted by windisch, rev. celt., vol. v. [ ] this epithet recalls lug, of whom it is the stock designation. now lug was _par excellence_ the craftsman's god; he, too, at the battle of mag tured acted as a sort of armourer-general to the tuatha de danann. a dim reminiscence of this may be traced in the words which the folk-tale applies to ullamh l.f., "he was the one special man for taking their arms." [ ] _cf._ my aryan expulsion and return formula, pp. , , for variants of these incidents in other stories belonging to this cycle and in the allied folk-tales. [ ] this incident is only found in the living fionn-_sage_, being absent from all the older versions, and yet, as the comparison with the allied perceval sage shows, it is an original and essential feature. how do the advocates of the theory that the ossianic cycle is a recent mass of legend, growing out of the lives and circumstances of historical men, account for this development along the lines of a formula with which, _ex hypothesi_, the legend has nothing to do? the fionn-_sage_, it is said, has been doctored in imitation of the cuchulainn-_sage_, but the assertion (which though boldly made has next to no real foundation) cannot be made in the case of the conte du graal. mediæval irish bards and unlettered highland peasants did not conspire together to make fionn's adventures agree with those of perceval. [ ] in the gawain form of the feud quest found in gautier, the knight whose death he sets forth to avenge is slain by the cast of a dart. can this be brought into connection with the fact that perceval slays with a cast of his dart the red knight, who, according to the thornton romance, is his father's slayer. [ ] this prose tale precedes an oral version of one of the commonest fenian poems, which in its present shape obviously goes back to the days when the irish were fighting against norse invaders. the poem, which still lives in ireland as well as in the highlands, belongs to that later stage of development of the fenian cycle, in which fionn and his men are depicted as warring against the norsemen. it is totally dissimilar from the prose story summarised above, and i am inclined to look upon the prose as belonging to a far earlier stage in the growth of the cycle, a stage in which the heroes were purely mythical and their exploits those of mythical heroes generally. [ ] the prohibition seems to be an echo of the widely-spread one which forbids the visitor to the otherworld tasting the food of the dead, which, if he break, he is forfeit to the shades. the most famous instance of this myth is that of persephone. [ ] _cf._ procopius quoted by elton, origins of english history, p. . [ ] prof. rhys, hibbert lectures for , looks upon him as a celtic zeus. he dispossessed his father of the brug by fraud, as zeus dispossessed kronos by force. [ ] d'arbois de jubainville, _op. cit._, p. . rhys, _op. cit._, p. . [ ] m. duvau, revue celtique, vol. ix., no. , has translated the varying versions of the story. [ ] like many of the older irish tales the present form is confused and obscure, but it is easy to arrive at the original. [ ] the part in brackets is found in one version only of the story. of the two versions each has retained certain archaic features not to be found in the other. [ ] summarised by d'arbois de jubainville, _op. cit._, p. . [ ] d'arbois de jubainville, p. . [ ] otto küpp, z.f.d. phil. xvii, i, , examining wolfram's version sees in the branch guarded by gramoflanz and broken by parzival a trace of the original myth underlying the story. gramoflanz is connected with the magic castle (one of the inmates of which is his sister), or with the otherworld. küpp's conjecture derives much force from the importance given to the branch in the irish tales as part of the gear of the otherworld. [ ] this recalls the fact that oengus of the brug fell in love with a swanmaid. see text and translation revue celtique, vol. iii., pp. , _et. seq._ the story is alluded to in the catalogue of epic tales (dating from the tenth century) found in the book of leinster. [ ] in a variant from kashmir (knowles' folk-tales of kashmir, london, , p. , _et. seq._), saiyid and said, this tale is found embedded in a twin-brethren one. [ ] frederick (i.) barbarossa is a mistake, as old as the seventeenth century (_cf._ koch, sage vom kaiser friedrich in kyffhäuser, leipzig, ), for frederick ii., the first german emperor of whom the legend was told. the mistake was caused by the fact that frederick took the place of a german red-bearded god, probably thor, hence the later identification with the _red-bearded_ frederick, instead of with that great opponent of the papacy whose death away in italy the german party refused for many years to credit. [ ] unless the passage relating to carl the great quoted by grimm (d.m., iii., ) from mon. germ. hist., vol. viii., , "inde fabulosum illud confictum de carolo magno, quasi de mortuis in id ipsum resuscitato, et alio nescio quo nihilominus redivivo," be older. [ ] liebrecht's edition of the otia imperialia, hanover, , p. , and note p. . [ ] martin zur gralsage, p. , arguing from the historical connection of frederick ii. with sicily, thinks that the localisation of this arthurian legend in that isle was the reason of its being associated with the hohenstauffen; in other words, the famous german legend would be an indirect offshot of the arthurian cycle. i cannot follow martin here. i see no reason for doubting the genuineness of the traditions collected by kuhn and schwartz, or for disbelieving that teutons had this myth as well as celts. it is no part of my thesis to exalt celtic tradition at the expense of german; almost all the parallels i have adduced between the romances and celtic mythology and folk-lore could be matched from those of germany. but the romances are historically associated with celtic tradition, and the parallels found in the latter are closer and more numerous than those which could be recovered from german tradition. it is, therefore, the most simple course to refer the romances to the former instead of to the latter. [ ] see grimm, d.m., ch. xxxii.; fitzgerald, rev. celt., iv., ; and the references in liebrecht, _op. cit._ [ ] personally communicated by the rev. mr. sorby, of sheffield. [ ] in chrestien the part of the magician lord is little insisted upon. but in wolfram he is a very important personage. it may here be noted that the effects which are to follow in chrestien the doing away with the enchantments of this castle, answer far more accurately to the description given by the loathly grail-maiden of the benefits which would have accrued had perceval put the question at the court of the fisher king than to anything actually described as the effect of that question being put, either by gautier, manessier, or gerbert. this castle seems, too, to be the one in which lodge the knights, each having his lady love with him, which the loathly maiden announces to be her home. [ ] kennedy follows in the main oss. soc., vol. ii, pp. , _et. seq._, an eighteenth century version translated by mr. o'kearney. this particular episode is found, pp. , _et. seq._ i follow the oss. soc. version in preference to kennedy's where they differ. [ ] the story as found in heinrich may be compared with the folk-tale of the sleeping beauty. she is a maiden sunk in a death-in-life sleep together with all her belongings until she be awakened by the kiss of the destined prince. may we not conjecture that in an older form of the story than any we now possess, the court of the princess vanished when the releasing kiss restored her to real life and left her alone with the prince? the comparison has this further interest, that the folk-tale is a variant of an old myth which figures prominently in the hero-tales of the teutonic race (lay of skirni, lay of swipday and menglad, saga of sigurd and brunhild), and that in its most famous form siegfried, answering in teutonic myth to fionn, is its hero. but peredur is a cymric fionn, so that the parallel between the two heroes, celtic and teutonic, is closer than at first appears when siegfried is compared only to his gaelic counterpart. [ ] i have not examined gawain's visit to the magic castle in detail, in the first place because it only bears indirectly upon the grail-quest, and then because i hope before very long to study the personality of gawain in the romances, and to throw light upon it from celtic mythic tradition in the same way that i have tried in the foregoing pages to do in the case of perceval. [ ] kennedy, legendary fictions, p. , _et. seq._ [ ] grimm, vol. iii., p. (note to märchen von einem der auszog das fürchten zu lernen), gives a number of variants. it should be noted that in this story there is the same mixture of incidents of the magic castle and haunted castle forms as in the romances. moreover, one of the trials to which the hero's courage is subjected is the bringing into the room of a coffin in which lies a dead man, just as in gawain's visit to the grail castle. again, as grimm notes, but mistakenly refers to perceval instead of to gawain, the hero has to undergo the adventures of the magic bed, which, when he lays himself down in it, dashes violently about through the castle and finally turns topsy turvy. in connection with this story, and with the whole series of mythical conceptions noted in the grail romances, chapter xxxii. of the deutsche mythologie deserves careful study. grimm compares conduiramur's (blanchefleur's) nightly visit to percival's chamber to the appearance at the bedside of the delivering hero of that white maiden, who is so frequently figured as the inmate of the haunted castle. as niece of the lord of the grail castle, blanchefleur is also a denizen of the otherworld, but i hardly think that the episode of perceval's delivering her from her enemies can be looked upon as a version of the removal of the spells of the haunted castle. in a recent number of the revue des traditions populaires (iii., p. ), there is a good breton version of the bespelled castle sunk under the waves. a fair princess is therein held captive; once a year the waves part and permit access, and he who is bold enough to seize the right moment wins princess and castle, which are restored to earth. [ ] whether it be the castle of the fisher king, _i.e._, the castle of the perceval quest; or the magic castle, _i.e._, the castle of the gawain quest. [ ] for fuller information about this mysterious fish, see rhys, hibbert lectures, pp. - . [ ] in an already quoted tale of campbell's (lviii., the rider of grianaig) allusion is made to the "black fisherman working at his tricks." campbell remarks that a similar character appears in other tales. can this wizard fisher be brought into contact with the rich fisher of pseudo-chrestien (_supra_, p. ), who knew much of black art, and could change his semblance a hundred times? [ ] complete text, edited by kuno meyer, revue celt., vol. v. major portion of text with english translation by dr. j. o'donovan, oss. soc., vol. iv. the tract as a whole is only known to us from a fifteenth century ms.; but the earlier portion of it appears in the l.n.h., in a strongly euhemerised form, only such incidents being admitted as could be presented historically, and these being divested of all supernatural character. see my paper, "folk-lore record," vol. iv., for a discussion of the genuine and early character of the tract. [ ] a reason for this concealment may be found in the idea, so frequently met with in a certain stage of human development, that the name is an essential portion of the personality, and must not be mentioned, especially to possible enemies or to beings possessed of magical powers, lest they should make hurtful use of it. [ ] _cf._ the whole of the book of rights for an exemplification of the way in which the pre-christian irishman was hedged and bound and fettered by this amazingly complicated system of what he might and what he might not do. [ ] they offer him dog's-flesh cooked on rowan spits, and, it has been conjectured that the _gess_ has a totemistic basis, culann's hound (cuchulainn) being forbidden to partake of the flesh of his totem. [ ] it is only within the last years that our knowledge of savage and semi-savage races has furnished us with a parallel to the "geasa" in the "taboo" of the polynesian. i am not advancing too much in the statement that this institution, although traces of it exist among all aryan races, had not the same importance among any as among the irish gael. it is another proof of the primitive character of irish social life, a character which may, perhaps, be ascribed to the assimilation by the invading celts of the beliefs and practices of much ruder races. [ ] mr. elton (origins, pp. , ) looks upon bran and caradoc as original war gods. caradoc, he thinks, was confounded with caractacus, bran with brennus, and hence the two personages were sent to rome in imitation of the presumed historical prototypes. [ ] kynddelw's triad does not really refer to the "blessed" families at all, but to the "faithful" or "loyal" families. stephen's mistake arose from the fact of the name madawc occurring in two sets of triads, one relating to the "lordly" families of britain in which the family of llyr llediath also figures, and one to the faithful families. in both triads the name is probably a mistake for mabon. (note communicated by professor rhys.) i let the statement in the text stand, to exhort myself and others to that fear of trusting authorities which in scholarship is the beginning of wisdom. [ ] professor rhys tells me this passage can only mean "blessed bran's head." [ ] mr. ward endorses zarncke's contention. according to him there is no trace of any connection between joseph and the evangelisation of britain which can be said to be older than the romances. the statements of the "de ant. eccl. glast." are, he thinks, no guide to the knowledge or opinions of william of malmesbury. [ ] i may here notice a theory to which my attention has only just been called. it is found cited in a work of great research, _die fronica_, by professor karl pearson, strassburg, . the author quotes an opinion of mr. jenner, of the british museum, that the head in the platter of the mabinogi may be derived from a veronica portrait. professor pearson expresses doubt, because such a procession of the veronica portrait and the passion instruments as the scene in the mabinogi would, _ex hypothesi_, imply is not known to him before the fourteenth century, whereas the mabinogi must be attributed, at latest, to the middle of the thirteenth century. mr. h. l. d. ward informs me that the suggestion was his. noting the connection of the veronica and grail legends, testified to by borron, it occurred to him that the whole scene at the wounded king's might be derived from the former legends. the wounded king, healed by the grail, would thus be a counterpart of the leprous vespasian healed by the veronica portrait, which some wandering "jongleur" turned boldly into an actual head. but it must be noted that in borron, our authority for the connection of the two legends, there is no wounded king at all; in the conte du graal the maimed king is not healed by any special talisman, but by the death of his enemy, the visible sign of which is that enemy's head, whilst in the "procession" (which mr. ward thinks to have been intended as a vision), the grail is certainly a vessel, and has no connection whatever with any head or portrait. the theory thus requires that the version which gives the oldest form of the hypothetical remodelled veronica legend omitted the very feature which was its sole _raison d'être_. [ ] mr. ward thinks the localisation a late one, and that practically there is no authority for it of an older date than the romances. he points out in especial that geoffrey's vita merlini, which has so much to say about the "insula pomorum" in no way connects it with glastonbury. there is considerable doubt as the etymology of glastonbury, but there is substantial unanimity of opinion among celtic scholars of the present day in referring it to a celtic rather than to a saxon source. be this as it may, the fact remains that at sometime in the course of the twelfth century the old christian site of glastonbury took, as it were, the place of the celtic paradise, and it seems far more likely that the transformation was effected in virtue of some local tradition than wholly through the medium of foreign romances. [ ] the pre-christian irish annals, which are for the most part euhemerised mythology, contain also a certain amount of race history; thus the struggle between the powers of light and darkness typified by the antagonism between tuatha de danann and fomori, is doubled by that between the fair invading celts and the short dark aborigines. but the latter has only left the barest trace of its existence in the national sagas. not until we come to that secondary stage of the fenian saga, which must have been shaped in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and which represents the fenians as warring against the harrying northmen, does the foreign element reappear in irish tradition. [ ] the tochmarc emer, or the wooing of emer by cuchullain, has been translated by professor kuno meyer in the archæological review, nos. - (london, ). the original text is found partly in the leabhar na h-uidhre, partly in later mss. [ ] the fate of the sons of usnech is known to us in two main redactions, one found in the book of leinster (compiled in the middle of the twelfth century from older ms.) printed by windisch, irische texte (first series) pp. - , and translated by m. poinsignon, revue des traditions populaires, iii, pp. - . a text printed and translated by j. o'flanagan (transactions of the gaelic society of dublin, , pp. - ), agrees substantially with this. the second redaction has only been found in later mss. mr. whitley stokes has given text and translation from a fifteenth century ms. (irische texte, ii. , pp. - ), and o'flanagan has edited a very similar version (_loc. cit._ pp. - ). this second version is fuller and more romantic; in it alone is to be found deirdre's lament on leaving scotland, one of the earliest instances in post-classic literature of personal sympathy with nature. but the earlier version, though it bear like so much else in the oldest irish ms. obvious traces of abridgment and euhemerism, is also full of the most delicate romantic touches. part of deirdre's lament over the slain noisi may be paraphrased thus:--"fair one, loved one, flower of beauty; beloved, upright and strong; beloved, noble and modest warrior. when we wandered through the woods of ireland, sweet with thee was the night's sleep! fair one, blue-eyed, beloved of thy wife, lovely to me at the trysting place came thy clear voice through the woods. i cannot sleep; half the night my spirit wanders far among throngs of men. i cannot eat or smile. break not to-day my heart; soon enough shall i lie within my grave. strong are the waves of the sea, but stronger is sorrow, conchobor." [ ] m. renan's article "de la poésie des races celtiques" (revue des deux mondes, , pp. - ) only came into my hands after the bulk of this chapter was printed, or i should hardly have dared to state in my own words those conclusions in which we agree. it may be useful to indicate those points in which i think this suggestive essay no longer represents the present state of knowledge. when m. renan wrote, the nature of popular tradition had been little investigated in france--hence a tendency to attribute solely to the celtic genius what is common to all popular tradition. little or nothing was then known in france of early irish history or literature--hence the wild, primitive character of celtic civilization is ignored. the "bardic" literature of wales was still assigned wholesale to the age of its alleged authors--hence a false estimate of the relations between the profane and ecclesiastical writings of the welsh. finally the three mabinogion (the lady of the fountain, geraint, peredur), which correspond to poems of chrestien's, are unhesitatingly accepted as their originals. the influence of welsh fiction in determining the courtly and refined nature of mediæval romance is, in consequence, greatly exaggerated. it is much to be wished that m. renan would give us another review of celtic literature based on the work of the last thirty years. his lucid and sympathetic criticism would be most welcome in a department of study which has been rather too exclusively left to the specialist. [ ] malory is a wonderful example of the power of style. he is a most unintelligent compiler. he frequently chooses out of the many versions of the legend, the longest, most wearisome, and least beautiful; his own contributions to the story are beneath contempt as a rule. but his language is exactly what it ought to be, and his has remained in consequence the classic english version of the arthur story. [ ] see p. for a brief summary of borron's conception; sin the cause of want among the people; the separation of the pure from the impure by means of the fish (symbol of christ); punishment of the self-willed false disciple; reward of brons by charge of the grail; symbolising of the trinity by the three tables and three grail keepers. [ ] the greater delicacy of the welsh tale has already been noted. "to make him such a offer before i am wooed by him, that, truly, can i not do," says the counterpart of blanchefleur in the mabinogi. "go my sister and sleep," answers peredur, "nor will i depart from thee until i do that which thou requirest." i cannot help looking upon the prominence which the welsh story-teller has given to this scene as his protest against the strange and to him repulsive ways of knightly love. the older, mythic nature of peredur's beloved, who might woo without forfeiting womanly modesty, in virtue of her goddesshood, had died away in the narrator's mind, the new ideal of courtly passion had not won acceptance from him. [ ] the perplexities which beset the modern reader of the queste are reflected in the laureate's retelling of the legend. nowhere else in the idylls has he departed so widely from his model. much of the incident is due to him, and replaces with advantage the nauseous disquisitions upon chastity which occupy so large a space in the queste. the artist's instinct, rather than the scholar's respect for the oldest form of the story, led him to practically restore perceval to his rightful place as hero of the quest. _his_ fortunes we can follow with an interest that passing shadow, galahad, wholly fails to evoke. nor, as may easily be seen, is the fundamental conception of the twelfth century romance to the laureate's taste. arthur is his ideal of manhood, and arthur's energies are practical and human in aim and in execution. what the "blameless king" speaks when he first learns of the quest represents, we may guess, the author's real attitude towards the whole fantastic business. it is much to be regretted by all lovers of english poetry that hawker's quest of the sangraal was never completed. the first and only chant is a magnificent fragment; with the exception of the laureate's sir galahad, the finest piece of pure literature in the cycle. hawker, alone, perhaps of moderns, could have kept the mediæval tone and spirit, and yet brought the quest into contact with the needs and ideas of to-day. [ ] _cf._ grimm, deutsche mythologie, ii, , and his references. [ ] the ideas held by many peoples in a primitive stage of culture respecting virginity are worthy careful study. some physiological basis may be found for them in the phenomena of hysteria, which must necessarily have appeared to such peoples evidences of divine or demoniac possession, and at that stage are hardly likely to have been met with save among unmarried women. in the french witch trials these phenomena are often presented by nuns, in whose case they were probably the outcome of a life at once celibate and inactive. on the other hand the persons accused of witchcraft were as a rule of the most abandoned character, and it is a, morally speaking, degraded class which has furnished professor charcot and his pupils with the subjects in whom they have identified all the phenomena that confront the student of witch trials. [ ] domanig, parzival-studien, i, ii, - . [ ] san-marte, parzival-studien, i-iii, - . [ ] some readers may be anxious to read wolfram's work to whom twelfth-century german would offer great difficulties. a few words on the translation into modern german may, therefore, not be out of place. san-marte's original translation ( - ) is full of gross blunders and mistranslations, and, what is worse, of passages foisted into the text to support the translator's own interpretation of the poem as a whole. simrock's, which followed, is extremely close, but difficult and unpleasing. san marte's second edition, corrected from simrock, is a great advance upon the first; but even here the translator has too often allowed his own gloss to replace wolfram's statement. a thoroughly faithful yet pleasing rendering is a desideratum. [ ] j. van santen, zur beurtheilung wolfram von eschenbach, wesel, , has attacked wolfram for his acceptance of the morality of the day, and has, on that ground, denied him any ethical or philosophic merit. the pamphlet is useful for its references, but otherwise worthless. the fact that wolfram does accept _minnedienst_ only gives greater value to his picture of a nobler and purer ideal of love, whilst to refuse recognition of his other qualities on this account is much as who should deny dante's claim to be regarded as a teacher and thinker because of his acceptance of the hideous mediæval hell. [ ] in the geheimnisse goethe shows some slight trace of the parzival legend, and the words in which the teaching of the poem are summed up: "von der gewalt, die alle wesen bindet, befreit _der_ mensch sich der sich überwindet," may be looked upon as an eighteenth century rendering of wolfram's conception. [ ] we may here note an admirable example of the inevitable, spontaneous character of the growth of certain conceptions, especially of such as have been partly shaped by the folk-mind. there is nothing in wolfram or in the french romances to show that the fortunes of the loathly damsel (wagner's kundry) are in any way bound up with the success of the quest. but we have seen that the celtic folk-tales represent the loathly damsel as the real protagonist of the story. she cannot be freed unless the hero do his task. precisely the same situation as in wagner, who was thus led back to the primitive _donnée_, although he can only have known intermediary stages in which its signification had been quite lost. [ ] _cf._ the reproaches addressed to potter thompson (_supra_, p. ). that the visitor to the bespelled castle should be reproached, at once, for his failure to do as he ought, seems to be a feature of the earliest forms of the story. _cf._ campbell's three soldiers (_supra_, p. ). if wolfram had another source than chrestien it was one which partook more of the unspelling than of the feud quest formula. hence the presence of the feature here. [ ] in wolfram's work there is a much closer connection between the gawain quest and the remainder of the poem than in chrestien. orgueilleuse, to win whose love gawain accomplishes his feats, is a former love of amfortas, the grail king, who won for her a rich treasure and was wounded in her service. klinschor, too, the lord of the magic castle, is brought into contact with orgueilleuse, whom he helps against gramoflanz. it is difficult to say whether this testifies to an earlier or later stage of growth of the legend. the winning of orgueilleuse as the consequence of accomplishing the feat of the ford perillous and plucking the branch is strongly insisted upon by wolfram and not mentioned by chrestien, though it is possible he might have intended to wed the two had he finished his poem. in this respect, however, and taking these two works as they stand, wolfram's account seems decidedly the earlier. in another point, too, he seems to have preserved the older form. besides his kundrie la sorcière (the loathly damsel) he has a kundrie la belle, whom i take to be the loathly damsel released from the transforming spell. transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _italics_. passages in bold are indicated by =bold=. superscripted characters are indicated by {superscript}. [illustration: coronation of charlemagne.--levy.] legends of the middle ages narrated with special reference to literature and art by h.a. guerber "saddle the hippogriffs, ye muses nine, and straight we'll ride to the land of old romance" wieland dedicated to my sister adele e. guerber "men lykyn jestis for to here, and romans rede in diuers manere "of brute that baron bold of hond, the first conqueroure of englond; of kyng artour that was so riche, was non in his tyme him liche. "how kyng charlis and rowlond fawght with sarzyns nold they be cawght; of tristrem and of ysoude the swete, how they with love first gan mete; "stories of diuerce thynggis, of pryncis, prelatis, and of kynggis; many songgis of diuers ryme, as english, frensh, and latyne." _curser mundi_. preface. the object of this work is to familiarize young students with the legends which form the staple of mediaeval literature. while they may owe more than is apparent at first sight to the classical writings of the palmy days of greece and rome, these legends are very characteristic of the people who told them, and they are the best exponents of the customs, manners, and beliefs of the time to which they belong. they have been repeated in poetry and prose with endless variations, and some of our greatest modern writers have deemed them worthy of a new dress, as is seen in tennyson's "idyls of the king," goethe's "reineke fuchs," tegnér's "frithiof saga," wieland's "oberon," morris's "story of sigurd," and many shorter works by these and less noted writers. these mediaeval legends form a sort of literary quarry, from which, consciously or unconsciously, each writer takes some stones wherewith to build his own edifice. many allusions in the literature of our own day lose much of their force simply because these legends are not available to the general reader. it is the aim of this volume to bring them within reach of all, and to condense them so that they may readily be understood. of course in so limited a space only an outline of each legend can be given, with a few short quotations from ancient and modern writings to illustrate the style of the poem in which they are embodied, or to lend additional force to some point in the story. this book is, therefore, not a manual of mediaeval literature, or a series of critical essays, but rather a synopsis of some of the epics and romances which formed the main part of the culture of those days. very little prominence has been given to the obscure early versions, all disquisitions have been carefully avoided, and explanations have been given only where they seemed essential. the wealth and variety of imagination displayed in these legends will, i hope, prove that the epoch to which they belong has been greatly maligned by the term "dark ages," often applied to it. such was the favor which the legendary style of composition enjoyed with our ancestors that several of the poems analyzed in this volume were among the first books printed for general circulation in europe. previous to the invention of printing, however, they were familiar to rich and poor, thanks to the scalds, bards, trouvères, troubadours, minstrels, and minnesingers, who, like the rhapsodists of greece, spent their lives in wandering from place to place, relating or reciting these tales to all they met in castle, cottage, and inn. a chapter on the romance literature of the period in the different countries of europe, and a complete index, will, it is hoped, fit this volume for handy reference in schools and libraries, where the author trusts it may soon find its own place and win a warm welcome. contents. i. beowulf ii. gudrun iii. reynard the fox iv. the nibelungenlied v. langodardian cycle of myths vi. the amblings vii. dietrich von bern viii. charlemagne and his paladins ix the sons of aymon x. huon of bordeaux xi. titurel and the holy grail xii. merlin xiii. the round table xiv. tristan and iseult xv. the story of frithiof xvi. ragnar lodbrok xvii. the cid xviii. general survey of romance literature list of illustrations. coronation of charlemagne--lévy funeral of a northern chief--cormon gudrun and the swan--kepler brown the bear caught in the log--wagner reynard preparing for battle--kaulbach gunther winning his bride--keller siegfried's body borne home by the huntsmen--pixis asprian slaying the lion--keller falke kills the giant--keller the victorious huns--checa the tomb of theodoric the death of roland--keller huon before the pope--gabriel max huon and amanda leap overboard--gabriel max parzival uncovering the holy grail--pixis arrival of lohengrin--pixis the beguiling of merlin--burne-jones sir lancelot du lac--sir john gilbert elaine--rosenthal iseult signals tristan--pixis the lovers at balder's shrine--kepler frithiof at the court of king ring--kepler strategy of hastings--keller the cid's last victory--rochegrosse legends of the middle ages. chapter i. beowulf. "list! we have learnt a tale of other years, of kings and warrior danes, a wondrous tale, how aethelings bore them in the brunt of war." _beowulf_ (conybeare's tr.). the most ancient relic of literature of the spoken languages of modern europe is undoubtedly the epic poem "beowulf," which is supposed to have been composed by the anglo-saxons previous to their invasion of england. although the poem probably belongs to the fifth century, the only existing manuscript is said to date from the ninth or tenth century. this curious work, in rude alliterative verse (for rhyme was introduced in england only after the norman conquest), is the most valuable old english manuscript in the british museum. although much damaged by fire, it has been carefully studied by learned men. they have patiently restored the poem, the story of which is as follows: [sidenote: origin of the skioldungs.] hrothgar (the modern roger), king of denmark, was a descendant of odin, being the third monarch of the celebrated dynasty of the skioldungs. they proudly traced their ancestry to skeaf, or skiold, odin's son, who mysteriously drifted to their shores. he was then but an infant, and lay in the middle of a boat, on a sheaf of ripe wheat, surrounded by priceless weapons and jewels. as the people were seeking for a ruler, they immediately recognized the hand of odin in this mysterious advent, proclaimed the child king, and obeyed him loyally as long as he lived. when he felt death draw near, skeaf, or skiold, ordered a vessel to be prepared, lay down in the midst on a sheaf of grain or on a funeral pyre, and drifted out into the wide ocean, disappearing as mysteriously as he had come. [sidenote: construction of heorot.] such being his lineage, it is no wonder that hrothgar became a mighty chief; and as he had amassed much wealth in the course of a long life of warfare, he resolved to devote part of it to the construction of a magnificent hall, called heorot, where he might feast his retainers and listen to the heroic lays of the scalds during the long winter evenings. "a hall of mead, such as for space and state the elder time ne'er boasted; there with free and princely hand he might dispense to all (save the rude crowd and men of evil minds) the good he held from heaven. that gallant work, full well i wot, through many a land was known of festal halls the brightest and the best." _beowulf_ (conybeare's tr.). the inauguration of this hall was celebrated by a sumptuous entertainment; and when all the guests had retired, the king's bodyguard, composed of thirty-two dauntless warriors, lay down in the hall to rest. when morning dawned, and the servants appeared to remove the couches, they beheld with horror the floor and walls all stained with blood, the only trace of the knights who had gone to rest there in full armor. [sidenote: the monster grendel.] gigantic, blood-stained footsteps, leading directly from the festive hall to the sluggish waters of a deep mountain lake, or fiord, furnished the only clew to their disappearance. hrothgar, the king, beholding these, declared that they had been made by grendel, a descendant of the giants, whom a magician had driven out of the country, but who had evidently returned to renew his former depredations. "a haunter of marshes, a holder of moors. . . . . . secret the land he inhabits; dark, wolf-haunted ways of the windy hillside, by the treacherous tarn; or where, covered up in its mist, the hill stream downward flows." _beowulf_ (keary's tr.). as hrothgar was now too old to wield a sword with his former skill, his first impulse was, of course, to offer a princely reward to any man brave enough to free the country of this terrible scourge. as soon as this was known ten of his doughtiest knights volunteered to camp in the hall on the following night, and attack the monster grendel should he venture to reappear. but in spite of the valor of these experienced warriors, and of the efficacy of their oft-tried weapons, they too succumbed. a minstrel, hiding in a dark corner of the hall, was the only one who escaped grendel's fury, and after shudderingly describing the massacre he had witnessed, he fled in terror to the kingdom of the geates (jutes or goths). there he sang his lays in the presence of hygelac, the king, and of his nephew beowulf (the bee hunter), and roused their deepest interest by describing the visit of grendel and the vain but heroic defense of the brave knights. beowulf, having listened intently, eagerly questioned the scald, and, learning from him that the monster still haunted those regions, impetuously declared his intention to visit hrothgar's kingdom, and show his valor by fighting and, if possible, slaying grendel. "he was of mankind in might the strongest, at that day of this life, noble and stalwart. he bade him a sea ship, a goodly one, prepare. quoth he, the war king, over the swan's road, seek he would the mighty monarch, since he wanted men." _beowulf_ (longfellow's tr.). [sidenote: beowulf and breka.] although very young, beowulf was quite distinguished, and had already won great honors in a battle against the swedes. he had also proved his endurance by entering into a swimming match with breka, one of the lords at his uncle's court. the two champions had started out, sword in hand and fully armed, and, after swimming in concert for five whole days, they were parted by a great tempest. "then were we twain there on the sea space of five nights, till the floods severed us, the welling waves. coldest of weathers, shadowy night, and the north wind battelous shocked on us; wild were the waters, and were the mere-fishes stirred up in mind." _beowulf_. breka was driven ashore, but the current bore beowulf toward some jagged cliffs, where he desperately clung, trying to resist the fury of the waves, and using his sword to ward off the attacks of hostile mermaids, nicors (nixies), and other sea monsters. the gashed bodies of these slain foes soon drifted ashore, to hygelac's amazement; but when beowulf suddenly reappeared and explained that they had fallen by his hand, his joy knew no bounds. as breka had returned first, he received the prize for swimming; but the king gave beowulf his treasured sword, nägeling, and praised him publicly for his valor. beowulf had successfully encountered these monsters of the deep in the roaring tide, so he now expressed a hope that he might prevail against grendel also; and embarking with fourteen chosen men, he sailed to denmark, where he was challenged by the coast guard and warmly welcomed as soon as he had made his purpose known. "'what men are ye, war gear wearing, host in harness, who thus the brown keel over the water street leading, come hither over the sea?'" _beowulf_ (longfellow's tr.). hrothgar received beowulf most hospitably, but vainly tried to dissuade him from his perilous undertaking. then, after a sumptuous banquet, where the mead flowed with true northern lavishness, hrothgar and his suite sadly left the hall heorot in charge of the brave band of strangers, whom they never expected to see again. [sidenote: beowulf and grendel.] as soon as the king had departed, beowulf bade his companions lie down and sleep in peace, promising to watch over them, yet laying aside both armor and sword; for he knew that weapons were of no avail against the monster, whom he intended to grapple with hand to hand should it really appear. "'i have heard that that foul miscreant's dark and stubborn flesh recks not the force of arms:--such i forswear, nor sword nor burnish'd shield of ample round ask for the war; all weaponless, hand to hand (so may great higelac's smile repay my toil) beowulf will grapple with the mighty foe.'" _beowulf_ (conybeare's tr.). the warriors had no sooner stretched themselves out upon the benches in the hall than, overcome by the oppressive air as well as by mead, they sank into a profound sleep. beowulf alone remained awake, watching for grendel's coming. in the early morning, when all was very still, the giant appeared, tore asunder the iron bolts and bars which secured the door, and striding into the hall, enveloped in a long, damp mantle of clammy mist, he pounced upon one of the sleepers. he tore him limb from limb, greedily drank his blood, and devoured his flesh, leaving naught but the head, hands, and feet of his unhappy victim. this ghastly repast only whetted the fiend's ravenous appetite, however, so he eagerly stretched out his hands in the darkness to seize and devour another warrior. imagine his surprise and dismay when he suddenly found his hand caught in so powerful a grasp that all his efforts could not wrench it free! grendel and beowulf struggled in the darkness, overturning tables and couches, shaking the great hall to its very foundations, and causing the walls to creak and groan under the violence of their furious blows. but in spite of grendel's gigantic stature, beowulf clung so fast to the hand and arm he had grasped that grendel, making a desperate effort to free himself by a jerk, tore the whole limb out of its socket! bleeding and mortally wounded, he then beat a hasty retreat to his marshy den, leaving a long, bloody trail behind him. "soon the dark wanderer's ample shoulder bore a gaping wound, each starting sinew crack'd, and from its socket loosed the strong-knit joint.-- the victory was with beowulf, and the foe, howling and sick at heart, fled as he might, to seek beneath the mountain shroud of mist his joyless home; for well he knew the day of death was on him, and his doom was seal'd." _beowulf_ (conybeare's tr.). as for beowulf, exhausted but triumphant, he stood in the middle of the hall, where his companions crowded around him, gazing in speechless awe at the mighty hand and limb, and the clawlike fingers, far harder than steel, which no power had hitherto been able to resist. at dawn hrothgar and his subjects also appeared. they heard with wonder a graphic account of the night's adventures, and gazed their fill upon the monster's limb, which hung like a trophy from the ceiling of heorot. after the king had warmly congratulated beowulf, and bestowed upon him many rich gifts, he gave orders to cleanse the hall, to hang it with tapestry, and to prepare a banquet in honor of the conquering hero. [sidenote: beowulf honored by the queen.] while the men were feasting, listening to the lays of the scalds, and carrying the usual toasts, wealtheow, hrothgar's beautiful wife, the queen of denmark, appeared. she pledged beowulf in a cup of wine, which he gallantly drained after she had touched it to her lips. then she bestowed upon him a costly necklace (the famous brisinga-men, according to some authorities)[ ] and a ring of the finest gold. [footnote : see guerber's myths of northern lands, p. .] "'wear these,' she cried, 'since thou hast in the fight so borne thyself, that wide as ocean rolls round our wind-beaten cliffs his brimming waves, all gallant souls shall speak thy eulogy.'" _beowulf_ (conybeare's tr.). when the banquet was ended, hrothgar escorted his guests to more pleasant sleeping apartments than they had occupied the night before, leaving his own men to guard the hall, where grendel would never again appear. the warriors, fearing no danger, slept in peace; but in the dead of night the mother of the giant, as grewsome and uncanny a monster as he, glided into the hall, secured the bloody trophy still hanging from the ceiling, and carried it away, together with aeschere (askher), the king's bosom friend. when hrothgar learned this new loss at early dawn he was overcome with grief; and when beowulf, attracted by the sound of weeping, appeared at his side, he mournfully told him of his irretrievable loss. "'ask not after happiness; sorrow is renewed to the danes' people. aeschere is dead, yrmenlaf's elder brother, the partaker of my secrets and my counselor, who stood at my elbow when we in battle our mail hoods defended, when troops rushed together and boar crests crashed.'" _beowulf_ (metcalfe's tr.). [sidenote: beowulf and grendel's mother.] the young hero immediately volunteered to finish his work and avenge aeschere by seeking and attacking grendel's mother in her own retreat; but as he knew the perils of this expedition, beowulf first gave explicit directions for the disposal of his personal property in case he never returned. then, escorted by the danes and geates, he followed the bloody track until he came to a cliff overhanging the waters of the mountain pool. there the bloody traces ceased, but aeschere's gory head was placed aloft as a trophy. "now paused they sudden where the pine grove clad the hoar rock's brow, a dark and joyless shade. troublous and blood-stain'd roll'd the stream below. sorrow and dread were on the scylding's host, in each man's breast deep working; for they saw on that rude cliff young aeschere's mangled head." _beowulf_ (conybeare's tr.). beowulf gazed down into the deep waters, saw that they also were darkly dyed with the monster's blood, and, after taking leave of hrothgar, bade his men await his return for two whole days and nights ere they definitely gave him up for lost. he then plunged bravely into the bloody waters, swam about seeking for the monster's retreat, and dived deep. at last, descrying a phosphorescent gleam in the depths, he quickly made his way thither, shrewdly conjecturing that it must be grendel's hiding place. but on his way thither he was repeatedly obliged to have recourse to his sword to defend himself against the clutches of countless hideous sea monsters which came rushing toward him on all sides. "while thro' crystal gulfs were gleaming ocean depths, with wonders teeming; shapes of terror, huge, unsightly, loom'd thro' vaulted roof translucent." j.c. jones, _valhalla_. a strong current seized beowulf, and swept him irresistibly along into the slimy retreat of grendel's mother. she clutched him fast, wrestled with him, deprived him of his sword, flung him down, and finally tried to pierce his armor with her trenchant knife. fortunately, however, the hero's armor was weapon-proof, and his muscles were so strong that before she could do him any harm he had freed himself from her grasp. seizing a large sword hanging upon a projection of rock near by, he dealt her a mighty blow, severing her head from the trunk at a single stroke. the blood pouring out of the cave mingled with the waters without, and turned them to such a lurid hue that hrothgar and his men sorrowfully departed, leaving the geates alone to watch for the return of the hero, whom they feared they would never see again. beowulf, in the mean while, had rushed to the rear of the cave, where, finding grendel in the last throes, he cut off his head also. he seized this ghastly trophy and rapidly made his way up through the tainted waters, which the fiery blood of the two monsters had so overheated that his sword melted in its scabbard and naught but the hilt remained. "that stout sword of proof, its warrior task fulfill'd, dropp'd to the ground (so work'd the venom of the felon's blood) a molten mass." _beowulf_ (conybeare's tr.). the geates were about to depart in sorrow, notwithstanding the orders they had received, when they suddenly beheld their beloved chief safe and sound, and bearing the evidences of his success. then their cries of joy echoed and reechoed from the neighboring hills, and beowulf was escorted back to heorot, where he was almost overwhelmed with gifts by the grateful danes. a few days later beowulf and his companions returned home, where the story of their adventures, and an exhibition of all the treasures they had won, formed the principal topics of conversation. [sidenote: death of hygelac.] several years of comparative peace ensued, ere the land was invaded by the friesians, who raided the coast, burning and plundering all in their way, and retreated into their ships before hygelac or beowulf could overtake and punish them. the immediate result of this invasion was a counter-movement on hygelac's part. but although he successfully harried friesland, he fell into an ambush just as he was about to leave the country, and was cruelly slain, his nephew beowulf barely escaping a similar untoward fate. when the little army of the geates reached home once more, they either buried or consumed hygelac's remains, with his weapons and battle steed, as was customary in the north. this ceremony ended, queen hygd, overwhelmed with grief, and fearing the almost inevitable dissensions arising during the long minority of an infant king, convened the popular assembly known as the thing, and bade the people set her own child's claims aside in favor of beowulf. this proposal was hailed with enthusiasm; but beowulf refused to usurp his kinsman's throne, and raising hardred, hygelac's infant son, upon his shield, he declared that he would protect and uphold him as long as he lived. the people, following his example, swore fealty to the new king, and faithfully kept this oath until he died. hardred, having attained his majority, ruled wisely and well; but his career was cut short by the sons of othere, the discoverer of the north cape. these youths had rebelled against their father's authority and taken refuge at hardred's court; but when the latter advised a reconciliation, the eldest youth angrily drew his sword and slew him. [illustration: funeral of a northern chief.--cormon.] [sidenote: beowulf made king.] this crime was avenged, with true northern promptitude, by wiglaf, one of the king's followers; and while the second youth effected an escape, beowulf was summoned by the thing to accept the now vacant throne. as there were none to dispute his claims, the hero no longer refused to rule, and he bravely defended his kingdom against eadgils, othere's second son. eadgils was now king of sweden, and came with an armed host to avenge his brother's death; but he only succeeded in losing his own life. a reign of forty years of comparative peace brought beowulf to extreme old age. he had naturally lost much of his former vigor, and was therefore somewhat dismayed when a terrible, fire-breathing dragon took up its abode in the mountains near by, where it gloated over a hoard of glittering gold. "the ranger of the darksome night, the firedrake, came." _beowulf_ (conybeare's tr.) [sidenote: the firedrake.] a fugitive slave, having made his way unseen into the monster's den during one of its temporary absences, bore away a small portion of this gold. on its return the firedrake discovered the theft, and became so furious that its howling and writhing shook the mountain like an earthquake. when night came on its rage was still unappeased, and it flew all over the land, vomiting venom and flames, setting houses and crops afire, and causing so much damage that the people were almost beside themselves with terror. seeing that all their attempts to appease the dragon were utterly fruitless, and being afraid to attack it in its lair, they finally implored beowulf to deliver them as he had delivered the danes, and to slay this oppressor, which was even worse than the terrible grendel. such an appeal could not be disregarded, and in spite of his advanced years beowulf donned his armor once more. accompanied by wiglaf and eleven of his bravest men, he then went out to seek the monster in its lair. at the entrance of the mountain gorge beowulf bade his followers pause, and advancing alone to the monster's den, he boldly challenged it to come forth and begin the fray. a moment later the mountain shook as the monster rushed out breathing fire and flame, and beowulf felt the first gust of its hot breath, even through his massive shield. "first from his lair shaking firm earth, and vomiting as he strode a foul and fiery blast, the monster came." _beowulf_ (conybeare's tr.). a desperate struggle followed, in the course of which beowulf's sword and strength both failed him. the firedrake coiled its long, scaly folds about the aged hero, and was about to crush him to death when the faithful wiglaf, perceiving his master's imminent danger, sprang forward and attacked the monster so fiercely as to cause a diversion and make it drop beowulf to concentrate its attention upon him. beowulf, recovering, then drew his dagger and soon put an end to the dragon's life; but even as it breathed its last the hero sank fainting to the ground. feeling that his end was near, he warmly thanked wiglaf for his timely aid, rejoiced in the death of the monster, and bade his faithful follower bring out the concealed treasure and lay it at his feet, that he might feast his eyes upon the glittering gold he had won for his people's use. "saw then the bold thane treasure jewels many, glittering gold heavy on the ground, wonders in the mound and the worm's den, the old twilight flier's, bowls standing; vessels of men of yore, with the mountings fall'n off. there was many a helm old and rusty, armlets many cunningly fastened. he also saw hang heavily an ensign all golden high o'er the hoard, of hand wonders greatest, wrought by spells of song, from which shot a light so that he the ground surface might perceive, the wonders overscan." _beowulf_ (metcalfe's tr.). [sidenote: death of beowulf.] the mighty treasure was all brought forth to the light of day, and the followers, seeing that all danger was over, crowded round their dying chief. he addressed them affectionately, and, after recapitulating the main events his career, expressed a desire to be buried in a mighty mound on a projecting headland, which could be seen far out at sea, and would be called by his name. "'and now, short while i tarry here--when i am gone, bid them upon yon headland's summit rear a lofty mound, by rona's seagirt cliff; so shall my people hold to after times their chieftain's memory, and the mariners that drive afar to sea, oft as they pass, shall point to beowulf's tomb.'" _beowulf_(conybeare's tr.). these directions were all piously carried out by a mourning people, who decked his mound with the gold he had won, and erected above it a bauta, or memorial stone, to show how dearly they had loved their brave king beowulf, who had died to save them from the fury of the dragon. chapter ii. gudrun. maximilian i., emperor of germany, rendered a great service to posterity by ordering that copies of many of the ancient national manuscripts should be made. these copies were placed in the imperial library at vienna, where, after several centuries of almost complete neglect, they were discovered by lovers of early literature, in a very satisfactory state of preservation. these manuscripts then excited the interest of learned men, who not only found therein a record of the past, but gems of literature which are only now beginning to receive the appreciation they deserve. [sidenote: origin of poem of gudrun.] among these manuscripts is the poem "gudrun," belonging to the twelfth or thirteenth century. it is evidently compiled from two or more much older lays which are now lost, which are alluded to in the nibelungenlied. the original poem was probably norse, and not german like the only existing manuscript, for there is an undoubted parallel to the story of the kidnaping of hilde in the edda. in the edda, hilde, the daughter of högni, escapes from home with her lover hedin, and is pursued by her irate father. he overtakes the fugitives on an island, where a bloody conflict takes place, in which many of the bravest warriors die. every night, however, a sorceress recalls the dead to life to renew the strife, and to exterminate one another afresh. the poem "gudrun," which is probably as old as the nibelungenlied, and almost rivals it in interest, is one of the most valuable remains of ancient german literature. it consists of thirty-two songs, in which are related the adventures of three generations of the heroic family of the hegelings. hence it is often termed the "hegeling legend." [sidenote: kidnaping of hagen.] the poem opens by telling us that hagen was the son of sigeband, king of ireland, which was evidently a place in holland, and not the well-known emerald isle. during a great feast, when countless guests were assembled around his father's hospitable board, this prince, who was then but seven years of age, was seized by a griffin and rapidly borne away. "young hagen, loudly crying, was filled with dire dismay; the bird with mighty pinions soared high with him away." _gudrun_ (dippold's tr.). the cries of the child, and the arrows of sigeband's men at arms, were equally ineffectual in checking the griffin, which flew over land and sea, and finally deposited its prey in its nest on the top of a great cliff on a desert island. one of the little griffins, wishing to reserve this delicate morsel for its own delectation, caught the boy up in its talons and flew away to a neighboring tree. the branch upon which it perched was too weak to support a double load, however, and as it broke the frightened griffin dropped hagen into a thicket. undismayed by the sharp thorns, hagen quickly crept out of the griffin's reach and took refuge in a cave, where he found three little girls who had escaped from the griffins in the same way. [sidenote: the three maidens.] one of these children was hilde, an indian princess; the second, hildburg, daughter of the king of portugal; and the third belonged to the royal family of isenland. hagen immediately became the protector of these little maidens, spending several years in the cave with them. he ventured out only when the griffins were away, to seek berries or shoot small game with a bow which he had made in imitation of those he had seen in his father's hall. years passed by before hagen found the corpse of an armed warrior, which had been washed ashore during a storm. to appropriate the armor and weapons for which he had so long and vainly sighed was the youth's first impulse; his second was to go forth and slay the griffins which had terrorized him and his little companions for so many years. the griffins being disposed of, the young people roamed about the island at will, keeping a sharp lookout for any passing vessel which might convey them home. at last a sail came in sight! hagen, the first to see it, climbed up on a rock and shouted with all his young strength to attract the crew's attention. "with might young hagen shouted, and did not cease to shout, howe'er the roaring tempest the wild waves tossed about." _gudrun_ (dippold's tr.). the sailors reluctantly drew near, gazing fearfully upon the three maidens, who, clad in furs and moss, resembled mermaids or wood nymphs. but when they heard their story they gladly took them on board. it was only when the island was out of sight, and when they were in mid-ocean, that hagen discovered that he had fallen into the hands of count garadie, his father's inveterate enemy, who now proposed to use his power to treat the young prince as a slave. but hagen's rude fare, and the constant exposure of the past few years, had so developed his strength and courage that he now flew into a berserker rage,[ ] flung thirty men one after another into the sea, and so terrified his would-be master that he promised to bear him and the three maidens in safety to his father's court. [footnote : see guerber's myths of northern lands, p. .] [sidenote: hagen made king.] as sigeband had died without leaving any other heir, hagen was warmly welcomed home, and ascending the vacant throne, he took to wife hilde, the fair maiden with whom he had shared his game and berries for so many years. the royal couple were very happy, and hagen ruled so wisely that he became a terror to his enemies and a blessing to his own subjects. even when engaged in warfare he proved himself an upright and generous man, never attacking the poor and weak. "on warlike enterprises into his enemies' land he spared the poor from ravage of fire with powerful hand; whenever he encountered a warrior overbearing, he broke his burgs and slew him with dire revenge unsparing." _gudrun_ (dippold's tr.). [sidenote: hilde's suitors.] hagen and hilde eventually became the parents of an only daughter, who was called by her mother's name, and grew up so beautiful that many suitors soon came to ireland to ask for her hand. hagen, who loved his daughter dearly and was in no haste to part from her, first replied that she was far too young to think of marriage; but when this plea was disputed he declared that hilde should only marry a man who would defeat her father in single fight. as hagen was unusually tall and strong, as well as uncommonly brave, he was considered well-nigh invincible. the suitors, dismayed at this declaration, reluctantly withdrew, even though they were all valiant men. in those days hettel (who corresponds to hedin in the edda story) was king of northern germany and of the hegelings. he too heard marvelous accounts of hilde's beauty, and, as he was still unmarried, longed to secure her as wife. but knowing that hagen, in his anger, was likely to slay any ambassador who came to his court with a proposal of marriage, hettel vowed that he would rather forego the alliance than run the risk of losing any of his tried friends and faithful servants. "then said the royal hetel: 'the people all relate that whosoe'er will woo her incurs her father's hate, and for the maid has perished full many a noble knight; my friends shall never suffer for me such woeful plight.'" _gudrun_ (dippold's tr.). [sidenote: strategy of hettel's followers.] his faithful followers, wat, horant, and frute, perceiving that his heart was set upon the maiden, finally volunteered to go and get her, saying that they could easily bear her away by stratagem, although they did not dare to ask for her openly. so they loaded their vessel with merchandise, hid their weapons, so that they should be taken for the traders they professed to be, and sailed boldly into hagen's port, where, spreading out their wares, they invited all the people to buy. attracted by the extraordinary bargains they offered, the people came in crowds, and soon all the inhabitants of balian were busy talking about the strange peddlers and praising their wares. these stories soon came to the ears of both queen and princess, who, summoning the merchants into their presence, asked who they were and whence they came. all three replied that they were warriors, and that, being banished from hettel's court, they had been forced to take up their present occupation to make a living. to prove the truth of their assertions, wat exhibited his skill in athletic sports, while horant delighted all the ladies by his proficiency in the art of minstrelsy. "when now the night was ended and there drew near the dawn, horant began his singing, so that in grove and lawn the birds became all silent, because he sang so sweetly; the people who were sleeping sprang from their couches fleetly. "the cattle in the forests forsook their pasture ground; the creeping creatures playing among the grass around, the fishes in the water,--all in their sports were ceasing. the minstrel might most truly rejoice in art so pleasing. "whate'er he might be singing, to no one seemed it long; forgotten in the minster were priest and choral song, church bells no longer sounded so sweetly as before, and every one who heard him longed for the minstrel sore." _gudrun_ (dippold's tr.). these soft strains so pleased the younger hilde that she soon sent for the minstrel again, and horant, finding her alone, made use of this opportunity to tell her of hettel's love and longing. she was so touched by this declaration of love that he easily won from her a promise to flee with him and his companions as soon as a suitable opportunity occurred. the pretended merchants, having now achieved the real object of their journey, disposed of their remaining wares. they then invited the king and his family to visit their ship, and cleverly managing to separate the willing princess from her parents and train, they sailed rapidly away, leaving the angry father to hurl equally ineffectual spears, curses, and threats after them. [sidenote: marriage of hettel and hilde.] the hegelings sailed with their prize direct to waleis, in holland (near the river waal), where the impatient hettel came to meet them, and tenderly embraced his beautiful young bride. there their hasty nuptials were celebrated; but, as they were about to sail away on the morrow, hettel became aware of the rapid approach of a large fleet. of course the foremost vessel was commanded by hagen, who had immediately started out in pursuit of his kidnaped daughter. landing, with all his forces, he challenged his new-made son-in-law to fight. "king hagen, full of anger, leaped forward in the sea. unto the shore he waded; no braver knight than he! full many pointed arrows against him were seen flying, like flakes of snow, from warriors of hetel's host defying." _gudrun_ (dippold's tr.). the result of this battle was that hettel was wounded by hagen, who, in his turn, was injured by wat, and that the distracted hilde suddenly flung herself between the contending parties, and by her tears and prayers soon brought about a reconciliation. hagen, who had tested the courage of his new son-in-law and had not found it wanting, now permitted his daughter to accompany her husband home to matelan, where she became the mother of a son, ortwine, and of a daughter, gudrun, who was even fairer than herself. [sidenote: gudrun's suitors.] ortwine was fostered by wat, the dauntless hero, who taught him to fight with consummate skill; while hilde herself presided over the education of gudrun, and made her so charming that many suitors soon came, hoping to find favor in her eyes. these were siegfried, king of moorland, a pagan of dark complexion; hartmut, son of ludwig, king of normandy; and, lastly, herwig of zealand. although the latter fancied that he had won some favor in the fair gudrun's sight, hettel dismissed him as well as the others, with the answer that his daughter was yet too young to leave the parental roof. herwig, who was not ready to give the maiden up, then remembered that hettel had won his own bride only after he had measured his strength with her father's; so he collected an army, invaded matelan, and proved his courage by encountering hettel himself in the fray. gudrun, who stood watching the battle from the palace window, seeing them face to face, loudly implored them to spare each other, an entreaty to which they both lent a willing ear. "fair gudrun saw the combat, and heard the martial sound. like to a ball is fortune, and ever turns around. "then from the castle chamber the royal maid cried out: 'king hetel, noble father, the blood flows all about athwart the mighty hauberks. with gore from warlike labor the walls are sprinkled. herwig is a most dreadful neighbor.'" _gudrun_ (dippold's tr.). herwig had in this encounter proved himself no despicable foe; so hettel, preferring to have him as a friend, no longer opposed his betrothal, but even promised that the wedding festivities should be celebrated within a year. herwig tarried in matelan with his betrothed until he heard that siegfried, king of moorland, jealous of his successful wooing of gudrun, had invaded his kingdom and was raiding his unprotected lands. [sidenote: gudrun kidnaped by hartmut.] these tidings caused the brave young warrior to bid gudrun a hasty farewell and sail home as quickly as possible, hettel promising to follow him soon and help him repel the invaders, who were far superior in number to his small but oft-tried host. while herwig and hettel were thus occupied in warring against one of the disappointed suitors, hartmut, the other, hearing that they were both away, invaded matelan and carried off gudrun and all her attendants to normandy. he paused only once on his way thither to rest for a short time on an island called wülpensand, at the mouth of the scheldt. the bereaved hilde, who had seen her beloved daughter thus carried away, promptly sent messengers to warn hettel and herwig of gudrun's capture. these tidings put an immediate stop to their warfare with siegfried, who, joining forces with them, sailed in pursuit of the normans in the vessels of a party of pilgrims, for they had none of their own ready for instant departure. [sidenote: the wülpensand battle.] hettel, herwig, and siegfried reached wülpensand before the normans had left it, and there took place a frightful conflict, in the course of which king ludwig slew the aged hettel. the conflict raged until nightfall, and although there were now but few hegelings left, they were all ready to renew the struggle on the morrow. what was not their chagrin, therefore, on discovering that the normans had sailed away with their captives during the night, and were already out of sight! it was useless to pursue them with so small an army; so the hegelings sorrowfully returned home, bearing hettel's lifeless body back to the disconsolate hilde. then they took counsel, and discovered that so many able fighting men had perished during the last war that they would be obliged to wait until the rising generation was able to bear arms before they could invade normandy with any hope of success. "then spoke old wat, the hero: 'it never can befall before this country's children have grown to manhood all.'" _gudrun_ (dippold's tr.). gudrun, in the mean while, had arrived in normandy, where she persisted in refusing to marry hartmut. on her way thither the haughty princess had even ventured to remind king ludwig that he had once been her father's vassal, and so roused his anger that he threw her overboard. but hartmut immediately plunged into the water after her, rescued her from drowning, and when he had again seen her safe in the boat, angrily reproved his father for his hasty conduct. "he said: 'why would you drown her who is to be my wife, the fair and charming gudrun? i love her as my life. another than my father, if he had shown such daring, would lose his life and honor from wrath of mine unsparing.'" _gudrun_ (dippold's tr.). [sidenote: gudrun a captive.] after this declaration on the part of the young heir, none dared at first treat gudrun with any disrespect; and gerlinda and ortrun, the mother and sister of hartmut, welcomed her as she landed on their shores. gerlinda's friendliness was a mere pretense, however, for she hated the proud maiden who scorned her son's proffered love. she therefore soon persuaded her son to give the gentle captive entirely into her charge, saying that she would make her consent to become his bride. hartmut, who was about to depart for the war, and who little suspected his mother's cruel intentions, bade her do as she pleased; and he was no sooner out of sight than poor gudrun was degraded to the rank of a servant, and treated with much harshness and often with actual violence. during three whole years gudrun endured this cruelty in silence; but when hartmut returned she was restored to her former state, although she still persisted in refusing his passionate suit. discouraged by her obstinacy, the young man weakly consented to abandon her again to gerlinda's tender mercies. the princess was now made to labor harder than ever, and she and hildburg, her favorite companion and fellow captive, were daily sent down to the shore to wash the royal linen. [illustration: gudrun and the swan.--kepler.] it was winter, the snow lay thick on the ground, and gudrun and her companion, barefooted and miserably clad, suffered untold agonies from the cold. besides, they were nearly exhausted, and the hope of rescue, which had sustained them during the past twelve years, had almost forsaken them. their deliverance was near, however, and while gudrun was washing on the shore, a mermaid, in the guise of a swan, came gently near her and bade her be of good cheer, for her sufferings would soon be at an end. "'rejoice in hope,' then answered the messenger divine; 'thou poor and homeless maiden, great joy shall yet be thine. if thou wilt ask for tidings from thy dear native land, to comfort thee, great heaven has sent me to this strand.'" _gudrun_ (dippold's tr.). the swan maiden then informed her that her brother ortwine had grown up, and that he would soon come with brave old wat and the longing herwig to deliver her. the next day, in spite of the increased cold, gerlinda again roughly bade the maidens go down to the shore and wash, refusing to allow them any covering except one rough linen garment. "they then took up the garments and went upon their way. 'may god let me,' said gudrun, 'remind you of this day.' with naked feet they waded there through the ice and snow: the noble maids, all homeless, were filled with pain and woe." _gudrun_ (dippold's tr.). [sidenote: gudrun's deliverance.] gudrun and hildburg had barely begun their usual task, however, ere a small boat drew near, in which they recognized herwig and ortwine. all unconscious of their identity at first, the young men inquired about gudrun. she herself, to test their affection, replied that the princess was dead, and did not allow them to catch a glimpse of her face until she beheld herwig's emotion at these tidings, and heard him protest that he would be faithful to her unto death. "there spoke the royal herwig: 'as long as lasts my life, i'll mourn for her; the maiden was to become my wife.'" _gudrun_ (dippold's tr.). the lovers, who had been equally true, now fell into each other's arms. ortwine was overjoyed at finding his sister and her companion, having long secretly loved the latter, so he poured out an avowal of his passion, and won from hildburg a promise to be his wife. the first moments of joyful reunion over, herwig would fain have carried gudrun and hildburg back to camp with him; but ortwine proudly declared that he had come to claim them openly, and would bear them away from normandy honorably, in the guise of princesses, rather than by stealth. promising to rescue them on the morrow, the young men took leave of the maidens. hildburg conscientiously finished her task, but gudrun proudly flung the linen into the sea and returned to the palace empty-handed, saying that it did not become her to do any more menial labor, since she had been kissed by two kings. gerlinda, hearing her confess that she had flung the linen into the sea, ordered her to be scourged; but when gudrun turned upon her and proudly announced that she would take her revenge on the morrow, when she would preside over the banquet hall as queen, gerlinda concluded that she had decided to accept hartmut. the mother, therefore, flew to him to impart the joyful tidings. in his delight he would fain have embraced gudrun, who, however, haughtily bade him refrain from saluting a mere washerwoman. becoming aware only then of her sorry plight, the prince withdrew, sternly ordering that her maidens should again be restored to her, that her every command should be fulfilled as if she were already queen, and that all should treat her with the utmost respect. these orders were executed without delay, and while hartmut was preparing for his wedding on the morrow, gudrun, again clad in royal attire, with her maidens around her, whispered the tidings of their coming deliverance. morning had barely dawned when hildburg, gazing out of the window, saw the castle entirely surrounded by the hegelings' forces; and at cockcrow old wat's horn pealed forth a loud defiance, rousing the normans from pleasant dreams, and calling them to battle instead of to the anticipated wedding. "the morning star had risen upon the heavens high, when to the castle window a beauteous maid drew nigh, in order to espy there and watch the break of day, whereby from royal gudrun she would obtain rich pay. "there looked the noble maiden and saw the morning glow. reflected in the water, as it might well be so, were seen the shining helmets and many bucklers beaming. the castle was surrounded; with arms the fields were gleaming." _gudrun_ (dippold's tr.). the battle was very fierce, and the poem enumerates many of the cuts and thrusts given and received. clashing swords and streams of gore now monopolize the reader's attention. in the fray herwig slew king ludwig. gudrun was rescued by hartmut from the hands of gerlinda, who had just bidden her servants put her to death, so that her friends should not take her alive. next the norman prince met his rival and fought bravely. he was about to succumb, however, when his sister ortrun, who throughout had been gentle and loving to gudrun, implored her to save her brother's life. gudrun, touched by this request, called out of the casement to herwig, who, at a word from her, sheathed his sword, and contented himself with taking hartmut prisoner. [sidenote: death of gerlinda.] the castle was duly plundered, the whole town sacked, and wat, bursting into the palace, began to slay all he met. the women, in terror, then crowded around gudrun, imploring her protection. among these were ortrun and gerlinda; but while gudrun would have protected the former at the cost of her life, she allowed wat to kill the latter, who had deserved such a death in punishment for all her cruelty. when the massacre was over, the victors celebrated their triumph by a grand banquet, at which gudrun, fulfilling her boast, actually presided as queen. "now from the bitter contest the warriors rested all. there came the royal herwig into king ludwig's hall, together with his champions, their gear with blood yet streaming. dame gudrun well received him; her heart with love was teeming." _gudrun_ (dippold's tr.). when the banquet was over, the hegelings set sail, taking with them the recovered maidens, all the spoil they had won, and their captives, hartmut and ortrun; and on reaching matelan they were warmly welcomed by hilde, who was especially rejoiced to see her daughter once more. "the queen drew near to gudrun. could any one outweigh the joy they felt together, with any wealth or treasure? when they had kissed each other their grief was changed to pleasure." _gudrun_ (dippold's tr.). [sidenote: a fourfold wedding.] shortly after their return home a fourfold wedding took place. gudrun married her faithful herwig, ortwine espoused hildburg, siegfried consoled himself for gudrun's loss by taking the fair ortrun to wife, and hartmut received with the hand of hergart, herwig's sister, the restitution not only of his freedom but also of his kingdom. at the wedding banquet horant, who, in spite of his advanced years, had lost none of his musical skill, played the wedding march with such success that the queens simultaneously flung their crowns at his feet,--an offering which he smilingly refused, telling them that crowns were perishable, but that the poet's song was immortal. "the aged minstrel drew his harp still closer to his breast, gazed at the jeweled coronets as this thought he expressed: 'fair queens, i bid you wear them until your locks turn gray; those crowns, alas! are fleeting, but song will live alway.'" niendorf (h.a.g.'s tr.). chapter iii. reynard the fox. among primitive races, as with children, animal stories are much enjoyed, and form one of the first stages in literature. the oldest of these tales current in the middle ages is the epic of reineke fuchs, or reynard the fox. this poem was carried by the ancient franks across the rhine, became fully acclimated in france, and then returned to germany by way of flanders, where it was localized. after circulating from mouth to mouth almost all over europe, during many centuries, it was first committed to writing in the netherlands, where the earliest manuscript, dating from the eleventh or twelfth century, gives a latin version of the tale. [sidenote: origin of animal epics.] "the root of this saga lies in the harmless natural simplicity of a primeval people. we see described the delight which the rude child of nature takes in all animals,--in their slim forms, their gleaming eyes, their fierceness, their nimbleness and cunning. such sagas would naturally have their origin in an age when the ideas of shepherd and hunter occupied a great portion of the intellectual horizon of the people; when the herdman saw in the ravenous bear one who was his equal, and more than his equal, in force and adroitness, the champion of the woods and wilds; when the hunter, in his lonely ramble through the depths of the forest, beheld in the hoary wolf and red fox, as they stole along,--hunters like himself,--mates, so to say, and companions, and whom he therefore addressed as such.... so that originally this kind of poetry was the exponent of a peculiar sort of feeling prevailing among the people, and had nothing whatever to do with the didactic or satiric, although at a later period satiric allusions began to be interwoven with it." the story has been rewritten by many poets and prose writers. it has been translated into almost every european language, and was remodeled from one of the old mediaeval poems by goethe, who has given it the form in which it will doubtless henceforth be known. his poem "reineke fuchs" has been commented upon by carlyle and translated by rogers, from whose version all the following quotations have been extracted. [sidenote: the animals' assembly.] as was the custom among the franks under their old merovingian rulers, the animals all assembled at whitsuntide around their king, nobel the lion, who ruled over all the forest. this assembly, like the champ de mars, its prototype, was convened not only for the purpose of deciding upon the undertakings for the following year, but also as a special tribunal, where all accusations were made, all complaints heard, and justice meted out to all. the animals were all present, all except reynard the fox, who, it soon became apparent, was accused of many a dark deed. every beast present testified to some crime committed by him, and all accused him loudly except his nephew, grimbart the badger. "and yet there was one who was absent, reineke fox, the rascal! who, deeply given to mischief, held aloof from half the court. as shuns a bad conscience light and day, so the fox fought shy of the nobles assembled. one and all had complaints to make, he had all of them injured; grimbart the badger, his brother's son, alone was excepted." [sidenote: complaints against reynard.] the complaint was voiced by isegrim the wolf, who told with much feeling how cruelly reynard had blinded three of his beloved children, and how shamefully he had insulted his wife, the fair lady gieremund. this accusation had no sooner been formulated than wackerlos the dog came forward, and, speaking french, pathetically described the finding of a little sausage in a thicket, and its purloining by reynard, who seemed to have no regard whatever for his famished condition. the tomcat hintze, who at the mere mention of a sausage had listened more attentively, now angrily cried out that the sausage which wackerlos had lost belonged by right to him, as he had concealed it in the thicket after stealing it from the miller's wife. he added that he too had had much to suffer from reynard, and was supported by the panther, who described how he had once found the miscreant cruelly beating poor lampe the hare. "lampe he held by the collar, yes, and had certainly taken his life, if i by good fortune had not happened to pass by the road. there standing you see him. look and see the wounds of the gentle creature, whom no one ever would think of ill treating." [sidenote: vindication of reynard.] the king, nobel, was beginning to look very stern as one after another rose to accuse the absent reynard, when grimbart the badger courageously began to defend him, and artfully turned the tables upon the accusers. taking up their complaints one by one, he described how reynard, his uncle, once entered into partnership with isegrim. to obtain some fish which a carter was conveying to market, the fox had lain as if dead in the middle of the road. he had been picked up by the man for the sake of his fur, and tossed up on top of the load of fish. but no sooner had the carter's back been turned than the fox sprang up, threw all the fish down into the road to the expectant wolf, and only sprang down himself when the cart was empty. the wolf, ravenous as ever, devoured the fish as fast as they were thrown down, and when the fox claimed his share of the booty he had secured, isegrim gave him only the bones.[ ] [footnote : for russian version see guerber's contes et légendes, vol. i., p. .] not content with cheating his ally once, the wolf had induced the fox to steal a suckling pig from the larder of a sleeping peasant. with much exertion the cunning reynard had thrown the prize out of the window to the waiting wolf; but when he asked for a portion of the meat as reward, he was dismissed with nothing but the piece of wood upon which it had been hung. the badger further proceeded to relate that reynard had wooed gieremund seven years before, when she was still unmated, and that if isegrim chose to consider that an insult, it was only on a par with the rest of his accusations, for the king could readily see that reynard was sorely injured instead of being guilty. then, encouraged by the favorable impression he had produced, grimbart airily disposed of the cases of wackerlos and hintze by proving that they had both stolen the disputed sausage, after which he went on to say that reynard had undertaken to instruct lampe the hare in psalmody, and that the ill treatment which the panther had described was only a little wholesome castigation inflicted by the teacher upon a lazy and refractory pupil. "should not the master his pupil sometimes chastise when he will not observe, and is stubborn in evil? if boys were never punished, were thoughtlessness always passed over, were bad behavior allowed, how would our juveniles grow up?" these plausible explanations were not without their effect, and when grimbart went on to declare that, ever since nobel proclaimed a general truce and amnesty among all the animals of the forest, reynard had turned hermit and spent all his time in fasting, almsgiving, and prayer, the complaint was about to be dismissed. [sidenote: story of henning and the cock.] suddenly, however, henning the cock appeared, followed by his two sons, kryant and kantart, bearing the mangled remains of a hen upon a bier. in broken accents the bereaved father related how happily he had dwelt in a convent henyard, with the ten sons and fourteen daughters which his excellent consort had hatched and brought up in a single summer. his only anxiety had been caused by the constant prowling of reynard, who, however, had been successfully at a distance by the watchdogs. but when the general truce had been proclaimed, the dogs were dismissed. reynard, in the garb of a monk, had made his way into the henyard to show henning the royal proclamation with the attached seal, and to assure him of his altered mode of living. thus reassured, henning had led his family out into the forest, where, alas! reynard was lurking, and where he killed all but five of henning's promising brood. they had not only been killed, but devoured, with the exception of scratch-foot, whose mangled remains were laid at the monarch's feet in proof of the crime, as was customary in the mediaeval courts of justice. the king, angry that his truce should thus have been broken, and sorry for the evident grief of the father, ordered a sumptuous funeral for the deceased, and commanded that a stone should be placed upon her grave, bearing the epitaph: "'scratch-foot, daughter of henning, the cock, the best of the hen tribe. many an egg did she lay in her nest, and was skillful in scratching. here she lies, lost, alas! to her friends, by reineke murdered. all the world should know of his false and cruel behavior, as for the dead they lament.' thus ran the words that were written." [sidenote: reynard and the bear.] then the king, having taken advice with his council, solemnly bade brown the bear proceed immediately to malepartus, reynard's home, and summon him to appear at reynard and court forthwith, to answer the grave charges which had been made against him. but he warned his messenger to behave circumspectly and to beware of the wiles of the crafty fox. the bear rather resented these well-meant recommendations, and, confidently asserting his ability to take care of himself, set out for reynard's abode. on his way to the mountains he was obliged to pass through an arid, sandy waste, and reached malepartus weary and overheated. standing before the fortress, which rejoiced in many labyrinthine passages, he loudly made known his errand; and when reynard, peeping cautiously out, had ascertained that brown was alone, he hastened out to welcome him. with great volubility the fox commiserated his long journey, and excused the delay in admitting him under plea of an indisposition caused by eating too much honey, a diet which he abhorred. at the mere mention of honey the bear forgot all his fatigue, and when his host lamented the fact that he had nothing else to offer him, he joyfully declared no food could suit him better, and that he could never get enough of it. "'if that is so,' continued the red one, 'i really can serve you, for the peasant rüsteviel lives at the foot of the mountain. honey he has, indeed, such that you and all of your kindred never so much together have seen.'" oblivious of everything else at the thought of such a treat, brown the bear immediately set out in reynard's company, and they soon came to the peasant's yard, where a half-split tree trunk lay in full view. reynard then bade his companion thrust his nose well down into the hollow and eat his fill of honey. as soon as he saw that the bear had thrust not only his nose, but both fore paws, into the crack, reynard cleverly removed the wedges, the tree clapped together, and he left the bear a prisoner and howling with pain. these sounds soon attracted the peasant's attention, and he and his companions all fell upon the captive bear with every imaginable weapon, and proceeded to give him a sound beating. frantic with pain and terror, the unfortunate bear finally succeeded in wrenching himself free, at the cost of the skin on his nose and fore paws, and, after tumbling the fat cook into the water, swam down the stream and landed in a thicket to bewail his misfortunes. here he was found by the fox, who added insult to injury by making fun of him, and reproved him for his gluttony, until the bear again plunged into the stream and swam away. [illustration: brown the bear caught in the log.--wagner.] then, painfully making his way back to nobel, brown presented himself at court all bleeding and travel-stained, and poured forth a doleful account of his mission. [sidenote: reynard and the cat.] the king, after consulting with his principal courtiers, declared it the right of any man to be thrice summoned, and, conceding that the bear's manners were not of a conciliatory nature, selected hintze the cat to bear his message to malepartus. the cat, disheartened by unfavorable omens, was nevertheless compelled to go on this unwelcome journey. reynard welcomed him cordially, promised to accompany him to court on the morrow, and then asked what kind of refreshment he could offer. when hintze had confessed his preference for mice, the fox replied that it was very fortunate, as there were plenty of them in the parson's barn. hintze immediately asked to be led thither, that he might eat his fill. "'pray do me the kindness hence to lead and show me the mice, for far above wild game give me a mouse for delicate flavor.'" reynard then conducted hintze to the parson's barn, and pointed out a little opening through which he had passed to steal chickens, and where he knew that martin, the parson's son, had laid a trap to catch any intruder. hintze at first demurred, but, urged by reynard, crept in and found himself caught in a noose. reynard, pretending to take the cat's moans for cries of joy, banteringly inquired whether that was the way they sang at court, as the caterwauling grew louder. these sounds finally reached the ears of little martin, who, accompanied by his father, came into the barn to catch the intruder. poor hintze, frightened at the sight of the bludgeon the parson carried, flew at his legs, scratching and biting him, until the saintly man fainted. then, taking advantage of the confusion, hintze managed to slip out of the noose and effect his escape. he returned to court minus one eye, and there poured out the story of his wrongs. [sidenote: reynard and the badger.] the wrath of the king was now terrible to behold, and assembling his council, he bade them decide how he should punish the wretch who had twice ill treated his messengers. grimbart the badger, seeing that public opinion was decidedly against his relative, now begged that a third summons should be sent, and offered to carry the message himself. he furthermore declared that, even according to their own showing, the cat and bear had come to grief through their greediness; and then he promptly departed. grimbart found reynard in the bosom of his family, delivered his message, and frankly advised the fox to obey the king's summons and appear at court, where, perchance, he might yet manage to save himself; while if he remained at home the king would besiege his fortress and slay him and all his family. reynard listened favorably to this advice, and, after bidding his wife a tender farewell, and committing his beloved children to her care, he set out with grimbart to go to court. on the way the recollection of his many transgressions began to lie very heavily upon his heart. the fear of death quickened his conscience, and, longing to make his peace with heaven, he expressed a great wish to confess his sins and receive absolution. as no priest was near at hand, he begged grimbart the badger to listen to him, and penitently confessed all the misdeeds we have already recounted. he also added that he once bound isegrim to the rope of the convent bell at elkinar, where his frantic tugging rang the bell, until the monks, crowding around him, cudgeled him severely. reynard related, too, how he once induced isegrim to enter the priests' house through a window and crawl along some beams in search of ham and bacon. as the wolf was carefully feeling his way, however, the mischievous fox pushed him and made him fall on the sleeping people below, who, awakening with a start, fell upon him and beat him. these and sundry other sins having duly been confessed, the badger bade the fox chastise himself with a switch plucked from the hedge, lay it down in the road, jump over it thrice, and then meekly kiss that rod in token of obedience. then he pronounced reynard absolved from his former sins, and admonished him to lead an altered life in future. "'my uncle, take care that your future amendment in good works be visible. psalms you should read, and should visit churches with diligence; fast at the seasons duly appointed; him who asks you point out the way to; give to the needy willingly; swear to forsake all evil habits of living, all kinds of theft and robbing, deceit and evil behavior. thus can you make quite sure that you will attain unto mercy!'" the fox solemnly promised amendment, and with sanctimonious mien continued his journey. but as he and the badger passed a convent, and some plump hens crossed their path, reynard forgot all his promises and began to chase the chickens. sharply recalled to a sense of duty by grimbart, reynard reluctantly gave up the chase, and the two proceeded without further drawback to the court, where reynard's arrival created a great sensation. "when at the court it was known that reineke really was coming, ev'ry one thronged out of doors to see him, the great and the little. few with friendly intent; for almost all were complaining. this, however, in reineke's mind was of little importance; thus he pretended, at least, as he with grimbart the badger, boldly enough and with elegant mien now walked up the high street. jauntily swung he along at his ease, as if he were truly son of the king, and free and quit of ev'ry transgression. thus he came before nobel the king, and stood in the palace in the midst of the lords; he knew how to pose as unruffled." [sidenote: reynard at court.] with consummate skill and unparalleled eloquence and impudence, reynard addressed the king, lauding himself as a faithful servant, and commiserating the fact that so many envious and backbiting people were ready to accuse him. nobel the king, in whose mind the recollection of the treatment inflicted upon brown the bear and hintze the cat was still very vivid, answered him sternly, and told him that it would be difficult for him to acquit himself of those two charges, to say nothing of the many others brought against him. reynard, still undismayed, demanded with well-feigned indignation whether he was to be held responsible for the sins of those messengers whose misfortunes were attributable to their gluttonous and thievish propensities only. [sidenote: reynard condemned to death.] but in spite of this specious pleading, all the other animals came crowding around with so many grievous charges that matters began to look very dark indeed for the fox. in spite of all reynard's eloquence, and of the fluent excuses ever on his tongue, the council pronounced him guilty, and condemned him to die an ignominious death. reynard's enemies rejoiced at this sentence, and dragged him off with cheerful alacrity to the gallows, where all the animals assembled to witness his execution. on the way to the place of punishment reynard tried to think of some plan by means of which he could save himself even at the eleventh hour; and knowing that some scheme would occur to him if he could only gain a little time, he humbly implored permission to make a public confession of his manifold sins ere he paid the penalty of his crimes. anxious to hear all he might have to say, the king granted him permission to speak; and the fox began to relate at length the story of his early and innocent childhood, his meeting and alliance with isegrim the wolf, and his gradual induction by him into crooked paths and evil ways. he told, too, how the cruel wolf, presuming on his strength, had ever made use of it to deprive him, the fox, of his rightful share of plunder; and concluded by saying that he would often have suffered from hunger had it not been for the possession of a great treasure of gold, which had sufficed for all his wants. "thanks be to god, however, i never suffered from hunger; secretly have i fed well by means of that excellent treasure, all of silver and gold in a secret place that securely hidden i keep; with this i've enough. and, i say it in earnest, not a wagon could carry it off, though sevenfold loaded." at the word "treasure" nobel pricked up his ears and bade reynard relate how this hoard was obtained and where it was concealed. the artful fox, seeing the king's evident interest, rapidly prepared more lies, and, speaking to the king and queen, declared that ere he died it would be better for him to reveal the carefully guarded secret of a conspiracy which would have resulted in the king's death had it not been for his devotion. the queen, shuddering at the mere thought of the danger her royal consort had run, now begged that reynard might step down from the scaffold and speak privately to her and to nobel. in this interview reynard, still pretending to prepare for immediate death, told how he discovered a conspiracy formed by his father, isegrim the wolf, brown the bear, and many others, to slay the king and seize the scepter. he described the various secret conferences, the measures taken, and his father's promise to defray all the expenses of the enterprise and to subsidize mercenary troops by means of the hoard of king ermenrich, which he had discovered and concealed for his own use. reynard then continued to describe his loyal fears for his beloved sovereign, his resolve to outwit the conspirators, and his efforts to deprive them of the sinews of war by discovering and abstracting the treasure. thanks to his ceaseless vigilance, he saw his father steal forth one night, uncover his hoard, gloat over the gold, and then efface the traces of his search with the utmost skill. "'nor could one, not having seen, have possibly known. and ere he went onwards well he understood at the place where his feet had been planted, cleverly backwards and forwards to draw his tail, and to smooth it, and to efface the trace with the aid of his mouth.'" reynard then told the king how diligently he and his wife, ermelyn, labored to remove the gold and conceal it elsewhere, and how the conspiracy came to naught when no gold was found to pay the troops. he mournfully added that his loyalty further deprived him of a loving father, for the latter had hung himself in despair when he found his treasure gone and all his plans frustrated. with hypocritical tears he then bewailed his own fate, saying that, although ready to risk all for another, there was no one near him to speak a good word for him in his time of bitterest need. [sidenote: reynard pardoned.] the queen's soft heart was so touched by this display of feeling that she soon pleaded for and obtained reynard's pardon from nobel, who freely granted it when the fox promised to give him his treasure. most accurately now he described its place of concealment, but said that he could not remain at court, as his presence there was an insult to royalty, seeing that he was under the pope's ban and must make a pilgrimage ere it could be removed. the king, after imprisoning isegrim, brown, and hintze (the chief conspirators according to reynard's tale), and ascertaining that the place the fox so accurately described really existed, bade reynard depart, and at his request procured for him a fragment of brown's hide to make a wallet, and a pair of socks from isegrim and his wife, who were very loath to part with their foot covering. the king, queen, and court then accompanied reynard a short way on the first stage of his journey, and turned back, leaving bellyn the ram and lampe the hare to escort him a little farther. these innocent companions accompanied reynard to malepartus, and while bellyn waited patiently without, lampe entered the house with reynard. lady ermelyn and her two young sons greeted reynard with joy, listened breathlessly to the account of his adventures, and then helped him to slay and eat lampe, who, he declared, had brought all these evils upon him. reynard and his family feasted upon the body of poor lampe the hare, whose head was then securely fastened in the wallet made of brown's skin. this the fox carefully carried out and placed upon bellyn's back, assuring him volubly the while that it contained important dispatches, and that in order to insure him a suitable reward for his good offices he had told nobel the king that the ram had given him valuable assistance in preparing the contents of the wallet. "'yet, as soon as you see the king, and to still better favor wish to attain with him, 'twere well to bring to his notice that you have sagely given advice in composing the letters, yea, and the writer have help'd.'" thus instructed, and reassured concerning the absence of lampe, whom reynard described as enjoying a chat with ermelyn, bellyn bounded off to court, where he did not fail to vaunt that he had helped reynard prepare the contents of the wallet. nobel publicly opened it, and when he drew out lampe's bleeding head his anger knew no bounds. following the advice of his courtiers, bellyn, in spite of all his protestations, was given in atonement to the bear and the wolf, who the king now feared had been unjustly treated. they were then released from imprisonment and reinstated to royal favor, and twelve days of festivity ensued. [sidenote: reynard again in disgrace.] in the midst of the dance and revelry a bloody rabbit appeared to accuse reynard of tearing off one of his ears, while the garrulous crow, merkinau, related how the same unscrupulous wretch had pretended death merely to befool sharfenebbe, his wife, and induce her to come near enough for him to bite off her head. nobel the king, upon hearing these complaints, immediately swore that within six days he would besiege reynard in his castle, would take him prisoner, and would make him suffer the penalty of his crimes. isegrim the wolf and brown the bear rejoiced at these tidings, while grimbart the badger, seeing the peril his uncle had incurred, hastened off secretly to malepartus to warn him of his danger and support him by his advice. he found reynard sitting complacently in front of his house, contemplating two young doves which he had just secured as they were making their first attempt to fly. grimbart breathlessly related the arrival of bellyn, the royal indignation at the sight of lampe's head, and the plan for surrounding and capturing reynard in his safe retreat. [sidenote: grimbart's advice.] in spite of this disquieting news reynard's composure did not desert him; but after vowing that he could easily acquit himself of these crimes if he could only win the king's ear for a moment, he invited his kinsman to share his meal and taste the delicate morsels he had secured. grimbart the badger, seeing that the fox was not inclined to flee, now advised him not to await the king's coming and expose his wife and children to the horrors of a siege, but boldly to return to court. "'go with assurance before the lords, and put the best face on your affairs. they will give you a hearing. lupardus was also willing you should not be punish'd before you had fully made your defense, and the queen herself was not otherwise minded. mark this fact, and try to make use of it.'" once more reynard bade a tender farewell to his wife and sons, resisting all the former's entreaties to seek safety in flight, and, relying upon his cunning, set out with grimbart to visit the court. on his way he again pretended repentance for his former sins, and resuming his confession at the point where he had broken off, he told how maliciously he had secured a piece of the bear's hide for a wallet, and socks from isegrim and his wife. he then went on to relate just how he had murdered lampe, charged the innocent bellyn with the ambiguous message which had cost him his life, torn off one of the rabbit's ears, and eaten the crow's wife. lastly, he confessed how he had gone out in company with the wolf, who, being hungry and seeing a mare with a little foal, had bidden reynard inquire at what price she would sell it. the mare retorted that the price was written on her hoof. the sly fox, understanding her meaning, yet longing to get his companion into trouble, pretended not to know how to read, and sent the wolf to ascertain the price. the result was, of course, disastrous, for the mare kicked so hard that the wolf lay almost dead for several hours after. "so he went and asked the lady, 'what price is the filly? make it cheap.' whereupon she replied, 'you've only to read it; there you will find the sum inscribed on one of my hind feet.' 'let me look,' continued the wolf; and she answered, 'with pleasure.' "then she lifted upwards her foot from the grass; it was studded with six nails. she struck straight out, and not by a hair's breadth missed she her mark. she struck on his head, and straightway he fell down, lying as dumb as the dead." waxing more and more eloquent as they drew nearer court and his fears increased, reynard began to moralize. he excused himself for lampe's murder on the plea of the latter's aggravating behavior, said that the king himself was nothing but a robber living by rapine, and proceeded to show how even the priests were guilty of manifold sins, which he enumerated with much gusto. they had scarcely finished this edifying conversation when they came across martin the ape, on his way to rome; and reynard hastened to implore him to secure his release from the pope's ban, through the intercession of the ape's uncle, the cardinal, whose interest it was to serve him. martin the ape not only promised his good offices at the papal court, but bade reynard not hesitate to consult his wife should he find himself in any predicament at court. [sidenote: reynard at court.] thus supported, reynard again made his appearance at court, to the utter amazement and surprise of all; and although, he was well aware that his situation was more dangerous than ever, his assurance did not seem at all impaired. kneeling with pretended humility before the king, he artfully began his address by lamenting the fact that there were so many unscrupulous people ever ready to accuse the innocent; and when the king angrily interrupted him to accuse him of maiming the rabbit and devouring the crow, he began his defense. first reynard explained that since martin the ape had undertaken to free him from his ban, his journey to rome was of course unnecessary. then he related how the rabbit, dining at his house, had insulted and quarreled with his children, from whose clutches he had had much trouble to save him. the crow's death was caused by a fish bone she had swallowed. bellyn, the traitor, had slain lampe himself, and evidently put his head in the wallet instead of some treasures which reynard had intrusted to their care for the king and queen. [sidenote: the ape's intercession.] the king, who had listened impatiently to all this discourse, angrily retired, refusing to believe a word, while reynard sought the ape's wife, frau rückenau, and bade her intercede for him. she entered the royal tent, reminded the king of her former services, and seeing his mood somewhat softened, ventured to mention how cleverly reynard once helped him to judge between the rival claims of a shepherd and a serpent. the latter, caught in a noose and about to die, had implored a passing shepherd to set it free. the peasant had done so after exacting a solemn oath from the serpent to do him no harm. but the serpent, once released, and suffering from the pangs of hunger, threatened to devour the peasant. the latter called the raven, wolf, and bear, whom he met by the way, to his aid; but as they all hoped to get a share of him, they all decided in favor of the serpent's claim to eat him. the case by this time had become so intricate that it was laid before the king, who, unable to judge wisely, called reynard to his aid. the fox declared that he could only settle so difficult a matter when plaintiff and defendant had assumed the relative positions which they occupied at the time of dispute. then when the snake was safely in the noose once more, reynard decided that, knowing the serpent's treachery, the peasant might again set him loose, but need not do so unless he chose. "'here now is each of the parties once again in his former state, nor has either the contest won or lost. the right, i think, of itself is apparent. for if it pleases the man, he again can deliver the serpent out of the noose; if not, he may let her remain and be hang'd there. free he may go on his way with honor and see to his business, since she has proved herself false, when she had accepted his kindness; fairly the man has the choice. this seems to me to be justice, true to the spirit. let him who understands better declare it.'" [illustration: reynard preparing for battle.--kaulbach.] the king, remembering this celebrated judgment, and skillfully reminded by frau rückenau of the bear's and the wolf's rapacity, consented at last to give reynard a second hearing. the fox now minutely described the treasures he sent to court,--a magic ring for the king, and a comb and mirror for the queen. not only was the fable of the judgment of paris engraved on the latter, but also that of the jealous donkey, who, imitating his master's lapdog, and trying to climb into his lap, received nothing but blows. there was also the story of the cat and the fox, of the wolf and the crane, and, lastly, the account of the miraculous way in which his father, a noted leech, had saved nobel's sire by making him eat the flesh of a wolf just seven years old. the pleader then reminded the king of a noted hunting party, where isegrim, having secured a boar, gave the king one quarter, the queen another, reserved a half for himself, and gave the fox nothing but the head. this division was of course very disloyal, and the fox showed that he thought so by dividing a calf more equitably; i.e., giving the queen one half, the king the other, the heart and liver to the princes, the head to the wolf, and reserving only the feet for himself. [sidenote: duel between the fox and the wolf.] reynard prided himself upon these tokens of loyalty, and then, seeing that he had made a favorable impression, he volunteered, in spite of his small size, to meet the wolf in battle and leave the vindication of his claims to the judgment of god. this magnanimous behavior filled the king with admiration, and the trial was appointed for the following day, the intervening hours being granted to both combatants for preparation. reynard, still advised by frau rückenau, was shaved smooth, rubbed with butter until he was as slippery as could be, and instructed to feign fear and run fleetly in front of the wolf, kicking up as much sand as possible, and using his brush to dash it into his opponent's eyes and thus blind him. the combat took place. the wolf, blinded by the sand in his eyes, was so infuriated that he finally pounced upon the fox, who, however, managed yet to get the upper hand and come off victor, generously granting life to his foe, whom he had nearly torn and scratched to pieces. reynard, having thus won the victory, enjoyed the plaudits of the crowd, while the wolf, being vanquished, was publicly derided, and borne off by his few remaining friends to be nursed back to health, if possible. "such is ever the way of the world. they say to the lucky, 'long may you live in good health,' and friends he finds in abundance. when, however, ill fortune befalls him, alone he must bear it. even so was it here; each one of them wish'd to the victor nearest to be, to show himself off." [sidenote: reynard's acquittal.] the king pronounced reynard guiltless of all charges, and made him one of his privy councilors. but the fox, after thanking the king for his favors, humbly besought permission to return home, where his wife was awaiting him, and departed, escorted by a deputation of his friends. according to some versions of the tale, reynard contented himself with blinding the wolf and maiming him for life; according to others, he bided his time, and when the king was ill, told him that nothing could save him short of the heart of a wolf just seven years old. of course no wolf of the exact age could be found but isegrim, so he was sacrificed to save the king, who recovered. as for reynard, he enjoyed great honor as long as he lived, and his adventures have long been the delight of the people, whom his tricks never failed to amuse. "highly honor'd is reineke now! to wisdom let all men quickly apply them, and flee what is evil, and reverence virtue! this is the end and aim of the song, and in it the poet fable and truth hath mixed, whereby the good from the evil ye may discern, and wisdom esteem; and thereby the buyers of this book in the ways of the world may be daily instructed. for it was so created of old, and will ever remain so. thus is our poem of reineke's deeds and character ended. may god bring us all to eternal happiness. amen!" chapter iv. the nibelungenlied. [sidenote: origin of poem.] germany's greatest epic is, without doubt, the ancient poem entitled "nibelungenlied," or the "lay," "fall," or "calamity of the nibelungs." although nothing certain is known concerning the real authorship of this beautiful work, it is supposed to have been put into its present form either by the austrian minstrel von kürenberg or by the german poet von ofterdingen, some time previous to the year , the date inscribed on the oldest manuscript of that poem now extant. according to the best authorities on ancient german literature, the "nibelungenlied" is compiled from preëxisting songs and rhapsodies, forming five distinct cycles of myths, but all referring in some way to the great treasure of the nibelungs. one of these cycles is the northern volsunga saga,[ ] where sigurd, gudrun, gunnar, högni, and atli, the principal characters, correspond to siegfried, kriemhild, gunther, hagen, and etzel of the "nibelungenlied." the story of the german poem, which can be given only in outline, is as follows: [footnote : see guerber's myths of northern lands, p. .] dankrat and ute, king and queen of burgundy, were the fortunate parents of four children: three sons, gunther, gernot, and giselher; and one beautiful daughter, kriemhild. when the king died, his eldest son, gunther, succeeded him, and reigned wisely and well, residing at worms on the rhine, his capital and favorite city. [sidenote: kriemhild's dream.] as was customary in those days, kriemhild lived a peaceful and secluded life, rarely leaving her mother's palace and protection. but one night her slumbers, which were usually very peaceful, were disturbed by a tormenting dream, which, upon awaking, she hastened to confide to her mother, thinking that, as ute was skilled in magic and dreams, she might give a favorable interpretation and thus rid her of her haunting fears. "a dream was dreamt by kriemhild, the virtuous and the gay, how a wild young falcon she train'd for many a day, till two fierce eagles tore it." _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). ute declared that the falcon her daughter had seen in her dream must be some noble prince, whom she would love and marry; while the two eagles were base murderers, who would eventually slay her beloved. instead of reassuring kriemhild, this interpretation only saddened her the more, and made her loudly protest that she would rather forego all the joys of married estate than have to mourn for a beloved husband. [sidenote: siegfried's home.] in those days there flourished farther down the rhine the kingdom of the netherlands, governed by siegmund and siegelind. they were very proud of their only son and heir, young siegfried, who had already reached man's estate. to celebrate his knighthood a great tournament was held at xanten on the rhine, and in the jousting the young prince won all the laurels, although great and tried warriors matched their skill against his in the lists. the festivities continued for seven whole days, and when the guests departed they were all heavily laden with the costly gifts which the king and queen had lavished upon them. "the gorgeous feast it lasted till the seventh day was o'er. siegelind, the wealthy, did as they did of yore; she won for valiant siegfried the hearts of young and old, when for his sake among them she shower'd the ruddy gold. "you scarce could find one needy in all the minstrel band; horses and robes were scatter'd with ever-open hand. they gave as though they had not another day to live; none were to take so ready as they inclin'd to give." _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). after the departure of all these guests, young siegfried sought his parents' presence, told them that he had heard rumors of the beauty and attractions of kriemhild of burgundy, and declared his wish to journey thither to secure her as his wife. in vain the fond parents tried to prevail upon him to remain quietly at home; the young hero insisted so strongly that he finally won their consent to his immediate departure. with eleven companions, all decked out in the richest garments that the queen's chests could furnish, the young prince rode down the rhine, and reached worms on the seventh day. [sidenote: siegfried's arrival in burgundy.] the arrival of the gallant little troop was soon noted by gunther's subjects, who hastened out to meet the strangers and help them dismount. siegfried immediately requested to be brought into the presence of their king, who, in the mean while, had inquired of his uncle, hagen, the names and standing of the newcomers. glancing down from the great hall window, hagen said that the leader must be siegfried, the knight who had slain the owners of the nibelungen hoard and appropriated it for his own use, as well as the magic cloud-cloak, or tarnkappe, which rendered its wearer invisible to mortal eyes.[ ] he added that this same siegfried was ruler of the nibelungen land, and the slayer of a terrible dragon, whose blood had made him invulnerable, and he concluded by advising gunther to receive him most courteously. [footnote : for various legends of this cycle see guerber's legends of the rhine, article xanten.] "yet more i know of siegfried, that well your ear may hold: a poison-spitting dragon he slew with courage bold, and in the blood then bath'd him; thus turn'd to horn his skin, and now no weapons harm him, as often proved has been. "receive then this young hero with all becoming state; 'twere ill advis'd to merit so fierce a champion's hate. so lovely is his presence, at once all hearts are won, and then his strength and courage such wondrous deeds have done." _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). in obedience to this advice, gunther went to meet siegfried and politely inquired the cause of his visit. imagine his dismay, therefore, when siegfried replied that he had come to test the burgundian's vaunted strength, and to propose a single combat, in which the victor might claim the lands and allegiance of the vanquished. gunther recoiled from such a proposal, and as none of his warriors seemed inclined to accept the challenge, he and his brother hastened to disarm siegfried's haughty mood by their proffers of unbounded hospitality. siegfried sojourned for nearly a year at gunther's court, displaying his skill in all martial exercises; and although he never caught a glimpse of the fair maiden kriemhild, she often admired his strength and manly beauty from behind the palace lattice. [sidenote: war with the saxons and danes.] one day the games were interrupted by the arrival of a herald announcing that ludeger, king of the saxons, and ludegast, king of denmark, were about to invade burgundy. these tidings filled gunther's heart with terror, for the enemy were very numerous and their valor was beyond all question. but when hagen hinted that perhaps siegfried would lend them a helping hand, the king of burgundy seized the suggestion with joy. as soon as siegfried was made aware of the threatened invasion he declared that if gunther would only give him one thousand brave men he would repel the foe. this offer was too good to refuse; so gunther hastily assembled a chosen corps, in which were his brothers gernot and giselher, hagen and his brother dankwart, ortwine, sindolt, and volker,--all men of remarkable valor. "'sir king,' said noble siegfried, 'here sit at home and play, while i and your vassals are fighting far away; here frolic with the ladies and many a merry mate, and trust to me for guarding your honor and estate.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). this little force, only one thousand strong, then marched bravely out of worms, passed through hesse, and entered saxony, where it encountered the enemy numbering no less than twenty thousand valiant fighting men. the battle was immediately begun; and while all fought bravely, none did such wonders as siegfried, who made both kings prisoners, routed their host, and returned triumphant to worms, with much spoil and many captives. a messenger had preceded him thither to announce the success of the expedition, and he was secretly summoned and questioned by kriemhild, who, in her joy at hearing that siegfried was unharmed and victorious, gave the messenger a large reward. "then spake she midst her blushes, 'well hast thou earn'd thy meed, well hast thou told thy story, so take thee costliest weed, and straight i'll bid be brought thee ten marks of ruddy gold.' no wonder, to rich ladies glad news are gladly told." _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). [sidenote: celebration of siegfried's victory.] kriemhild then hastened to her window, from whence she witnessed her hero's triumphant entrance, and heard the people's acclamations of joy. the wounded were cared for, the captive kings hospitably entertained and duly released, and great festivities were held to celebrate the glorious victory. among other entertainments the knights tilted in the tournaments, and, by gernot's advice, ute, kriemhild, and all the court ladies were invited to view the prowess of the men at arms. it was thus that siegfried first beheld kriemhild, and as soon as he saw her he gladly acknowledged that she was fairer than he could ever have supposed. "as the moon arising outglitters every star that through the clouds so purely glimmers from afar, e'en so love-breathing kriemhild dimm'd every beauty nigh. well might at such a vision many a bold heart beat high." _nibelungenlied_ {lettsom's tr.}. siegfried's happiness was complete, however, when he was appointed the escort of this peerless maiden; and on the way to and from the tournament and mass he made good use of his opportunity to whisper pretty speeches to kriemhild, who timidly expressed her gratitude for the service he had rendered her brother, and begged that he would continue to befriend him. these words made siegfried blush with pride, and then and there he registered a solemn vow to fulfill her request. "'ever,' said he, 'your brethren i'll serve as best i may, nor once, while i have being, will head on pillow lay till i have done to please them whate'er they bid me do; and this, my lady kriemhild, is all for love of you.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). the festivities being ended, gunther bestowed many gifts on the departing guests; but when siegfried would also have departed he entreated him to remain at worms. this the young hero was not at all loath to do, as he had fallen deeply in love with the fair kriemhild, whom he was now privileged to see every day. [sidenote: brunhild.] the excitement consequent on the festivities had not entirely subsided in worms when king gunther declared his desire to win for his wife brunhild, a princess of issland, who had vowed to marry none but the man who could surpass her in casting a spear, in throwing a stone, and in jumping. "then spake the lord of rhineland: 'straight will i hence to sea, and seek the fiery brunhild, howe'er it go with me. for love of the stern maiden i'll frankly risk my life; ready am i to lose it, if i win her not to wife.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). in vain siegfried, who knew all about brunhild, tried to dissuade him; gunther insisted upon departing, but proposed to siegfried to accompany him, promising him as reward for his assistance kriemhild's hand as soon as the princess of issland was won. such an offer was not to be refused, and siegfried immediately accepted it, advising gunther to take only hagen and dankwart as his attendants. [sidenote: the expedition to issland.] after seeking the aid of kriemhild for a supply of rich clothing suitable for a prince going a-wooing, gunther and the three knights embarked on a small vessel, whose sails soon filled, and which rapidly bore them flown the rhine and over the sea to issland. when within sight of its shores, siegfried bade his companions all carefully agree in representing him to the strangers as gunther's vassal only. their arrival was seen by some inquisitive damsels peering out of the windows of the castle, and reported to brunhild, who immediately and joyfully concluded that siegfried had come to seek her hand in marriage. but when she heard that he held another man's stirrup to enable him to mount, she angrily frowned, wondering why he came as a menial instead of as a king. when the strangers entered her hall she would have greeted siegfried first had he not modestly drawn aside, declaring that the honor was due to his master, gunther, king of burgundy, who had come to issland to woo her. brunhild then haughtily bade her warriors make all the necessary preparations for the coming contest; and gunther, hagen, and dankwart apprehensively watched the movements of four warriors staggering beneath the weight of brunhild's ponderous shield. then they saw three others equally overpowered by her spear; and twelve sturdy servants could scarcely roll the stone she was wont to cast. hagen and dankwart, fearing for their master,--who was doomed to die in case of failure,--began to mutter that some treachery was afoot, and openly regretted that they had consented to lay aside their weapons upon entering the castle. these remarks, overheard by brunhild, called forth her scorn, and she contemptuously bade her servants bring the strangers' arms, since they were afraid. "well heard the noble maiden the warrior's words the while, and looking o'er her shoulder, said with a scornful smile, 'as he thinks himself so mighty, i'll not deny a guest; take they their arms and armor, and do as seems them best. "'be they naked and defenseless, or sheath'd in armor sheen, to me it nothing matters,' said the haughty queen. 'fear'd yet i never mortal, and, spite of yon stern brow and all the strength of gunther, i fear as little now.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). [sidenote: siegfried and the tarnkappe.] while these preliminaries were being settled, siegfried had gone down to the ship riding at anchor, and all unseen had donned his magic cloud-cloak and returned to the scene of the coming contest, where he now bade gunther rely upon his aid. "'i am siegfried, thy trusty friend and true; be not in fear a moment for all the queen can do.' "said he, 'off with the buckler, and give it me to bear; now what i shall advise thee, mark with thy closest care. be it thine to make the gestures, and mine the work to do.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). in obedience to these directions, gunther merely made the motions, depending upon the invisible siegfried to parry and make all the attacks. brunhild first poised and flung her spear with such force that both heroes staggered and almost fell; but before she could cry out victory, siegfried had caught the spear, turned it butt end foremost, and flung it back with such violence that the princess fell and was obliged to acknowledge herself outdone. [sidenote: brunhild's defeat.] nothing daunted, however, by this first defeat, she caught up the massive stone, flung it far from her, and leaping after it, alighted beside it. but even while she was inwardly congratulating herself, and confidently cherishing the belief that the stranger could not surpass her, siegfried caught up the stone, flung it farther still, and grasping gunther by his broad girdle, bounded through the air with him and landed far beyond it. brunhild was outdone in all three feats, and, according to her own promise, belonged to the victor, gunther, to whom she now bade her people show all due respect and homage. "then all aloud fair brunhild bespake her courtier band, seeing in the ring at distance unharm'd her wooer stand: 'hither, my men and kinsmen, low to my better bow. i am no more your mistress; you're gunther's liegemen now.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). [illustration: gunther winning his bride.--keller.] the warriors all hastened to do her bidding, and escorted their new lord to the castle, whither, under pretext of fitly celebrating her marriage, brunhild summoned all her retainers from far and near. this rally roused the secret terror of gunther, hagen, and dankwart, for they suspected some act of treachery on the part of the dark-browed queen. these fears were also, in a measure, shared by siegfried; so he stole away, promising to return before long with a force sufficient to overawe brunhild and quell all attempt at foul play. siegfried, having hastily embarked upon the little vessel, swiftly sailed away to the nibelungen land, where he arrived in an incredibly short space of time, presented himself at the gates of his castle, and forced an entrance by conquering the giant porter, and alberich, the dwarf guardian of his treasure. then making himself known to his followers, the nibelungs, he chose one thousand of them to accompany him back to issland to support the burgundian king. [sidenote: marriage of gunther and brunhild.] the arrival of this unexpected force greatly surprised brunhild. she questioned gunther, and upon receiving the careless reply that they were only a few of his followers, who had come to make merry at his wedding, she gave up all hope of resistance. when the usual festivities had taken place, and the wonted largesses had been distributed, gunther bade his bride prepare to follow him back to the rhine with her personal female attendants, who numbered no less than one hundred and sixty-eight. brunhild regretfully left her own country, escorted by the thousand nibelung warriors; and when they had journeyed nine days, gunther bade siegfried spur ahead and announce his safe return to his family and subjects. offended by the tone of command gunther had assumed, siegfried at first proudly refused to obey; but when the king begged it as a favor, and mentioned kriemhild's name, he immediately relented and set out. "said he, 'nay, gentle siegfried, do but this journey take, not for my sake only, but for my sister's sake; you'll oblige fair kriemhild in this as well as me.' when so implored was siegfried, ready at once was he. "'whate'er you will, command me; let naught be left unsaid; i will gladly do it for the lovely maid. how can i refuse her who my heart has won? for her, whate'er your pleasure, tell it, and it is done.'" _nibelunglied_ (lettsom's tr.). kriemhild received this messenger most graciously, and gave immediate orders for a magnificent reception of the new queen, going down to the river to meet and greet her in the most cordial and affectionate manner. [sidenote: marriage of siegfried and kriemhild.] a tournament and banquet ensued; but as they were about to sit down to the latter, the impatient siegfried ventured to remind gunther of his promise, and claim the hand of kriemhild. in spite of a low-spoken remonstrance on brunhild's part, who said that he would surely never consent to give his only sister in marriage to a menial, gunther sent for kriemhild, who blushingly expressed her readiness to marry siegfried if her brother wished. the marriage was immediately celebrated, and the two bridal couples sat side by side. but while kriemhild's fair face was radiant with joy, brunhild's dark brows were drawn close together in an unmistakable and ominous frown. [sidenote: gunther's humiliation.] the banquet over, the newly married couples retired; but when gunther, for the first time alone with his wife, would fain have embraced her, she seized him, and, in spite of his vigorous resistance, bound him fast with her long girdle, suspended him from a nail in the corner of her apartment, and, notwithstanding his piteous entreaties, let him remain there all night long, releasing him only a few moments before the attendants entered the nuptial chamber in the morning. of course all seemed greatly surprised to see gunther's lowering countenance, which contrasted oddly with siegfried's radiant mien; for the latter had won a loving wife, and, to show his appreciation of her, had given her as wedding gift the great nibelungen hoard. in the course of the day gunther managed to draw siegfried aside, and secretly confided to him the shameful treatment he had received at his wife's hands. when siegfried heard this he offered to don his cloud-cloak once more, enter the royal chamber unperceived, and force brunhild to recognize her husband as her master, and never again make use of her strength against him. [sidenote: brunhild subdued by siegfried.] in pursuance of this promise siegfried suddenly left kriemhild's side at nightfall, stole unseen into the queen's room, and when she and gunther had closed the door, he blew out the lights and wrestled with brunhild until she begged for mercy, promising never to bind him again; for as siegfried had remained invisible throughout the struggle, she thought it was gunther who had conquered her. "said she, 'right noble ruler, vouchsafe my life to spare; whatever i've offended, my duty shall repair. i'll meet thy noble passion; my love with thine shall vie. that thou canst tame a woman, none better knows than i.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). still unperceived, siegfried now took her girdle and ring, and stole out of the apartment, leaving gunther alone with his wife; but, true to her promise, brunhild ever after treated her husband with due respect, and having once for all been conquered, she entirely lost the fabulous strength which had been her proudest boast, and was no more powerful than any other member of her sex. after fourteen days of rejoicing, siegfried and kriemhild (the latter escorted by her faithful steward eckewart) journeyed off to xanten on the rhine, where siegmund and siegelind received them joyfully, and even abdicated in their favor. ten years passed away very rapidly indeed. siegfried became the father of a son, whom he named gunther, in honor of his brother-in-law, who had called his heir siegfried; and when siegelind had seen her little grandson she departed from this world. siegfried, with kriemhild, his father, and his son, then went to the nibelungen land, where they tarried two years. in the mean while brunhild, still imagining that siegfried was only her husband's vassal, secretly wondered why he never came to court to do homage for his lands, and finally suggested to gunther that it would be well to invite his sister and her husband to visit them at worms. gunther seized this suggestion gladly, and immediately sent one of his followers, gary, to deliver the invitation, which siegfried accepted for himself and his wife, and also for siegmund, his father. as they were bidden for midsummer, and as the journey was very long, kriemhild speedily began her preparations; and when she left home she cheerfully intrusted her little son to the care of the stalwart nibelung knights, little suspecting that she would never see him again. on kriemhild's arrival at worms, brunhild greeted her with as much pomp and ceremony as had been used for her own reception; but in spite of the amity which seemed to exist between the two queens, brunhild was secretly angry at what she deemed kriemhild's unwarrantable arrogance. [sidenote: brunhild and kreimhild.] one day, when the two queens were sitting together, brunhild, weary of hearing kriemhild's constant praise of her husband, who she declared was without a peer in the world, cuttingly remarked that since he was gunther's vassal he must necessarily be his inferior. this remark called forth a retort from kriemhild, and a dispute was soon raging, in the course of which kriemhild vowed that she would publicly assert her rank by taking the precedence of brunhild in entering the church. the queens parted in hot anger, but both immediately proceeded to attire themselves with the utmost magnificence, and, escorted by all their maids, met at the church door. brunhild there bade kriemhild stand aside and make way for her superior; but this order so angered the nibelungen queen that the dispute was resumed in public with increased vehemence and bitterness. in her indignation kriemhild finally insulted brunhild grossly by declaring that she was not a faithful wife; and in proof of her assertion she produced the ring and girdle which siegfried had won in his memorable encounter with her, and which he had imprudently given to his wife, to whom he had also confided the secret of brunhild's wooing. brunhild indignantly summoned gunther to defend her, and he, in anger, sent for siegfried, who publicly swore that his wife had not told the truth, and that gunther's queen had in no way forfeited her good name. further to propitiate his host, siegfried declared the quarrel to be disgraceful, and promised to teach his wife better manners for the future, advising gunther to do the same with his consort. "'women must be instructed,' said siegfried the good knight, 'to leave off idle talking and rule their tongues aright. keep thy fair wife in order. i'll do by mine the same. such overweening folly puts me indeed to shame.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). to carry out this good resolution he led kriemhild home, where, sooth to say, he beat her black and blue,--an heroic measure which gunther did not dare to imitate. brunhild, smarting from the public insult received, continued to weep aloud and complain, until hagen, inquiring the cause of her extravagant grief, and receiving a highly colored version of the affair, declared that he would see that she was duly avenged. "he ask'd her what had happen'd--wherefore he saw her weep; she told him all the story; he vow'd to her full deep that reap should kriemhild's husband as he had dar'd to sow, or that himself thereafter content should never know." _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). to keep this promise, hagen next tried to stir up the anger of gunther, gernot, and ortwine, and to prevail upon them to murder siegfried; but giselher reproved him for these base designs, and openly took siegfried's part, declaring: "'sure 'tis but a trifle to stir an angry wife.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). but although he succeeded in quelling the attempt for the time being, he was no match for the artful hagen, who continually reminded gunther of the insult his wife had received, setting it in the worst possible light, and finally so worked upon the king's feelings that he consented to a treacherous assault. [sidenote: hagen's treachery.] under pretext that his former enemy, ludeger, was about to attack him again, gunther asked siegfried's assistance, and began to prepare as if for war. when kriemhild heard that her beloved husband was about to rush into danger she was greatly troubled. hagen artfully pretended to share her alarm, and so won her confidence that she revealed to him that siegfried was invulnerable except in one spot, between his shoulders, where a lime leaf had rested and the dragon's blood had not touched him. "'so now i'll tell the secret, dear friend, alone to thee (for thou, i doubt not, cousin, wilt keep thy faith with me), where sword may pierce my darling, and death sit on the thrust. see, in thy truth and honor how full, how firm, my trust! "'as from the dragon's death-wounds gush'd out the crimson gore, with the smoking torrent the warrior wash'd him o'er, a leaf then 'twixt his shoulders fell from the linden bough. there only steel can harm him; for that i tremble now.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). pretending a sympathy he was far from feeling, and disguising his unholy joy, hagen bade kriemhild sew a tiny cross on siegfried's doublet over the vulnerable spot, that he might the better protect him in case of danger, and, after receiving her profuse thanks, returned to report the success of his ruse to the king. when siegfried joined them on the morrow, wearing the fatal marked doublet, he was surprised to hear that the rebellion had been quelled without a blow; and when invited to join in a hunt in the odenwald instead of the fray, he gladly signified his consent. after bidding farewell to kriemhild, whose heart was sorely oppressed by dark forebodings, he joined the hunting party. he scoured the forest, slew several boars, caught a bear alive, and playfully let him loose in camp to furnish sport for the guests while the noonday meal was being prepared. then he gaily sat down, clamoring for a drink. his exertions had made him very thirsty indeed, and he was sorely disappointed when told that, owing to a mistake, the wine had been carried to another part of the forest. but when hagen pointed out a fresh spring at a short distance, all his wonted good humor returned, and he merrily proposed a race thither, offering to run in full armor, while the others might lay aside their cumbersome weapons. this challenge was accepted by hagen and gunther. although heavily handicapped, siegfried reached the spring first; but, wishing to show courtesy to his host, he bade him drink while he disarmed. when gunther's thirst was quenched, siegfried took his turn, and while he bent over the water hagen treacherously removed all his weapons except his shield, and gliding behind him, drove his spear through his body in the exact spot where kriemhild had embroidered the fatal mark. [sidenote: death of siegfried.] mortally wounded, siegfried made a desperate effort to avenge himself; but finding nothing but his shield within reach, he flung it with such force at his murderer that it knocked him down. this last effort exhausted the remainder of his strength, and the hero fell back upon the grass, cursing the treachery of those whom he had trusted as friends. "thus spake the deadly wounded: 'ay, cowards false as hell! to you i still was faithful; i serv'd you long and well;-- but what boots all?--for guerdon treason and death i've won. by your friends, vile traitors! foully have you done. "'whoever shall hereafter from your loins be born, shall take from such vile fathers a heritage of scorn. on me you have wreak'd malice where gratitude was due; with shame shall you be banish'd by all good knights and true.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). but even in death siegfried could not forget his beloved wife; and laying aside all his anger, he pathetically recommended her to gunther's care, bidding him guard her well. siegfried expired as soon as these words were uttered; and the hunters silently gathered around his corpse, regretfully contemplating the fallen hero, while they took counsel together how they might keep the secret of hagen's treachery. they finally agreed to carry the body back to worms and to say that they had found siegfried dead in the forest, where he had presumably been slain by highwaymen. "then many said, repenting, 'this deed will prove our bale; still let us shroud the secret, and all keep in one tale,-- that the good lord of kriemhild to hunt alone preferr'd, and so was slain by robbers as through the wood he spurr'd.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). but although his companions were anxious to shield him, hagen gloried in his dastardly deed, and secretly bade the bearers deposit siegfried's corpse at kriemhild's door after nightfall, so that she should be the first to see it there when on her way to early mass. as he fully expected, kriemhild immediately recognized her husband, and fell senseless upon him; but when she had recovered consciousness she declared, while loudly bewailing her loss, that siegfried was the victim of an assassination. "'woe's me, woe's me forever! sure no fair foeman's sword shiver'd thy failing buckler; 'twas murder stopp'd thy breath. oh that i knew who did it! death i'd requite with death!'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). by her orders a messenger was sent to break the mournful tidings to the still sleeping siegmund and the nibelungs. they hastily armed and rallied about her, and would have fallen upon the burgundians, to avenge their master's death, had she not restrained them, bidding them await a suitable occasion, and promising them her support when the right time came. [sidenote: detection of siegfried's murderer.] the preparations for a sumptuous funeral were immediately begun, and all lent a willing hand, for siegfried was greatly beloved at worms. his body was therefore laid in state in the cathedral, where all came to view it and condole with kriemhild; but when gunther drew near to express his sorrow, she refused to listen to him until he promised that all those present at the hunt should touch the body, which at the murderer's contact would bleed afresh. all stood the test and were honorably acquitted save hagen, at whose touch siegfried's blood began to flow. "it is a mighty marvel, which oft e'en now we spy, that when the blood-stain'd murderer comes to the murder'd nigh, the wounds break out a-bleeding; then too the same befell, and thus could each beholder the guilt of hagen tell." _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). once more kriemhild restrained the angry nibelung warriors from taking immediate revenge, and, upheld by gernot and giselher, who really sympathized with her grief, she went through the remainder of the funeral ceremonies and saw her hero duly laid at rest. kriemhild's mourning had only begun. all her days and nights were now spent in bitter weeping. this sorrow was fully shared by siegmund, who, however, finally roused himself and proposed a return home. kriemhild was about to accompany him, when her relatives persuaded her to remain in burgundy. then the little band which had come in festal array rode silently away in mourning robes, the grim nibelung knights muttering dark threats against those who had dealt so basely with their beloved master. "'into this same country we well may come again to seek and find the traitor who laid our master low. among the kin of siegfried they have many a mortal foe.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). [sidenote: the nibelungen hoard.] eckewart the steward alone remained with kriemhild, with a faithfulness which has become proverbial in the german language, and prepared for his mistress a dwelling close by the cathedral, so that she might constantly visit her husband's tomb. here kriemhild spent three years in complete seclusion, refusing to see gunther, or the detested hagen; but they, remembering that the immense nibelungen hoard was hers by right, continually wondered how she could be induced to send for it. owing to hagen's advice, gunther, helped by his brothers, finally obtained an interview with, and was reconciled to, his mourning sister, and shortly after persuaded her to send twelve men to claim from alberich, the dwarf, the fabulous wealth her husband had bestowed upon her as a wedding gift. "it was made up of nothing but precious stones and gold; were all the world bought from it, and down the value told, not a mark the less thereafter were left than erst was scor'd. good reason sure had hagen to covet such a hoard. "and thereamong was lying the wishing rod of gold, which whoso could discover, might in subjection hold all this wide world as master, with all that dwelt therein. there came to worms with gernot full many of albric's kin." _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). but although this wealth is said to have filled nearly one hundred and fifty wagons, kriemhild would gladly have given it all away could she but have seen her husband by her side once more. not knowing what else to do with it, she gave away her gold right and left, bidding all the recipients of her bounty pray for siegfried's soul. her largesses were so extensive that hagen, who alone did not profit by her generosity, and who feared the treasure might be exhausted before he could obtain a share, sought out gunther and told him that kriemhild was secretly winning to her side many adherents, whom she would some day urge to avenge her husband's murder by slaying her kindred. [illustration: siegfried's body borne home by the huntsmen.--pixis.] while gunther was trying to devise some plan to obtain possession of the hoard, hagen boldly seized the keys of the tower where it was kept, secretly removed all the gold, and, to prevent its falling into any hands but his own, sank it in the rhine near lochheim. "ere back the king came thither, impatient of delay, hagen seized the treasure, and bore it thence away. into the rhine at lochheim the whole at once threw he! henceforth he thought t'enjoy it, but that was ne'er to be. "he nevermore could get it for all his vain desire; so fortune oft the traitor cheats of his treason's hire. alone he hop'd to use it as long as he should live, but neither himself could profit, nor to another give." _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). when gunther, gernot, and giselher heard what hagen had done, they were so angry that he deemed it advisable to withdraw from court for a while. kriemhild would fain have left burgundy forever at this fresh wrong, but with much difficulty was prevailed upon to remain and take up her abode at lorch, whither siegfried's remains were removed by her order. [sidenote: king of hungary a suitor for kriemhild.] thirteen years had passed by since siegfried's death in the odenwald when etzel, king of hungary, who had lost his beautiful and beloved wife, helche, bade one of his knights, rüdiger of bechlaren, ride to worms and sue for the hand of kriemhild in his master's name. rüdiger immediately gathered together a suitable train and departed, stopping on the way to visit his wife and daughter at bechlaren. passing all through bavaria, he arrived at last at worms, where he was warmly welcomed, by hagen especially, who had formerly known him well. in reply to gunther's courteous inquiry concerning the welfare of the king and queen of the huns, rüdiger announced the death of the latter, and declared that he had come to sue for kriemhild's hand. "thereon the highborn envoy his message freely told: 'king, since you have permitted, i'll to your ears unfold wherefore my royal master me to your court has sent, plung'd as he is in sorrow and doleful dreariment. "'it has been told my master, sir siegfried now is dead, and kriemhild left a widow. if thus they both have sped, would you but permit her, she the crown shall wear before the knights of etzel; this bids me my good lord declare.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). gunther gladly received this message, promised to do all in his power to win kriemhild's consent, and said that he would give the envoy a definite answer in three days' time. he then consulted his brothers and nobles as to the advisability of the proposed alliance, and found that all were greatly in favor of it save hagen, who warned them that if kriemhild were ever queen of the huns she would use her power to avenge her wrongs. [sidenote: rüdiger's promise.] this warning was, however, not heeded by the royal brothers, who, seeking kriemhild's presence, vainly tried to make her accept the hun's proposal. all she would grant was an audience to rüdiger, who laid before her his master's proposal, described the power of the huns, and swore to obey her in all things would she but consent to become his queen. "in vain they her entreated, in vain to her they pray'd, till to the queen the margrave this secret promise made,-- he'd 'full amends procure her for past or future ill.' those words her storm-tost bosom had power in part to still." _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). [sidenote: the journey to hungary.] after receiving this promise, kriemhild signified her consent, and immediately prepared to accompany rüdiger to king etzel's court. eckewart and all her maidens accompanied her, with five hundred men as a bodyguard; and gernot and giselher, with many burgundian nobles, escorted her to vergen on the danube, where they took an affectionate leave of her, and went back to their home in burgundy. from vergen, kriemhild and her escort journeyed on to passau, where they were warmly welcomed and hospitably entertained by good bishop pilgrim, brother of queen ute. he would gladly have detained them, had not rüdiger declared that his master impatiently awaited the coming of his bride, which had duly been announced to him. a second pause was made at bechlaren, rüdiger's castle, where kriemhild was entertained by his wife and daughter, gotelinde and dietelinde, and where the usual lavish distribution of gifts took place. then the procession swept on again across the country and down the danube, until they met king etzel, whom kriemhild graciously kissed, and who obtained a similar favor for his brother and a few of his principal nobles. [sidenote: the marriage at vienna.] after witnessing some tilting and other martial games, the king and queen proceeded to vienna, where a triumphal reception awaited them, and where their marriage was celebrated with all becoming solemnity and great pomp. the wedding festivities lasted seventeen days; but although all vied in their attempts to please kriemhild, she remained sad and pensive, for she could not forget her beloved siegfried and the happy years she had spent with him. the royal couple next journeyed on to gran, etzel's capital, where kriemhild found innumerable handmaidens ready to do her will, and where etzel was very happy with his new consort. his joy was complete, however, only when she bore him a son, who was baptized in the christian faith, and called ortlieb. although thirteen years had now elapsed since kriemhild had left her native land, the recollection of her wrongs was as vivid as ever, her melancholy just as profound, and her thoughts were ever busy planning how best to lure hagen into her kingdom so as to work her revenge. "one long and dreary yearning she foster'd hour by hour; she thought, 'i am so wealthy and hold such boundless power, that i with ease a mischief can bring on all my foes, but most on him of trony, the deadliest far of those. "'full oft for its beloved my heart is mourning still; them could i but meet with, who wrought me so much ill, revenge should strike at murder, and life atone for life; wait can i no longer.' so murmur'd etzel's wife." _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). [sidenote: kriemhild's plot.] kriemhild finally decided to persuade etzel to invite all her kinsmen for a midsummer visit, which the king, not dreaming of her evil purpose, immediately hastened to do. two minstrels, werbel and swemmel, were sent with the most cordial invitation. before they departed kriemhild instructed them to be sure and tell all her kinsmen that she was blithe and happy, and not melancholy as of yore, and to use every effort to bring not only the kings, but also hagen, who, having been at etzel's court as hostage in his youth, could best act as their guide. the minstrels were warmly received at worms, where their invitation created great excitement. all were in favor of accepting it except hagen, who objected that kriemhild had cause for anger and would surely seek revenge when they were entirely in her power. "'trust not, sir king,' said hagen, 'how smooth soe'er they be, these messengers from hungary; if kriemhild you will see, you put upon the venture your honor and your life. a nurse of ling'ring vengeance is etzel's moody wife.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). but all his objections were set aside with the remark that he alone had a guilty conscience; and the kings bade the minstrels return to announce their coming, although ute also tried to keep them at home. hagen, who was no coward, seeing them determined to go, grimly prepared to accompany them, and prevailed upon them to don their strongest armor for the journey. gunther was accompanied by both his brothers, by hagen, dankwart, volker (his minstrel), gary, and ortwine, and by one thousand picked men as escort. before leaving he intrusted his wife, brunhild, and his son to the care of rumolt, his squire, and bidding farewell to his people, set out for hungary, whence he was never to return. in the mean while the hungarian minstrels had hastened back to gran to announce the guests' coming, and, upon being closely questioned by kriemhild, described hagen's grim behavior, and repeated his half-muttered prophecy: "this jaunt's a jaunt to death." the burgundians, who in this part of the poem are frequently called nibelungs (because they now held the great hoard), reached the danube on the twelfth day. as they found neither ford nor ferry, hagen, after again prophesying all manner of evil, volunteered to go in search of a boat or raft to cross the rapid stream. [sidenote: prophecy of the swan maidens.] he had not gone very far before he heard the sound of voices, and, peeping through the bushes, saw some swan maidens, or "wise women," bathing in a neighboring fountain. stealing up unperceived, he secured their plumage, which he consented to restore only after they had predicted the result of his journey. to obtain her garments, one of the women, hadburg, prophesied great good fortune; but when the pilfered robes were restored, another, called siegelind, foretold much woe. "'i will warn thee, hagen, thou son of aldrian; my aunt has lied unto thee her raiment back to get; if once thou com'st to hungary, thou'rt taken in the net. "'turn while there's time for safety, turn, warriors most and least; for this, and for this only, you're bidden to the feast, that you perforce may perish in etzel's bloody land. whoever rideth thither, death has he close at hand.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). after adding that the chaplain alone would return alive to worms, she told hagen that he would find a ferryman on the opposite side of the river, farther down, but that he would not obey his call unless he declared his name to be amelrich. hagen, after leaving the wise women, soon saw the ferryman's boat anchored to the opposite shore, and failing to make him come over for a promised reward, he cried out that his name was amelrich. the ferryman immediately crossed, but when hagen sprang into his boat he detected the fraud and began to fight. although gigantic in size, this ferryman was no match for hagen, who, after slaying him, took possession of the boat and skillfully ferried his masters and companions across the river. in hope of giving the lie to the swan maidens, hagen paused once in the middle of the stream to fling the chaplain overboard, thinking he would surely drown; but to his surprise and dismay the man struggled back to the shore, where he stood alone and unharmed, and whence he slowly wended his way back to burgundy. hagen now knew that the swan maidens' prophecy was destined to be fulfilled. nevertheless he landed on the opposite shore, where he bade the main part of the troop ride on ahead, leaving him and dankwart to bring up the rear, for he fully expected that gelfrat, master of the murdered ferryman, would pursue them to avenge the latter's death. these previsions were soon verified, and in the bloody encounter which ensued, hagen came off victor, with the loss of but four men, while the enemy left more than one hundred dead upon the field. [sidenote: the first warning.] hagen joined the main body of the army once more, passed on with it to passau, where bishop pilgrim was as glad to see his nephews as he had been to welcome his niece, and from thence went on to the frontiers of bechlaren. there they found eckewart, who had been sent by rüdiger to warn them not to advance any farther, as he suspected that some treachery was afoot. "sir eckewart replied: 'yet much, i own, it grieves me that to the huns you ride. you took the life of siegfried; all hate you deadly here; as your true friend i warn you; watch well, and wisely fear.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). as the burgundians would have deemed themselves forever disgraced were they to withdraw from their purpose, they refused to listen to this warning, and, entering rüdiger's castle, were warmly received by him and his family. giselher, seeing the beauty of the maiden dietelinde, fell deeply in love with her, and prevailed upon the margrave to consent to their immediate marriage, promising, however, to claim and bear away his bride only upon his homeward journey. once more gifts were lavished with mediaeval profusion, gunther receiving a coat of mail, gernot a sword, hagen a shield, and the minstrel volker many rings of red gold. [sidenote: the second warning.] rüdiger then escorted the burgundians until they met the brave dietrich von bern (verona), who also warned them that their visit was fraught with danger, for kriemhild had by no means forgotten the murder of the husband of her youth. his evil prognostications were also of no avail, and he sadly accompanied them until they met kriemhild, who embraced giselher only. then, turning suddenly upon hagen, she inquired aloud, in the presence of all the people, whether he had brought her back her own, the nibelung hoard. nothing daunted by this sudden query, hagen haughtily answered that the treasure still lay deep in the rhine, where he fancied it would rest until the judgment day. "'i' faith, my lady kriemhild, 'tis now full many a day since in my power the treasure of the nibelungers lay. in the rhine my lords bade sink it; i did their bidding fain, and in the rhine, i warrant, till doomsday 'twill remain.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). the queen turned her back contemptuously upon him, and invited her other guests to lay aside their weapons, for none might enter the great hall armed. this hagen refused to allow them to do, saying that he feared treachery; and the queen, pretending great grief, inquired who could have filled her kinsmen's hearts with such unjust suspicions. sir dietrich then boldly stepped forward, defied kriemhild, and declared that it was he who had bidden the burgundians be thus on their guard. "''twas i that the warning to the noble princes gave, and to their liegeman hagen, to whom such hate thou bear'st. now up, she-fiend! be doing, and harm me if thou dar'st!'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). [sidenote: alliance between hagen and volker.] although the thirst for revenge now made her a "she-fiend," as he termed her, kriemhild did not dare openly to attack dietrich, whom all men justly feared; and she quickly concealed her anger, while etzel advanced in his turn to welcome his guests; and especially singled out hagen, his friend's son. while many of the burgundians accompanied the king into the hall, hagen drew volker aside, and, sitting down on a stone seat near kriemhild's door, entered into a life-and-death alliance with him. kriemhild, looking out of her window, saw him there and bade her followers go out and slay him; but although they numbered four hundred, they hung back, until the queen, thinking that they doubted her assertions, volunteered to descend alone and wring from hagen a confession of his crimes, while they lingered within earshot inside the building. volker, seeing the queen approach, proposed to hagen to rise and show her the customary respect; but the latter, declaring that she would ascribe this token of decorum to fear alone, grimly bade him remain seated, and, when she addressed him, boldly acknowledged that he alone had slain siegfried. "said he, 'why question further? that were a waste of breath. in a word, i am e'en hagen, who siegfried did to death. * * * * * "'what i have done, proud princess, i never will deny. the cause of all the mischief, the wrong, the loss, am i. so now, or man or woman, revenge it whoso will; i scorn to speak a falsehood,--i've done you grievous ill.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). but although the warriors had heard every word he said, and the queen again urged them on to attack her foe, they one and all withdrew after meeting one of hagen's threatening glances. this episode, however, was enough to show the burgundians very plainly what they could expect, and hagen and volker soon joined their companions, keeping ever side by side, according to their agreement. "howe'er the rest were coupled, as mov'd to court the train, folker and hagen parted ne'er again, save in one mortal struggle, e'en to their dying hour." _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). after banqueting with etzel the guests were led to their appointed quarters, far remote from those of their squires; and when the huns began to crowd them, hagen again frightened them off with one of his black looks. when the hall where they were to sleep was finally reached, the knights all lay down to rest except hagen and volker, who mounted guard, the latter beguiling the hours by playing on his fiddle. once, in the middle of the night, these self-appointed sentinels saw an armed troop draw near; but when they loudly challenged the foremost men, they beat a hasty retreat. at dawn of day the knights arose to go to mass, wearing their arms by hagen's advice, keeping well together, and presenting such a threatening aspect that kriemhild's men dared not attack them. in spite of all these signs, etzel remained entirely ignorant of his wife's evil designs, and continued to treat the burgundians like friends and kinsmen. "how deep soe'er and deadly the hate she bore her kin, still, had the truth by any disclos'd to etzel been, he had at once prevented what afterwards befell. through proud contemptuous courage they scorn'd their wrongs to tell." _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). [sidenote: beginning of hostilities.] after mass a tournament was held, dietrich and rüdiger virtuously abstaining from taking part in it, lest some mishap should occur through their bravery, and fan into flames the smoldering fire of discord. in spite of all these precautions, however, the threatened disruption nearly occurred when volker accidentally slew a hun; and it was avoided only by king etzel's prompt interference. kriemhild, hearing of this accident, vainly tried to use it as an excuse to bribe dietrich, or his man hildebrand, to slay her foe. she finally won over blödelin, the king's brother, by promising him a fair bride. to earn this reward the prince went with an armed host to the hall where all the burgundian squires were feasting under dankwart's care, and there treacherously slew them all, dankwart alone escaping to the king's hall to join his brother hagen. in the mean while etzel was entertaining his mailed guests, and had sent for his little son, whom he placed in gunther's lap, telling him that he would soon send the boy to burgundy to be educated among his mother's kin. all admired the graceful child except hagen, who gruffly remarked that the child appeared more likely to die early than to live to grow up. he had just finished this rude speech, which filled etzel's heart with dismay, when dankwart burst into the room, exclaiming that all his companions had been slain, and calling to hagen for aid. "'be stirring, brother hagen; you're sitting all too long. to you and god in heaven our deadly strait i plain: yeomen and knights together lie in their quarters slain.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). [sidenote: ortlieb slain.] the moment hagen heard these tidings he sprang to his feet, drew his sword, and bade dankwart guard the door and prevent the ingress or egress of a single hungarian. then he struck off the head of the child ortlieb, which bounded into kriemhild's lap, cut off the minstrel werbel's hand, and began hewing right and left among the hungarians, aided by all his companions, who manfully followed his example. dismayed at this sudden turn of affairs, the aged king etzel "sat in mortal anguish," helplessly watching the massacre, while kriemhild shrieked aloud to dietrich to protect her from her foes. moved to pity by her evident terror, dietrich blew a resounding blast on his horn, and gunther paused in his work of destruction to inquire how he might serve the man who had ever shown himself a friend. dietrich answered by asking for a safe-conduct out of the hall for himself and his followers, which was immediately granted. "'let me with your safe-conduct this hall of etzel's leave, and quit this bloody banquet with those who follow me; and for this grace forever i'll at your service be.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). [sidenote: the massacre.] dietrich von bern then passed out of the hall unmolested, leading the king by one hand and the queen by the other, and closely followed by all his retainers. this same privilege was granted to rüdiger and his five hundred men; but when these had all passed out, the burgundians renewed the bloody fight, nor paused until all the huns in the hall were slain, and everything was reeking with blood. then the burgundians gathered up the corpses, which they flung down the staircase, at the foot of which etzel stood, helplessly wringing his hands, and vainly trying to discover some means of stopping the fight. kriemhild, in the mean while, was actively employed in gathering men, promising large rewards to any one who would attack and slay hagen. urged on by her, iring attempted to force an entrance, but was soon driven back; and when he would have made a second assault, hagen ruthlessly slew him. irnfried the thuringian, and hawart the dane, seeing him fall, rushed impetuously upon the burgundians to avenge him; but both fell under hagen's and volker's mighty blows, while their numerous followers were all slain by the other burgundians. "a thousand and four together had come into the hall; you might see the broadswords flashing rise and fall; soon the bold intruders all dead together lay; of those renown'd burgundians strange marvels one might say." _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). etzel and the huns were mourning over their dead; so the weary burgundians removed their helmets and rested, while kriemhild continued to muster new troops to attack her kinsmen, who were still strongly intrenched in the great hall. "'twas e'en on a midsummer befell that murderous fight, when on her nearest kinsmen and many a noble knight dame kriemhild wreak'd the anguish that long in heart she bore, whence inly griev'd king etzel, nor joy knew evermore. "yet on such sweeping slaughter at first she had not thought; she only had for vengeance on one transgressor sought. she wish'd that but on hagen the stroke of death might fall; 'twas the foul fiend's contriving that they should perish all." _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). an attempt was now made by the burgundians to treat with etzel for a safe-conduct. obdurate at first, he would have yielded had not kriemhild advised him to pursue the feud to the bitter end, unless her brothers consented to surrender hagen to her tender mercies. this, of course, gunther absolutely refused to do; so kriemhild gave secret orders that the hall in which the burgundians were intrenched should be set on fire. surrounded by bitter foes, blinded by smoke, and overcome by the heat, the burgundians still held their own, slaking their burning thirst by drinking the blood of the slain, and taking refuge from the flames under the stone arches which supported the ceiling of the hall. [sidenote: rüdiger's oath.] thus they managed to survive that terrible night; but when morning dawned and the queen heard that they were still alive, she bade rüdiger go forth and fight them. he refused until she reminded him or the solemn oath he had sworn to her in worms before she would consent to accompany him to hungary. "'now think upon the homage that once to me you swore, when to the rhine, good warrior, king etzel's suit you bore, that you would serve me ever to either's dying day. ne'er can i need so deeply that you that vow should pay.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). torn by conflicting feelings and urged by opposite oaths,--for he had also sworn to befriend the burgundians,--rüdiger now vainly tried to purchase his release by the sacrifice of all his possessions. at last, goaded to madness, he yielded to the king's and queen's entreaties, armed his warriors, and drew near the hall where his former guests were intrenched. at first they could not believe that rüdiger had any hostile intentions; but when he pathetically informed them that he must fight, and recommended his wife and daughter to their care in case he fell, they silently allowed him and his followers to enter the hall, and grimly renewed the bloody conflict. [sidenote: death of rüdiger.] rüdiger, after slaying many foes, encountered gernot wielding the sword he had given him; and these two doughty champions finally slew each other. all the followers of rüdiger also fell; and when kriemhild, who was anxiously awaiting the result of this new attack in the court below, saw his corpse among the slain, she began to weep and bemoan her loss. the mournful tidings of rüdiger's death soon spread all over the town, and came finally to the ears of dietrich von bern, who bade his man hildebrand go and claim the corpse from his burgundian friends. hildebrand went thither with an armed force, but some of his men unfortunately began to bandy words with the burgundians, and this soon brought about an impetuous fight. in the ensuing battle all the burgundians fell except gunther and hagen, while hildebrand escaped sore wounded to his master, dietrich von bern. when this hero heard that his nephew and vassals were all slain, he quickly armed himself, and, after vainly imploring gunther and hagen to surrender, fell upon them with an armed force. the two sole remaining burgundians were now so exhausted that dietrich soon managed to take them captive. he led them bound to kriemhild, and implored her to have pity upon them and spare their lives. "'fair and noble kriemhild,' thus sir dietrich spake, spare this captive warrior, who full amends will make for all his past transgressions; him here in bonds you see; revenge not on the fetter'd th' offenses of the free.'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). [sidenote: kriemhild's cruelty.] by the queen's orders, gunther and hagen were confined in separate cells. there she soon sought the latter, promising him his liberty if he would but reveal the place where her treasure was concealed. but hagen, mistrusting her, declared that he had solemnly sworn never to reveal the secret as long as one of his masters breathed. kriemhild, whose cruelty had long passed all bounds, left him only to have her brother gunther beheaded, and soon returned carrying his head, which she showed to hagen, commanding him to speak. but he still refused to gratify her, and replied that since he was now the sole depositary of the secret, it would perish with him. "'so now, where lies the treasure none knows save god and me, and told it shall be never, be sure, she-fiend, to thee!'" _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). [sidenote: kriemhild slain.] this defiant answer so exasperated kriemhild that she seized the sword hanging by his side,--which she recognized as siegfried's favorite weapon,--and with her own hands cut off his head before etzel or any of his courtiers could interfere. hildebrand, seeing this act of treachery, sprang impetuously forward, and, drawing his sword, slew her who had brought untold misery into the land of the huns. "the mighty and the noble there lay together dead; for this had all the people dole and drearihead. the feast of royal etzel was thus shut up in woe, pain in the steps of pleasure treads ever here below. "'tis more than i can tell you what afterwards befell, save that there was weeping for friends belov'd so well; knights and squires, dames and damsels, were seen lamenting all. so end i here my story. this is the nibelungers' fall." _nibelungenlied_ (lettsom's tr.). although the "nibelungenlied" proper ends here, an appendix, probably by another hand, called the "lament," continues the story, and relates how etzel, dietrich, and hildebrand, in turn, extolled the high deeds and bewailed the untimely end of each hero. then this poem, which is as mournful as monotonous throughout, describes the departure of the messengers sent to bear the evil tidings and the weapons of the slain to worms, and their arrival at passau, where more tears were shed and where bishop pilgrim celebrated a solemn mass for the rest of the heroes' souls. from thence the funeral procession slowly traveled on to worms, where the sad news was imparted to the remaining burgundians, who named the son of gunther and brunhild as their king, and who never forgot the fatal ride to hungary. chapter v. langobardian cycle of myths. although the following tales of mythical heroes have some slight historical basis, they have been so adorned by the fancy of mediaeval bards, and so frequently remodeled with utter disregard of all chronological sequence, that the kernel of truth is very hard to find, and the stories must rather be considered as depicting customs and times than as describing actual events. they are recorded in the "heldenbuch," or "book of heroes," edited in the fifteenth century by kaspar von der rhön from materials which had been touched up by wolfram von eschenbach and heinrich von ofterdingen in the twelfth century. the poem of "ortnit," for instance, is known to have existed as early as the ninth century. [sidenote: the langobards and gepidae.] according to the poets of the middle ages, the gepidae and the langobards settled in pannonia (hungary and the neighboring provinces), where they were respectively governed by thurisind and audoin. the sons of these two kings, having quarreled for a trifle, met in duel soon after, and the langobardian prince, having slain his companion, took possession of his arms, with which he proudly returned home. but when, flushed with victory, he would fain have taken his seat at his father's board with the men at arms, audoin gravely informed him that it was not customary for a youth to claim a place beside tried warriors until some foreign king had distinguished him by the present of a complete suit of armor. angry at being thus publicly repulsed, alboin, the prince, strode out of his father's hall, resolved to march into thurisind's palace and demand of him the required weapons. when the king of the gepidae saw his son's murderer boldly enter his palace, his first impulse was to put him to death; but, respecting the rights of hospitality, he forbore to take immediate vengeance, and even bestowed upon him the customary gift of arms as he departed on the morrow, but warned him never to return, lest he should lose his life at the warriors' hands. on leaving the palace, however, alboin bore away the image of little rosamund, thurisind's fair granddaughter, whom he solemnly swore he would claim as wife as soon as she was of marriageable age. alboin having thus received his arms from a stranger, the langobards no longer refused to recognize him as a full-fledged warrior, and gladly hailed him as king when his father died. [sidenote: alboin's cruelty.] shortly after alboin's accession to the throne, a quarrel arose between the gepidae and the langobards, or lombards, as they were eventually called; and war having been declared, a decisive battle was fought, in which thurisind and his son perished, and all their lands fell into the conqueror's hands. with true heathen cruelty, the lombard king had the skulls of the gepidae mounted as drinking vessels, which he delighted in using on all state and festive occasions. then, pushing onwards, alboin took forcible possession of his new realm and of the tearful young rosamund, whom he forced to become his wife, although she shrank in horror from the murderer of all her kin and the oppressor of her people. she followed him home, concealing her fears, and although she never seemed blithe and happy, she obeyed her husband so implicitly that he fancied her a devoted wife. he was so accustomed to rosamund's ready compliance with his every wish that one day, after winning a great victory over the ostrogoths, and conquering a province in northern italy (where he took up his abode, and which bears the name of his race), he bade her fill her father's skull with wine and pledge him by drinking first out of this repulsive cup. [sidenote: rosamund's revolt.] the queen hesitated, but, impelled by alboin's threatening glances and his mailed hand raised to strike her, she tremblingly filled the cup and raised it to her lips. but then, instead of humbly presenting it to her lord, she haughtily dashed it at his feet, and left the hall, saying that though she had obeyed him, she would never again live with him as his wife,--a declaration which the warriors present secretly applauded, for they all thought that their king had been wantonly cruel toward his beautiful wife. while alboin was pondering how he might conciliate her without owning himself in the wrong, rosamund summoned helmigis, the king's shield-bearer, and finding that he would not execute her orders and murder his master in his sleep, she secured the services of the giant perideus. before the murder of the king became generally known, rosamund and her adherents--for she had many--secured and concealed the treasures of the crown; and when the nobles bade her marry a man to succeed their king, who had left no heirs, she declared that she preferred helmigis. [sidenote: death of rosamund.] the langobardian nobles indignantly refused to recognize an armor-bearer as their king, and rosamund, fearing their resentment, fled by night with her treasures, and took refuge with longinus, viceroy of the eastern emperor, who was intrenched in ravenna. captivated by the fugitive queen's exquisite beauty, no less than by her numerous treasures, longinus proposed that she should poison helmigis, and marry him. rosamund obediently handed the deadly cup to her faithful adorer; but he drank only half its contents, and then, perceiving that he was poisoned, forced her, at the point of his sword, to drink the remainder, thus making sure that she would not long survive him. longinus, thus deprived of a beautiful bride, managed to console himself for her loss by appropriating her treasures, while the langobardian scepter, after having been wielded by different kings, fell at last into the hands of rother, the last influential monarch of a kingdom which charlemagne conquered in . [sidenote: rother.] rother established his capital at bari, a great seaport in apulia; but although his wealth was unbounded and his kingdom extensive, he was far from happy, for he had neither wife nor child to share his home. seeing his loneliness, one of his courtiers, duke berchther (berchtung) of meran, the father of twelve stalwart sons, advised him to seek a wife; and when rother declared that he knew of no princess pretty enough to please his fastidious taste, the courtier produced the portrait of oda, daughter of constantine, emperor of the east. rother fell desperately in love with this princess at first sight. in vain berchther warned him that the emperor had the unpleasant habit of beheading all his daughter's would-be suitors; rother declared that he must make an attempt to secure this peerless bride, and was only with great difficulty persuaded to resign the idea of wooing in person. when berchther had prevailed upon him to send an imposing embassy of twelve noblemen, richly appareled, and attended by a large suite, rother asked who would undertake the mission. all the warriors maintained a neutral silence, until seven of berchther's sons volunteered their services, and then five other noblemen signified their readiness to accompany them. to speed them on their way, rother escorted them to the port, and, standing on the pier, composed and sang a marvelous song. he bade them remember the tune, and promised them that whenever they heard it they might be sure their king was very near. [sidenote: embassy to constantinople.] arrived at constantinople, the ambassadors made known their errand, but were immediately cast into prison, in spite of the empress's intercession in their behalf. here the noblemen languished month after month, in a foul dungeon, while rother impatiently watched for their return. when a whole year had elapsed without his having heard any tidings, he finally resolved to go in disguise to constantinople, to ascertain the fate of his men and win the lovely princess oda for his bride. berchther, hearing this decision, vowed that he would accompany him; but although all the noblemen were anxious to escort their beloved king, he took only a few of them with him, among whom was asprian (osborn), king of the northern giants, with eleven of his tallest men. [sidenote: rother and constantine.] rother embarked with this little train, and sailed for constantinople over the summer seas; and as he sat on deck, playing on his harp, the mermaids rose from the deep to sport around his ship. according to a prearranged plan, rother presented himself before constantine as a fugitive and outlaw, complaining bitterly of the king of the lombards, who, he declared, had banished him and his companions. pleased with the appearance of the strangers, constantine gladly accepted their proffered services, and invited them to a banquet, in the course of which he facetiously described how he had received rother's ambassadors, who were still languishing in his dampest dungeons. this boastful talk gradually roused the anger of the giant asprian, who was but little accustomed to hide his feelings; and when the emperor's pet lioness came into the hall and playfully snatched a choice morsel out of his hand, he impetuously sprang to his feet, caught her in his powerful grasp, and hurled her against the wall, thus slaying her with a single blow. [illustration: asprian slaying the lion.--keller.] constantine was somewhat dismayed when he saw the strength, and especially the violence, of the new servants he had secured; but he wisely took no notice of the affair, and, when the banquet was ended, dismissed rother and his followers to the apartments assigned them. the lombard king now freely distributed the immense treasures he had brought with him, and thus secured many adherents at court. they sang his praises so loudly that at last the princess oda became very anxious to see this noted outlaw. [sidenote: rother and oda.] bribing herlind, one of her handmaidens, to serve her secretly, oda sent her to rother to invite him to visit her. the maiden acquitted herself adroitly of this commission; but the langobardian monarch, pretending exaggerated respect, declared that he would never dare present himself before her beautiful mistress, to whom, however, he sent many rich gifts, among which were a gold and a silver shoe. herlind returned to her mistress with the gifts; but when oda would fain have put on the shoes, she discovered that they were both for the same foot. she then feigned a resentment she was far from feeling, and bade the handmaiden order her father's new servant to appear before her without delay, bringing a shoe for her other foot, unless he wished to incur her lasting displeasure. overjoyed at this result of his ruse, which he had foreseen, rother entered the princess's apartments unnoticed, proffered his most humble apologies, fitted a pair of golden shoes on her tiny feet, and, taking advantage of his position as he bent on one knee before her, declared his love and rank, and won from oda a solemn promise that she would be his wife. the lovers spent some very happy hours together in intimate conversation, and ere rother left the apartment he prevailed upon the princess to use her influence in behalf of his imprisoned subjects. she therefore told her father that her peaceful rest had been disturbed by dreams, in which heavenly voices announced that she should suffer all manner of evil unless rother's ambassadors were taken from prison and hospitably entertained. oda then wrung from constantine a promise that the men should be temporarily released, and feasted at his own board that selfsame evening. this promise was duly redeemed, and the twelve ambassadors, freed from their chains, and refreshed by warm baths and clean garments, were sumptuously entertained at the emperor's table. while they sat there feasting, rother entered the hall, and, hiding behind the tapestry hangings near the door, played the tune they had heard on the day of their departure. the hearts of the captives bounded for joy when they heard these strains, for they knew that their king was near and would soon effect their release. [sidenote: war with imelot.] a few days later, when the young ambassadors had fully recovered their health and strength, constantine was dismayed to learn that imelot, king of desert babylonia, was about to make war against him, and wondered how he could successfully encounter such a universally dreaded opponent. rother, seeing his perplexity, immediately volunteered his services, adding that if constantine liberated the ambassadors, who were mighty men of valor, and allowed them to fight, there would be no doubt of his coming off conqueror in the war. the eastern emperor gladly followed this advice, and soon set out with rother and all his companions. the two armies met one evening and encamped opposite each other, intending to begin the fight at sunrise on the morrow. during the night, however, rother and his companions stole into the enemy's camp, slew imelot's guards, and having bound and gagged him, asprian carried him bodily out of his tent and camp, while his companions routed all the mighty babylonian host. a few hours later they returned to the camp of constantine, where they lay down to rest. the emperor, entering their tent on the morrow to chide them for their laziness, saw the captive imelot, and heard the story of the night's work. he was so delighted with the prowess of his allies that he gladly consented to their return to constantinople to announce the victory, while he and his army remained to take possession of desert babylonia and of all of imelot's vast treasures. rother and his companions returned in haste to constantinople and rushed into the palace; but instead of announcing a victory they told the empress and oda that constantine had been defeated, that imelot was on the way to seize the city, and that the emperor had sent them on ahead to convey his wife and daughter to a place of safety, with their most valuable treasures. [sidenote: kidnaping of oda.] the empress and oda, crediting every word of this tale, made immediate preparations for departure, and soon joined rother on the pier, where his fast sailing vessel was ready to start. all the langobardians had already embarked, and rother escorted the princess on board, bidding the empress wait on the quay until he returned for her. but as soon as he and his fair charge set foot upon deck, the vessel was pushed off, and rother called out to the distressed empress that he had deceived her in order to carry away her daughter, who was now to become the langobardian queen. constantine, on his return, was of course very angry at having been so cleverly duped, and vainly tried to devise some plan for recovering the daughter whom he loved so well. when a magician came, therefore, and promised to execute his wishes, he gladly provided him with vessel and crew to sail to bari. the magician, disguised as a peaceful merchant, spread out his wares as soon as he was anchored in port, and by a series of artful questions soon ascertained that rother was absent, and that oda was at home, carefully guarded by the principal nobles of the realm. when he also learned that one of these noblemen had a crippled child, the magician informed the people who visited his vessel to inspect his wares, that the most precious treasure in his possession was a magic stone, which, in a queen's hands, had the power of restoring cripples. the rumor of this miraculous stone reached the court, and the nobleman persuaded the kind-hearted queen to go down to the vessel to try the efficacy of the stone. as soon as oda was on board, the vessel set sail, bearing her away from her husband and back to her father's home, where she was welcomed with great demonstrations of joy. rother, coming back from the war shortly after her disappearance, immediately prepared a vessel to go in pursuit of her, selecting his giants and bravest noblemen to accompany him. once more they landed at a short distance from constantinople, and rother bade his men hide in a thicket, while he went into the city, disguised as a pilgrim, and carrying under his robe a hunting horn, which he promised to sound should he at any time find himself in danger. he no sooner entered the city than he noticed with surprise that all the inhabitants seemed greatly depressed. he questioned them concerning their evident sadness, and learned that imelot, having effected his escape from captivity, had invaded the kingdom, and vowed that he would not retreat unless oda married his ugly and hunchbacked son that very day. [sidenote: imelot again defeated.] these tidings made rother press on to the palace, where, thanks to his disguise, he effected an easy entrance. slipping unnoticed to his wife's side, he dropped into the cup beside her a ring upon which his name was engraved. quick as a flash oda recognized and tried to hide it; but her hunchbacked suitor, sitting beside her, also caught sight of it. he pointed out the intruder, cried that he was rother in disguise, and bade his guards seize him and hang him. rother, seeing that he was discovered, boldly stepped forward, declared that he had come to claim his wife, and challenged the cowardly hunchback, who, however, merely repeated his orders, and accompanied his guards to a grove outside the city to see his captive executed. just as they were about to fasten the fatal noose around his neck, rother blew a resounding blast upon his horn, in answer to which call his followers sprang out of their ambush, slew guards, imelot, and hunchback, routed the imperial forces, recovered possession of oda, and sailed home in triumph to lombardy. here oda bore her husband a lovely little daughter called helche (herka), who eventually married etzel (attila), king of the huns. * * * * * [sidenote: ortnit.] another renowned lombardian king is ortnit (otnit), whose realm included not only all italy, from the alps to the sea, but also the island of sicily. he had won this province by his fabulous strength, which, we are told, was equivalent to that of twelve vigorous men. in spite of all outward prosperity, ortnit was lonely and unhappy. one day, while he was strolling along the seashore at sunset, he saw a misty castle rise slowly out of the waves. on its topmost tower he beheld a fair maiden, with whom he fell deeply in love at first sight. as he was gazing spellbound at the lady's beauty, castle and maiden suddenly vanished; and when ortnit asked his uncle, ylyas (elias), prince of the reussen, what this fantastic vision might mean, he learned that the castle was the exact reproduction of the stronghold of muntabure, and the maiden a phantom of princess sidrat, daughter of the ruler of syria, which the fata morgana, or morgana the fay, had permitted him to behold. "as the weary traveler sees, in desert or prairie vast, blue lakes, overhung with trees, that a pleasant shadow cast; "fair towns with turrets high, and shining roofs of gold, that vanish as he draws nigh, like mists together rolled." longfellow, _fata morgana_. of course ortnit vowed that he would go and ask the maiden's hand in marriage; and although his uncle warned him that machorell, the girl's father, beheaded all his daughter's suitors, to use their heads as decorations for his fortifications, the young king persisted in this resolve. [sidenote: ortnit and the magic ring.] forced to go by sea in order to reach syria, ortnit had to delay his departure until suitable preparations had been made. during that time his mother vainly tried to dissuade him from the undertaking. finally, seeing that nothing could deter him from going in search of the lovely maiden he had seen, she slipped a ring on his hand, and bade him ride out of town in a certain direction, and dismount under a lime tree, where he would see something marvelous. "'if thou wilt seek the adventure, don thy armor strong; far to the left thou ride the towering rocks along. but bide thee, champion, and await, where grows a linden tree; there, flowing from the rock, a well thine eyes will see. "'far around the meadow spread the branches green; five hundred armed knights may stand beneath the shade, i ween. below the linden tree await, and thou wilt meet full soon the marvelous adventure; there must the deed be done.'" _heldenbuch_ (weber's tr.). ortnit obeyed these instructions, dismounted in a spot which seemed strangely familiar, and, gazing inquisitively around him, became aware of the presence of a lovely sleeping infant. but when he attempted to take it in his arms he found himself sprawling on the ground, knocked over by a single blow from the child's tiny fist. furious at his overthrow, ortnit began wrestling with his small assailant; but in spite of his vaunted strength he succeeded in pinioning him only after a long struggle. [sidenote: alberich.] unable to free himself from ortnit's powerful grasp, the child now confessed that he was alberich, king of the dwarfs, and promised ortnit a marvelous suit of armor and the sword rosen--which had been tempered in dragons' blood, and was therefore considered invulnerable--if he would only let him go. "'save me, noble otnit, for thy chivalry! a hauberk will i give thee, strong, and of wondrous might; better armor never bore champion in the fight. "'not eighty thousand marks would buy the hauberk bright. a sword of mound i'll give thee, otnit, thou royal knight; through armor, both of gold and steel, cuts the weapon keen; the helmet could its edge withstand ne'er in this world was seen.'" _heldenbuch_ (weber's tr.). the king consented, but the moment he set the dwarf free he felt him snatch the ring his mother had given him off his hand, and saw him mysteriously and suddenly disappear, his voice sounding tauntingly now on one side, now on the other. some parley ensued before the dwarf would restore the ring, which was no sooner replaced on the hero's hand than he once more found himself able to see his antagonist. alberich now gravely informed ortnit that in spite of his infantile stature he was very old indeed, having lived more than five hundred years. he then went on to tell him that the king, whom ortnit had until then considered his father, had no claim to the title of parent, for he had secretly divorced his wife, and given her in marriage to alberich. thus the dwarf was ortnit's true father, and declared himself ready now to acknowledge their relationship and to protect his son. [sidenote: ortnit in tyre.] after giving ortnit the promised armor and sword, and directing him to turn the magic ring if ever he needed a father's aid, alberich vanished. ortnit, returning to town, informed his mother that he had seen his father; and as soon as the weather permitted he set sail for suders (tyre). ortnit entered the harbor as a merchant, and exhibited his wares to the curious people, while alberich, at his request, bore a challenge to machorell, threatening to take tyre and the castle of muntabure unless he were willing to accept ortnit as son-in-law. the dwarf acquitted himself nobly of his task, and when machorell scornfully dismissed him, he hastened back to tyre, bidding ortnit lose no time in surprising and taking possession of the city. this advice was so well carried out that ortnit soon found himself master of the city, and marching on to muntabure, he laid siege to the castle, restoring all his men as soon as they were wounded by a mere touch of his magic ring. alberich, whom none but he could see, was allowed to lead the van and bear the banner, which seemed to flutter aloft in a fantastic way. the dwarf took advantage of this invisibility to scale the walls of the fortress unseen, and hurled down the ponderous machines used to throw stones, arrows, boiling pitch, and oil. thus he greatly helped ortnit, who, in the mean while, was performing unheard-of deeds of valor, which excited the admiration of princess sidrat, watching him from her tower. [sidenote: ortnit and liebgart.] alberich next glided to this maiden's side, and bade her hasten to the postern gate early on the morrow, if she would see the king. as ortnit had been told that he would find her there, he went thither in the early dawn, and pleaded his cause so eloquently that sidrat eloped with him to lombardy. there she became his beloved queen, was baptized in the christian faith, and received the name of liebgart, by which she was ever afterward known. [sidenote: the magic eggs.] the happiness of ortnit and liebgart was very great, but the young queen did not feel that it was quite complete until a giant and his wife came from her father's court bringing conciliatory messages, and a promise that machorell would visit his daughter in the early spring. they also brought countless valuable presents, among which were two huge eggs, which the giants said were priceless, as from them could be hatched magic toads with lodestones in their foreheads. of course liebgart's curiosity was greatly excited by this gift, and learning that the giant couple would see to the hatching of the eggs and the bringing up of the toads if a suitable place were only provided for them, she sent them into a mountain gorge near trient, where the climate was hot and damp enough for the proper hatching of the toads. time passed by, and the giantess ruotze hatched dragons or lind-worms from the huge eggs. these animals grew with alarming rapidity, and soon the governor of the province sent word to the king that he could no longer provide food enough for the monsters, which had become the terror of the whole countryside. they finally proved too much even for the giants, who were obliged to flee. when ortnit learned that ordinary weapons had no effect upon these dragons, he donned his magic armor and seized his sword rosen. he then bade liebgart a tender farewell, telling her that if he did not return she must marry none but the man who wore his ring, and sallied forth to deliver his people from the ravenous monsters whom he had thoughtlessly allowed to be bred in their midst. ortnit soon dispatched the giant and giantess, who would fain have hindered his entrance into the fatal gorge. then he encountered the dwarf alberich, and was warned that he would fall victim to the pestilent dragons, which had bred a number of young ones, destined, in time, to infest all europe. in spite of these warnings, ortnit declared that he must do his best for the sake of his people; and having given the magic ring back to alberich, he continued on his way. all day long he vainly sought the monsters in the trackless forest, until, sinking down exhausted at the foot of a tree, he soon fell asleep. [sidenote: death of ortnit.] this slumber was so profound that it was like a lethargy, and the wild barking of his dog failed to waken him so that he could prepare for the stealthy approach of the great dragon. the monster caught the sleeping knight in his powerful claws, and dashed him against the rocks until every bone in his body was broken into bits, although the magic armor remained quite whole. then the dragon conveyed the corpse to his den, where the little dragons vainly tried to get at the knight to eat his flesh, being daunted by the impenetrable armor, which would not give way. in the mean while liebgart was anxiously awaiting the return of her beloved husband; but when she saw his dog steal into the palace in evident grief, she knew that ortnit was dead, and mourned for him with many a tear. as he had left no heir to succeed him, the nobles soon crowded around liebgart, imploring her to marry one of them and make him king of lombardy; but she constantly refused to listen to their wooing. [sidenote: liebgart dethroned.] angry at her resistance, the noblemen then took possession of treasure, palace, and kingdom, and left poor liebgart so utterly destitute that she was forced to support herself by spinning and weaving. she carried on these occupations for a long time, while patiently waiting for the coming of a knight who would avenge ortnit's death, wear his ring, claim her hand in marriage, and restore her to her former exalted position as queen of lombardy. chapter vi. the amblings. [sidenote: hugdietrich.] while ortnit's ancestors were ruling over lombardy, anzius was emperor of constantinople. when about to die, this monarch confided his infant son, hugdietrich, to the care of berchther of meran, the same who had accompanied rother on his journey to constantinople. when hugdietrich attained marriageable age, his tutor felt it incumbent upon him to select a suitable wife for him. one princess only, hildburg, daughter of walgund of thessalonica, seemed to unite all the required advantages of birth, beauty, and wealth; but unfortunately this princess's father was averse to her marrying, and, to prevent her from having any lovers, had locked her up in an isolated tower, where none but women were ever admitted. berchther having informed his ward of his plan, and of the difficulties concerning its fulfillment, hugdietrich immediately made up his mind to bring it about, even if he had to resort to stratagem in order to win his bride. after much cogitation he let his hair grow, learned all about woman's work and ways, donned female garments, and journeyed off to thessalonica, where he presented himself before the king as a princess in distress, and claimed his chivalrous protection. walgund welcomed the pretended princess warmly, and accepted her gifts of gold and embroidery. as soon as he had shown the latter to his wife and daughter, they expressed a lively desire to see the stranger and have her teach them to embroider also. [sidenote: marriage of hugdietrich and hildburg.] hugdietrich, having thus effected an entrance into the princess's tower as embroidery teacher, soon managed to quiet hildburg's alarm when she discovered that the pretended princess was a suitor in disguise, and wooed her so successfully that she not only allowed him to take up his abode in the tower, but also consented to a secret union. all went on very well for some time, but finally hugdietrich felt it his duty to return to his kingdom; and parting from his young wife, he solemnly promised to return ere long to claim her openly. [sidenote: birth of wolfdietrich.] on reaching home, however, he found himself unexpectedly detained by a war which had just broken out; and while he was fighting, hildburg anxiously watched for his return. month after month passed by without any news of him, till hildburg, in her lonely tower, gave birth to a little son, whose advent was kept secret by the ingenuity and devotion of the princess's nurse. when the queen presented herself at the door unexpectedly one day, this servant hastily carried the child out of the building, and set him down on the grass in the moat, intending to come and get him in a few moments. she could not do so, however, as the queen kept her constantly beside her, and prolonged her visit to the next day. "in the moat the new-born babe meanwhile in silence lay, sleeping on the verdant grass, gently, all the day. from the swathing and the bath the child had stinted weeping; no one saw, or heard its voice, in the meadow sleeping." _heldenbuch_ (weber's tr.). when the faithful nurse, released at last, rushed out to find her charge, who could creep about, she could discover no trace of him; and not daring to confide the truth to hildburg, she informed her that she had sent the child out to nurse. a few days later, berchther of meran arrived at thessalonica, saying that hugdietrich had fallen in love with hildburg on hearing a description of her charms from the exiled princess, his sister, and openly suing in his name for her hand. instead of giving an immediate answer to this proposal, walgund invited the ambassador to hunt with him in a neighboring forest on the morrow. [sidenote: rescue of wolfdietrich.] accidentally separated from their respective suites, walgund and berchther came to a thicket near the princess's tower, and peering through the underbrush to discover the meaning of some strange sounds, they saw a beautiful little boy sitting on the grass, playfully handling some young wolf cubs, whose struggles he seemed not to mind in the least. while the two men were gazing spellbound at this strange sight, they saw the mother wolf draw near, ready to spring upon the innocent child and tear him limb from limb. as berchther skillfully flung his spear past the child and slew the wolf, walgund sprang forward and caught the babe in his arms, exclaiming that if he were only sure his grandchildren would be as handsome and fearless as this little boy, he would soon consent to his daughter's marriage. as the child was so small that it still required a woman's tender care, walgund next proposed to carry it to the tower, where his daughter and her attendants could watch over it until it was claimed; and as berchther indorsed this proposal, it was immediately carried out. hildburg received the charge with joy, revealed by her emotion that the child was her very own, and told her father all about her secret marriage with hugdietrich, whom walgund now graciously accepted as son-in-law. in memory of this adventure the baby rescued from the beast of prey was called wolfdietrich, and he and his mother, accompanied by a nobleman named sabene, were escorted in state to constantinople, where hugdietrich welcomed them with joy. here they dwelt in peace for several years, at the end of which, a war having again broken out, hugdietrich departed, confiding his wife and son to the care of sabene, who now cast aside all his pretended virtue. after insulting the queen most grossly, he began to spread lying reports about the birth of the young heir, until the people, doubting whether he might not be considered a mere foundling, showed some unwillingness to recognize him as their future prince. [sidenote: wolfdietrich in meran.] hugdietrich, returning home and hearing these remarks, also began to cherish some suspicions, and, instead of keeping wolfdietrich at court, sent him to meran, where berchther brought him up with his twelve stalwart sons, every one of whom the young prince outshone in beauty, courage, and skill in all manly exercises. in the mean while hildburg had borne two other sons, bogen and waxmuth, to hugdietrich; but seeing that sabene was still trying to poison people's minds against the absent wolfdietrich, and deprive him of his rights, she finally sought her husband, revealed the baseness of sabene's conduct, and had him exiled. hugdietrich's life was unfortunately cut short a few months after this, and when he felt that he was about to die, he disposed of all his property, leaving the sovereignty of constantinople to wolfdietrich, and making his younger sons kings of lands which he had conquered in the south. [sidenote: hildburg banished by sabene.] as soon as he had breathed his last, however, the nobles of the land, who had all been won over by sabene's artful insinuations, declared that they would never recognize wolfdietrich as their ruler, but would recall sabene watch over the two younger kings, and exercise the royal power in their name. these measures having been carried out, sabene avenged himself by banishing hildburg, who, turned out of the imperial palace at night, was forced to make her way alone and on foot to meran, where her son wolfdietrich received her gladly and promised to protect her with his strong right arm. at the head of a small troop composed of berchther and his sons, wolfdietrich marched to constantinople to oust sabene; but, in spite of all his valor, he soon found himself defeated, and forced to retreat to the castle of lilienporte. here he intrenched himself, rejoicing at the sight of the strong battlements, and especially at the provisions stored within its inclosure, which would suffice for all the wants of the garrison for more than seven years. [sidenote: siege of lilienporte.] in vain sabene besieged this castle; in vain he constructed huge engines of war; the fortress held out month after month. at the end of the third year, wolfdietrich, seeing that their provisions would not hold out forever, resolved to make his escape alone, and go in search of allies to save his trusty friends. he soon obtained the consent of berchther and of his mother for the execution of this scheme. while a skirmish was going on one day, wolfdietrich escaped through the postern gate, and, riding into the forest, rapidly disappeared in the direction of lombardy, where he intended to ask the aid of ortnit. riding through the deserts of roumelia, where his guardian had bidden him beware of the enchantments of the witch rauch-else, he shared his last piece of bread with his faithful steed, and, faint with hunger and almost perishing with thirst, plodded painfully on. [sidenote: rauch-else.] finally horse and rider could go no farther, and as the latter lay in a half swoon upon the barren soil, he was suddenly roused by the appearance of a hideous, bearlike female, who gruffly inquired how he dared venture upon her territory. the unhappy wolfdietrich recognized rauch-else by the description his guardian, berchther, had given of her, and would have fled, had strength remained him to do so; but, fainting with hunger, he could only implore her to give him something to eat. at this appeal rauch-else immediately produced a peculiar-looking root, of which he had no sooner tasted than he felt as strong and rested as ever before. by the witch's advice he gave the remainder of the root to his horse, upon whom it produced the same magic effect; but when he would fain have expressed his gratitude and ridden away, rauch-else told him that he belonged to her by decree of fate, and asked him to marry her. not daring to refuse this proposal, which, however, was very distasteful indeed, wolfdietrich reluctantly assented, expressing a wish that she were not quite so repulsive. no sooner were the words fairly out of his mouth than he saw her suddenly transformed into a beautiful woman, and heard her declare that his "yes" had released her from an evil spell, and allowed her to resume her wonted form and name, which was sigeminne, queen of old troy. [sidenote: wolfdietrich and sigeminne.] slowly proceeding to the seashore, the young couple embarked in a waiting galley and sailed directly to sigeminne's kingdom, where they lived happily together, wolfdietrich having entirely forgotten his mother, tutor, and companions, who were vainly awaiting his return with an army to deliver them. "by the hand she led wolfdietrich unto the forest's end; to the sea she guided him; a ship lay on the strand. to a spacious realm she brought him, hight the land of troy." _heldenbuch_ (weber's tr.). wolfdietrich's happiness, however, was not to endure long; for while he was pursuing a stag which his wife bade him secure for her, a magician named drusian suddenly presented himself before sigeminne and spirited her away. wolfdietrich, finding his wife gone, resolved to go in search of her, and not to rest until he had found her. then, knowing that nothing but cunning could prevail against the magician's art, he donned a magic silken vest which his wife had woven for him, which could not be penetrated by weapon or dragon, and covering it with a pilgrim's garb, he traveled on until he came within sight of the castle of drusian. worn out by his long journey, he sat down for a moment to rest ere he began the ascent of the steep mountain upon which the castle stood; and having fallen asleep, he was roughly awakened by a giant, who bore him off prisoner to the fortress, where he saw sigeminne. "he led the weary pilgrim into the castle hall, where brightly burned the fire, and many a taper tall. on a seat he sat him down, and made him right good cheer. his eyes around the hall cast the hero without fear." _heldenbuch_ (weber's tr.). [sidenote: death of sigeminne.] wolfdietrich concealed his face in the depths of his cowl, and remained quietly seated by the fire until evening came. then the giant turned to the mourning queen, declaring that he had been patient long enough, and that she must now consent to marry him and forget her husband. hardly had these words been spoken when wolfdietrich, the pretended pilgrim, fell upon him, and refused to let him go until he had accepted his challenge for a fair fight and had produced suitable arms. the young hero selected an iron armor, in preference to the gold and silver mail offered him, and boldly attacked the giant, who finally succumbed beneath his mighty blows. sigeminne, thus restored to her husband's arms, then returned with him to old troy, where they ruled happily together until she died of a mortal illness. when she breathed her last, wolfdietrich, delivered from the spell she had cast upon him by making him partake of the magic root, suddenly remembered his mother, berchther, and his faithful companions, and, filled with compunction, hastened off to help them. on his way he passed through many lands, and finally came to a fortified town, whose walls were adorned with human heads set up on spikes. he asked a passer-by what this singular decoration might mean, and learned that the city belonged to a heathen king, belligan, who made it a practice to slay every christian who entered his precincts. [sidenote: belligan slain by wolfdietrich.] wolfdietrich immediately resolved to rid the earth of this monster, and riding boldly into the city, he cried that he was ready to meet the king in his favorite game of dagger throwing. this challenge was promptly accepted, the preparations all made, and although the heathen king was protected by his daughter's magic spells, he could not withstand the christian knight, who pierced him through and through, and left him dead. "speedily wolfdietrich the third knife heaved on high. trembling stood sir belligan, for he felt his death was nigh. the pagan's heart asunder with cunning skill he cleft; down upon the grass he fell, of life bereft." _heldenbuch_ (weber's tr.). but as wolfdietrich attempted to leave the castle, waves suddenly surrounded him on all sides, threatening to drown him, until, suspecting that this phenomenon was produced by the princess's magic arts, he seized her and held her head under water until she died. then the waves immediately subsided and permitted him to escape unharmed. wolfdietrich next came to some mountains, where he encountered a giantess, who told him the story of ortnit's death, and so roused his compassion for the unfortunate liebgart that he vowed to slay the dragon and avenge all her wrongs. to enable him to reach his destination sooner the giantess bore him and his horse over the mountains, fifty miles in one day, and set him down near garden (guarda), where he saw liebgart and her sole remaining attendant sadly walking up and down. struck by liebgart's resemblance to the dead sigeminne, wolfdietrich stood quietly in the shade long enough to overhear her sigh and say that she wished the brave wolfdietrich would come along that way and avenge her husband's death. [sidenote: wolfdietrich and liebgart.] in answer to these words the hero presented himself impetuously before her, swore he would do all in his power to fulfill her wishes, and having received from her fair hand a ring, which she declared would bring the wearer good luck, he hastened off to the mountain gorge to encounter the dragons. on the way thither, wolfdietrich met alberich, who cautioned him not to yield to the desire for slumber if he would overcome the foe; so pressing on in spite of almost overpowering lassitude, he met the dragon. notwithstanding all his efforts wolfdietrich soon found himself carried off to the monster's cave, where he was flung down to serve as pasture for the young lind-worms. they would surely have devoured him had he not been protected by sigeminne's magic shirt, which they could not pierce. [sidenote: ortnit's sword and ring.] looking about him for some weapon to defend himself with, wolfdietrich suddenly saw ortnit's ring and his sword rosen, which he seized, and wielded the latter to such good purpose that he soon slew all the dragons. he then cut out their tongues, which he packed in a bag the dwarfs brought him, and triumphantly rode off to find liebgart and tell her of his success. but, as he lost his way in the forest, it was several days before he reached the town where she dwelt, and as he rode through the gates he was indignant to hear that liebgart was about to marry a knight by the name of gerhart, who had slain the dragon, brought home its head, and claimed the fulfillment of an old promise she had made to marry her husband's avenger. wolfdietrich spurred onward, entered the castle, denounced the impostor gerhart, and proved the truth of his assertions by producing the dragons' tongues. then, turning to the queen, wolfdietrich stretched out his hand to her, humbly asking whether she would marry him. at that moment liebgart saw ortnit's ring glittering on his finger, and, remembering her husband's last words, immediately signified her consent. the happy couple spent a whole year together in restoring order, peace, and prosperity to the lombards, before wolfdietrich left his wife to go and succor the companions whom he had neglected so long. landing with his army near constantinople, wolfdietrich, disguised as a peasant, made his way into the city, and learned that berchther and his sons had been put in prison. there the former had died, but the latter were still languishing in captivity. wolfdietrich bribed the jailer to bear them a cheering message and strengthening food, and led his army against sabene, whom he utterly routed. after recovering possession of constantinople, granting full forgiveness to his erring brothers, executing sabene, and liberating his companions, to whom he intrusted the sovereignty of the empire, wolfdietrich returned to lombardy, and from thence proceeded with liebgart to romaburg (rome), where he was duly crowned emperor. to reward herbrand, berchther's eldest son, for his faithfulness, wolfdietrich gave him the city of garden and all its territories, a realm which subsequently was inherited by his son hildebrand, a hero whom we shall have further occasion to describe. hache, another of berchther's sons, received as his share all the rhine land, which he left to his son, the trusty eckhardt (eckewart) who ever and anon appears in northern literature to win mortals back to virtue and point out the road to honor. wolfdietrich and liebgart were the happy parents of a son called hugdietrich, like his grandfather; and this king's second son, dietmar, was the father of the famous dietrich von bern, the hero of the next chapter of this volume. chapter vii. dietrich von bern. dietrich von bern, whose name is spelled in eighty-five different ways in the various ballads and chronicles written about him, has been identified with the historical theodoric of verona, whose "name was chosen by the poets of the early middle ages as the string upon which the pearls of their fantastic imagination were to be strung." this hero is one of the principal characters in the ancient german "book of heroes," and his adventures, which are recorded in many ancient manuscripts, and more especially in the wilkina saga, are about as follows: [sidenote: parentage of deitrich.] dietmar, the second son of hugdietrich, or of samson according to other authorities, became the independent ruler of bern (verona), and refused to recognize his elder brother, ermenrich, emperor of the west, as his liege lord. the young prince had married odilia, the heiress of the conquered duke of verona, who bore him a son called dietrich. gentle and generous when all went according to his wishes, this child was uncontrollable when his anger was roused, and his breath then came from his lips in a fiery torrent, scorching his opponent, and consuming all inflammable articles. when dietrich was but five years of age his training was intrusted to hildebrand, son of herbrand, one of the volsung race; and so well did the tutor acquit himself of this task that he soon made his pupil as accomplished a warrior as himself. their tastes were, moreover, so similar that they soon became inseparable friends, and their attachment has become as proverbial among northern nations as that of david and jonathan, damon and pythias, or orestes and pylades. hearing that a giant, grim, and a giantess, hilde, were committing great depredations in a remote part of his father's territories, and that no one had been able to rout or slay them, young dietrich set out with master hildebrand to attack them. they had not ridden long in the forest before they became aware of the presence of a tiny dwarf, alberich (alferich, alpris, or elbegast), and pouncing upon him, they held him fast, vowing that he should recover his liberty only upon condition of pointing out the giants' lurking place. [sidenote: the sword nagelring.] the dwarf not only promised the desired information, but gave dietrich the magic sword nagelring, which alone could pierce the giants' skin. then he led both heroes to the cave, where grim and hilde were gloating over a magic helmet they had made and called hildegrim. peering through a fissure of the rock, hildebrand was the first to gaze upon them, and in his eagerness to get at them he braced his shoulder against the huge mass of stone, forced it apart, and thus made a passage for himself and for his impetuous young pupil. as nagelring, the magic sword, had been stolen from him, grim attacked dietrich with a blazing brand snatched from the fire, while hildebrand and hilde wrestled together. the encounter was short and fierce between the young hero and his gigantic opponent, who soon succumbed beneath nagelring's sharp blows. then dietrich, turning, came just in time to save his master from hilde's treacherous blade. but, although one stroke of nagelring cut her in two, the heroes were dismayed to see the severed parts of her body knit together in a trice, and permit hilde, whole once more, to renew the attack. to prevent a repetition of this magical performance, dietrich, after again cutting her in two, placed his sword between the severed parts, and, knowing that steel annuls magic, left it there until all power to unite was gone and hilde was really dead. the two heroes then returned home in triumph with nagelring and hildegrim, the two famous trophies, which dietrich took as his share of the spoil, leaving to hildebrand an immense treasure of gold which made him the richest man of his day. this wealth enabled hildebrand to marry the noble ute (uote or uta), who helped him to bring up dietrich's young brother, then but a babe. although the young prince of bern imagined that he had exterminated all the giants in his land, he was soon undeceived; for sigenot, grim's brother, coming down from the alps to visit him, and finding him slain, vowed to avenge his death. the brave young prince, hearing that sigenot was terrorizing all the neighborhood, immediately set out to attack him, followed at a distance by hildebrand and the latter's nephew, wolfhart, who was always ready to undertake any journey, provided there was some prospect of a fight at the end. dietrich soon came to a forest, where, feeling hungry, he slew an elk and proceeded to roast some of its flesh upon a spit. while he was thus engaged he heard shrill cries, and looking up, he saw a giant holding a dwarf and about to devour him. ever ready to succor the feeble and oppressed, dietrich caught up his sword and attacked the giant, who made a brave but fruitless defense. the dwarf, seeing his tormentor dead, then advised dietrich to fly in haste, lest sigenot, the most terrible of all the mountain giants, should come to avenge his companion's murder. but, instead of following this advice, dietrich persuaded the dwarf to show him the way to the giant's retreat. [sidenote: capture of dietrich by giant sigenot.] following his tiny guide, dietrich climbed up the snow-clad mountains, where, in the midst of the icebergs, the ice queen, virginal, suddenly appeared to him, advising him to retreat, as his venture was perilous in the extreme. equally undeterred by this second warning, dietrich pressed on; but when he came at last to the giant's abode he was so exhausted by the ascent that, in spite of all his courage, he was defeated, put in chains, and dragged into the giant's den. [illustration: falke kills the giant.--keller.] hildebrand, in the mean while, following his pupil, awaited his return at the foot of the mountains for eight days, and then, seeing that he did not appear, he strode up the mountain side. the giant encountered him, stunned him with a great blow, and dragged him into the den, where, thinking him senseless, he leisurely began to select chains with which to bind him fast. hildebrand, however, sprang noiselessly to his feet, seized a weapon lying near, and stealing behind a pillar, which served him as a shield, he attacked sigenot, and stretched him lifeless at his feet. [sidenote: dietrich rescued by hildebrand.] a moment later he heard dietrich calling him from the depths of the cave. to spring forward and free his pupil from his chains was the work of a moment, and then, following the dwarf, who openly rejoiced at the death of his foe, the two heroes visited the underground kingdom. there they were hospitably entertained, their wounds were healed, and the king of the dwarfs gave them the finest weapons that they had ever seen. while hunting in the tyrolean mountains shortly after this encounter, dietrich confided to hildebrand that he had fallen in love with the ice fairy, virginal, and longed to see her again. this confidence was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a dwarf, who presented himself as bibung, the unconquerable protector of queen virginal, but who in the same breath confessed that she had fallen into the hands of the magician ortgis. the latter kept her imprisoned in one of her own castles, and at every new moon he forced her to surrender one of the snow maidens, her lovely attendants, whom he intended, to devour as soon as they were properly fattened. dietrich's eyes flashed with anger when he heard of his lady-love's distress, and bidding the dwarf show him the way, he forthwith set out to rescue her. they had not gone very far before they beheld the ice queen's palace glittering far above their heads; and as they eagerly climbed upward to reach it, they heard cries of terror, and saw a beautiful girl rush down the pathway, closely pursued by the magician and his mounted train. [sidenote: magician ortgis slain.] dietrich allowed the maiden to pass him, and then stepped boldly into the middle of the path, where he and hildebrand soon succeeded in slaying the magician and all his men. jambas, the son of ortgis, alone effected his escape; but dietrich and his master closely pursued him, took forcible possession of his castle, set the captive snow maidens free, and fearlessly slew all the monsters which jambas conjured up to destroy them. then, resuming their interrupted journey, dietrich and hildebrand soon came face to face with the self-styled unconquerable guardian of the ice queen. he had been hiding during the fray, and now implored them to hasten forward, as his mistress was besieged by jambas. the magician's son was anxious to secure virginal and all her maidens, but his principal aim was to appropriate the great carbuncle shining in the queen's crown, as it gave the possessor full power over the elements, the mountains, and all who ventured within reach of them. thus urged to greater speed, the heroes toiled upward faster and faster, and soon came near the glittering castle of jeraspunt, and the besiegers. the latter were on the point of overpowering the garrison and gaining possession of the queen. when dietrich saw her on the battlement, wringing her hands in despair, he rushed impetuously forward, crying that he had come to save her. he struck right and left, and did such good execution with his sword that the mountains shook, the icebergs cracked, and great avalanches, rolling down into the abysses, carried with them the bodies of the slain which he hurled down from the drawbridge. [sidenote: rescue of the ice queen.] in a very short time the enemy was completely routed, and dietrich was joyfully welcomed by virginal, who, touched by his devotion, consented to forsake her glittering castle, relinquish her sway over the mountains, and to follow him down into the green valley. their wedding was celebrated in jeraspunt, which was all hung in bridal white; and the ice queen and her maidens wore misty veils and crowns of glittering diamonds, which sparkled and flashed and lit up the whole scene with fairylike splendor. some versions of the story tell, however, that the queen soon grew homesick down in the green valley, and, deserting her hero husband, returned to her palace on the mountain top, where she still rules supreme. dietrich's numerous adventures soon became the theme of the wandering bards and minstrels, and thus the rumor of his courage came to the ears of heime, the son of the northern stud keeper studas. after distinguishing himself at home by slaying a dragon, this youth obtained from his father the steed rispa and the sword blutgang, with which he set out to test dietrich's courage, vowing that he would serve him forever if conquered by him. "king tidrick sits intill bern; he rooses [boasts] him of his might; sae mony has he in battle cow'd, baith kemp [rough] and doughty knight." _the ettin langshanks_ (jamieson's tr.). heime soon reached bern, boldly challenged dietrich, and when defeated entered his service, after procuring for his master's exclusive use the matchless steed falke, which could carry even such a gigantic man as dietrich without showing any signs of fatigue, and which served him faithfully for many a year. [sidenote: wittich.] the rumor of dietrich's courage also came to heligoland, where wieland (wayland, or völund), the smith, dwelt with his son wittich (witig). the latter, determined to cross swords with the hero of bern, persuaded his father to give him the celebrated sword mimung, by the help of which he hoped to overcome every foe. wieland also fashioned a complete suit of armor for his son, gave him much good advice, and parted from him, bidding him to prove himself worthy of his ancestors, and to call upon his grandmother, the mermaid wachilde, if he were ever in great distress. thus instructed wittich departed, and on the way to bern fell in with hildebrand, heime, and hornbogi, another of dietrich's noted warriors. they concealed their names, encouraged the stranger to talk, and soon learned where he was going and on what errand. master hildebrand, hearing of the magic sword, and anxious to preserve his pupil from its blows, allowed wittich to fight single-handed against twelve robbers in a mountain pass. as the youth disposed of them all without receiving a scratch, hildebrand substituted his own sword blade for that which wittich bore, one night while the latter was peacefully sleeping at an inn. this exchange remained unnoticed until wittich arrived in bern. there, while fighting with dietrich, the blade suddenly snapped in two. loudly reproaching his father, wieland, for having provided him with such an unreliable weapon, wittich was about to announce himself conquered, when hildebrand, realizing that he had not acted honorably, gave him back his own blade. dietrich, to his surprise and dismay, found himself conquered in this second encounter, and was forced to acknowledge that he owed his life only to wittich's magnanimity. but the northern hero soon confessed in his turn that had it not been for his magic sword he would have been obliged to yield to dietrich, and voluntarily offered his services to him, thus becoming one of his train. "sae gladly rode they back to bern; but tidrick maist was glad; and vidrich o' his menyie a' the foremost place aye had." _the ettin langskanks_ (jamieson's tr.). dietrich's next adventure, which is recorded in the "eckenlied," was with the giant ecke, who held bolfriana, the widowed lady of drachenfels, and her nine daughters, in his power. the hero of bern encountered the giant by night, and, in spite of his aversion to fighting at such a time, was compelled to defend himself against the giant's blows. he was about to succumb when his steed falke, scenting his danger, broke loose from the tree to which it had been tied, and stamped ecke to death. dietrich now rode on to drachenfels, where he encountered fasolt, ecke's brother, and, after defeating him also, and delivering the captive ladies, went back to bern, where fasolt joined his chosen warriors. dietrich, moreover, delivered the knight sintram from the jaws of a dragon, and made him one of his followers. then, having appropriated ecke's sword, the great eckesax, dietrich was about to give nagelring to heime; but hearing that the latter had stood idly by while wittich fought single-handed against twelve robbers, he banished him from his presence, bidding him never return until he had atoned for his dishonorable conduct by some generous deed. heime, incensed at this dismissal, sulkily withdrew to the falster wood on the banks of the wisara (weser), where he became chief of a body of brigands, ruthlessly spoiled travelers, and daily increased the hoard he was piling up in one of his strongholds. but, although dietrich thus lost one of his bravest warriors, his band was soon reënforced by hildebrand's brother ilsan, who, although a monk, was totally unfitted for a religious life, and greatly preferred fighting to praying. there also came to bern wildeber (wild boar), a man noted for his great strength. he owed this strength to a golden bracelet given him by a mermaid in order to recover her swan plumage, which he had secured. [sidenote: dietlieb the dane.] as dietrich was once on his way to romaburg (rome), whither his uncle ermenrich had invited him, he accepted the proffered service and escort of dietlieb the dane. this warrior, seeing that the emperor had forgotten to provide for the entertainment of dietrich's suite, pledged not only his own steed and weapons, but also his master's and hildebrand's, leading a jolly life upon the proceeds. when the time of departure came, and dietrich called for his steed, dietlieb was forced to confess what he had done. the story came to ermenrich's ears, and he felt called upon to pay the required sum to release his guest's weapons and steeds, but contemptuously inquired whether dietlieb were good at anything besides eating and drinking, wherein he evidently excelled. enraged by this taunt, dietlieb challenged ermenrich's champion warrior, walther von wasgenstein (vosges), and beat him at spear and stone throwing. he next performed feats hitherto unheard of, and won such applause that ermenrich not only paid all his debts, but also gave him a large sum of money, which this promising young spendthrift immediately expended in feasting all the men at arms. dietlieb's jests and jollity so amused isung, the imperial minstrel, that he left court to follow him to the land of the huns, where the fickle youth next offered his services to etzel (attila). the king of the huns, afraid to keep such a mercurial person near him, gave him the province of steiermark (styria), bidding him work off all surplus energy by defending it against the numerous enemies always trying to enter his realm. [sidenote: the dwarf laurin.] some time after this, dietlieb returned to his old master in sorrow, for his only sister, kunhild (similde, or similt), had been carried away by laurin (alberich), king of the dwarfs, and was now detained prisoner in the tyrolean mountains, not far from the vaunted rose garden. this place was surrounded by a silken thread, and guarded most jealously by laurin himself, who exacted the left foot and right hand of any knight venturing to enter his garden or break off a single flower from its stem. as soon as dietrich heard this, he promised to set out and rescue the fair kunhild. he was accompanied by dietlieb, hildebrand, wittich, and wolfhart; and as they came to the rose garden, all the heroes except dietrich and hildebrand began to trample the dainty blossoms, and tried to break the silken cord. "wittich, the mighty champion, trod the roses to the ground, broke down the gates, and ravaged the garden far renowned; gone was the portals' splendor, by the heroes bold destroyed; the fragrance of the flowers was past, and all the garden's pride." _heldenbuch_ (weber's tr.). while they were thus employed, the dwarf laurin donned his glittering girdle of power, which gave him the strength of twelve men, brandished a sword which had been tempered in dragons' blood and could therefore cut through iron and stone, and put on his ring of victory and the magic cap of darkness, tarnkappe (helkappe). dietrich, carefully instructed by hildebrand, struck off this cap, and appropriated it, as well as the girdles of strength and the ring of victory. he was so angry against laurin for resisting him that the dwarf king soon fled to dietlieb for protection, promising to restore kunhild, unless she preferred to remain with him as his wife. this amicable agreement having been made, laurin led the knights down into his subterranean palace, which was illuminated by carbuncles, diamonds, and other precious stones. here kunhild and her attendant maidens, attired with the utmost magnificence, welcomed them hospitably and presided at the banquet. "similt into the palace came, with her little maidens all; garments they wore which glittered brightly in the hall, of fur and costly ciclatoun, and brooches of the gold; no richer guise in royal courts might mortal man behold." _heldentuch_ (weber's tr.). the wines, however, were drugged, so the brave knights soon sank into a stupor; and laurin, taking a base advantage of their helplessness, deprived them of their weapons, bound them fast, and had them conveyed into a large prison. dietlieb was placed in a chamber apart, where, as soon as he recovered his senses, laurin told him that he and his companions were doomed to die on the morrow. at midnight dietrich awoke. feeling himself bound, his wrath burned hot within him, and his breath grew so fiery that it consumed the ropes with which he was pinioned. he then released his captive companions, and, while they were bewailing their lack of weapons, kunhild stealthily opened the door. noiselessly she conducted them into the great hall, bade them resume possession of their arms, and gave each a golden ring, of dwarf manufacture, to enable them to see their tiny foes, who were else invisible to all of mortal birth. joined by dietlieb, who had also been liberated by kunhild, the knights now roused laurin and his host of giants and dwarfs, and, after an encounter such as mediaeval poets love to describe at great length, routed them completely. laurin was made prisoner and carried in chains to bern, where kunhild, now full of compassion for him, prevailed upon dietrich to set him free, provided he would forswear all his malicious propensities and spend the remainder of his life in doing good. when this promise had been given, laurin was set free; and after marrying kunhild, he went to live with her in the beautiful rose garden and the underground palace, which peasants and simple-hearted alpine hunters have often seen, but which the worldly wise and skeptical have always sought in vain. [sidenote: rose garden at worms.] the mere fact of his having come off victor in one rose garden affair made dietrich hail with joy the tidings brought by a wandering minstrel, that at worms, on the rhine, kriemhild (grimhild, gutrun, etc.), the burgundian princess, had a similar garden. this was guarded by twelve brave knights, ever ready to try their skill against an equal number of warriors, the prize of the victor being a rose garland and kisses from the owner of this charming retreat. eager to accept this challenge, dietrich selected hildebrand, wittich, wolfhart, and five other brave men; but as he could think of no others worthy to share in the adventure, hildebrand suggested that rüdiger of bechlaren, dietlieb of steiermark, and his own brother, the monk ilsan, would be only too glad to help them. this little band soon rode into worms, where dietrich and his men covered themselves with glory by defeating all kriemhild's champions, and winning the rose garlands as well as the kisses. the knights, if we are to believe the ancient poem, appreciated the latter reward highly, with the exception of the rude monk ilsan, who, we are told, scrubbed the princess's delicate cheek with his rough beard until the blood flowed. [illustration: the victorious huns.--checa.] "and when chrimhild, the queen, gave him kisses fifty-two, with his rough and grisly beard full sore he made her rue, that from her lovely cheek 'gan flow the rosy blood: the queen was full of sorrow, but the monk it thought him good." _heldenbuch_ (weber's tr.). then ilsan carried his garlands back to the monastery, where he jammed them down upon the monks' bald pates, laughing aloud when he saw them wince as the sharp thorns pierced them. on his way home dietrich visited etzel, king of the huns, and further increased his train by accepting the services of amalung, hornbogi's son, and of herbrand the wide-traveled. on his arrival at bern, he found that his father, dietmar, was dead, and thus dietrich became king of the amaling land (italy). [sidenote: campaign against the wilkina land.] shortly after his accession to the throne, he went to help etzel, who was warring against osantrix, king of the wilkina land (norway and sweden). with none but his own followers, dietrich invaded the wilkina land, and throughout that glorious campaign old hildebrand rode ever ahead, bearing aloft his master's standard, and dealing many memorable blows. in one encounter, wittich was thrown from his horse and stunned. heime, who had joined the army, seeing him apparently lifeless, snatched the sword mimung out of his nerveless grasp and bore it triumphantly away. wittich, however, was not dead, but was soon after made prisoner by hertnit, earl of greece, osantrix's brother, who carried him back to the capital, where he put him in prison. when the campaign against the wilkina men was ended, dietrich and his army returned to bern, leaving wildeber in hungary to ascertain whether wittich were really dead, or whether he still required his companions' aid. wishing to penetrate unrecognized into the enemy's camp, wildeber slew and flayed a bear, donned its skin over his armor, and, imitating the uncouth antics of the animal he personated, bade the minstrel isung lead him thus disguised to hertnit's court. [sidenote: wittich rescued by wildeber.] this plan was carried out, and the minstrel and dancing bear were hailed with joy. but isung was greatly dismayed when hertnit insisted upon baiting his hunting hounds against the bear; who, however, strangled them all, one after another, without seeming to feel their sharp teeth. hertnit was furious at the loss of all his pack, and sprang down into the pit with drawn sword; but all his blows glanced aside on the armor concealed beneath the rough pelt. suddenly the pretended bear stood up, caught the weapon which the king had dropped, and struck off his head. then, joining isung, he rushed through the palace and delivered the captive wittich; whereupon, seizing swords and steeds on their way, they all three rode out of the city before they could be stopped. when they arrived in bern they were warmly welcomed by dietrich, who forced heime to give the stolen mimung back to its rightful owner. the brave warriors were not long allowed to remain inactive, however, for they were soon asked to help ermenrich against his revolted vassal, rimstein. they besieged the recalcitrant knight in his stronghold of gerimsburg, which was given to walther von wasgenstein, while wittich was rewarded for his services by the hand of bolfriana, the lady of drachenfels, and thus became the vassal of ermenrich. [sidenote: sibich.] the estates of ermenrich were so extensive and so difficult to govern that he was very glad indeed to secure as prime minister a capable nobleman by the name of sibich. unfortunately, this sibich had a remarkably beautiful wife, whom the emperor once insulted during her husband's absence. as soon as sibich returned from his journey his wife told him all that had occurred, and the emperor's conduct so enraged the minister that he vowed that he would take a terrible revenge. the better to accomplish his purpose, sibich concealed his resentment, and so artfully poisoned ermenrich's mind that the latter ordered his eldest son to be slain. to get rid of the second prince, sibich induced him to enter a leaky vessel, which sank as soon as he was out at sea. then, when the prime minister saw the third son, randwer, paying innocent attentions to his fair young stepmother, swanhild, daughter of siegfried and kriemhild, he so maliciously distorted the affair that ermenrich ordered this son to be hung, and his young wife to be trampled to death under the hoofs of wild horses. sibich, the traitor, having thus deprived the emperor of wife and children, next resolved to rob him of all his kin, so that he might eventually murder him and take undisputed possession of the empire. with this purpose in view, he forged letters which incited the emperor to war against his nephews, the harlungs. these two young men, who were orphans, dwelt at breisach, under the guardianship of their tutor, the faithful eckhardt. they were both cruelly slain, and the disconsolate tutor fled to the court of dietrich, little thinking that ermenrich would soon turn upon this his last male relative, also. [sidenote: herbart and hilde.] dietrich, forsaken by virginal, and anxious to marry again, had, in the mean while, sent his nephew herbart to arthur's court in the bertanga land (britain), to sue for the hand of hilde, his fair young daughter. but arthur, averse to sending his child so far away, would not at first permit the young ambassador to catch a glimpse of her face, and sent her to church guarded by ten warriors, ten monks, and ten duennas. in spite of all these safeguards, herbart succeeded in seeing the princess, and after ascertaining that she was very beautiful, he secured a private interview, and told her of his master's wish to call her wife. hilde, wishing to know what kind of a man her suitor was, begged herbart to draw his portrait; but finding him unprepossessing, she encouraged herbart to declare his own love, and soon eloped with him. [sidenote: dietrich in exile.] dietrich had no time to mourn for the loss of this expected bride, however, for the imperial army suddenly marched into the amaling land, and invested the cities of garden, milan, raben (ravenna), and mantua. of course these successes were owing to treachery, and not to valor, and dietrich, to obtain the release of hildebrand and a few other faithful followers, who had fallen into the enemy's hands, was forced to surrender bern and go off into exile. as he had thus sacrificed his kingdom to obtain their freedom, it is no wonder that these men proudly accompanied him into banishment. they went to susat, where they were warmly welcomed by etzel and helche (herka), his wife, who promised to care for diether, dietrich's brother, and have him brought up with her own sons. there were in those days many foreigners at etzel's court, for he had secured as hostages hagen of tronje, from the burgundians; the princess hildegunde, from the franks; and walther von wasgenstein from the duke of aquitaine. [sidenote: walther of aquitaine and hildegunde.] during the twenty years which dietrich now spent in the land of the huns fighting for etzel, peace was concluded with burgundy and hagen was allowed to return home. walther of aquitaine (or von wasgenstein), whose adventures are related in a latin poem of the eighth or ninth century, had fallen in love with hildegunde. seeing that etzel, in spite of his promises to set them both free, had no real intention of doing so, he and his ladylove cleverly effected their escape, and fled to the wasgenstein (vosges), where they paused in a cave to recruit their exhausted strength. gunther, king of burgundy, and hagen of tronje, his ally, hearing that walther and hildegunde were in the neighborhood, and desirous of obtaining the large sum of gold which they had carried away from etzel's court, set out to attack them, with a force of twelve picked men. but hildegunde was watching while walther slept, and, seeing them draw near, warned her lover. he, inspired by her presence, slew all except gunther and hagen, who beat a hasty retreat. they did not return to worms, however, but lay in ambush beside the road, and when walther and hildegunde passed by they attacked the former with great fury. in spite of the odds against him, the poem relates that walther triumphantly defeated them both, putting out one of hagen's eyes and cutting off one of gunther's hands and one of his feet. the conflict ended, hildegunde bound up the wounds of all three of the combatants, who then sat down to share a meal together, indulged in much jocularity about their wounds, and, parting amicably, sought their respective homes. walther and hildegunde were next joyously welcomed by their relatives, duly married, and reigned together over aquitaine for many a long year. in the mean while dietrich had been engaged in warring against waldemar, king of reussen (russia and poland), in behalf of etzel, who, however, forsook him in a cowardly way, and left him in a besieged fortress, in the midst of the enemy's land, with only a handful of men. in spite of all his courage, dietrich would have been forced to surrender had not rüdiger of bechlaren come to his rescue. by their combined efforts, waldemar was slain, and his son was brought captive to susat. [sidenote: dietrich and queen helche.] dietrich and his noble prisoner were both seriously wounded; but while queen helche herself tenderly cared for the young prince of reussen, who was her kinsman, dietrich lay neglected and alone in a remote part of the palace. the young prince was no sooner cured, however, than he took advantage of etzel's absence to escape, although helche implored him not to do so, and assured him that she would have to pay for his absence with her life. in her distress helche now thought of dietrich, who, weak and wounded, rose from his couch, pursued the fugitive, overtook and slew him, and brought his head back to her. the queen of the huns never forgot that she owed her life to dietrich, and ever after showed herself his faithful friend. twenty years had passed since dietrich left his native land ere he asked to return. helche promised him the aid of her sons, erp and ortwine, whom she armed herself, and furnished one thousand men. etzel, seeing this, also offered his aid, and dietrich marched back to the amaling land with all his companions, and with an army commanded by the two hun princes and rüdiger's only son, nudung. the van of the army took garden and padauwe (padua), and with dietrich at its head made a triumphant entrance into bern. but, hearing that ermenrich was coming against him, dietrich now went to meet him, and fought a terrible battle near raben in . the hero of bern distinguished himself, as usual, in this fray, until, hearing that nudung, the two hun princes, and his young brother, diether, had all been slain, he became almost insane with grief. in his fury he wildly pursued wittich, his former servant and diether's murderer, and would have slain him had the latter not saved himself by plunging into the sea. here his ancestress, the swan maiden wachilde, took charge of him, and conveyed him to a place of safety. then, although victorious, dietrich discovered that he had no longer enough men left to maintain himself in his reconquered kingdom, and mournfully returned to susat with the bodies of the slain. [sidenote: marriage of dietrich and herrat.] it was during his second sojourn at the court of the huns that dietrich married herrat (herand), princess of transylvania, a relative of helche. the latter died soon after their union. three years later etzel married kriemhild, siegfried's widow; and now occurred the fall of the brave nibelung knights, recorded in the "nibelungenlied." dietrich, as we have seen, took an active part in the closing act of this tragedy, and joined in the final lament over the bodies of the slain. ten years after the terrible battle of raben, dietrich again resolved to make an attempt to recover his kingdom, and set out with only a very few followers. as ermenrich had succumbed, either under the swords of swanhild's brothers, as already related, or by the poison secretly administered by the traitor sibich, the crown was now offered to dietrich, who was glad to accept it. all the lost cities were gradually recovered, and hildebrand, coming to garden, encountered his son hadubrand (alebrand), who, having grown up during his absence, did not recognize him, and challenged him to fight. mighty blows were exchanged between father and son, each of whom, in the pauses of the combat, anxiously besought the other to reveal his name. it was only when their strength was exhausted that hadubrand revealed who he was, and father and son, dropping their bloody swords, embraced with tears. "so spake hadubrand, son of hildebrand: 'said unto me some of our people, shrewd and old, gone hence already, that hildebrand was my father called,-- i am called hadubrand. erewhile he eastward went, escaping from odoaker, thither with theodoric and his many men of battle, here he left in the land, lorn and lonely, bride in bower, bairn ungrown, having no heritage.'" _song of hildebrand_ (bayard taylor's tr.). hildebrand then rejoined his wife, ute, and dietrich, having slain the traitor sibich, who had made an attempt to usurp the throne, marched on to romaburg (rome), where he was crowned emperor of the west, under the name of theodoric. some time after his accession, dietrich lost his good wife herrat, whom, according to some accounts, he mourned as long as he lived. according to others he married again, taking as wife liebgart, widow of ortnit. etzel, according to this version, having been lured by aldrian, hagen's son, into the cave where the nibelungen hoard was kept, was locked up there, and died of hunger while contemplating the gold he coveted. his estates then became the property of dietrich, who thus became undisputed ruler of nearly all the southern part of europe. [sidenote: dietrich and the coal-black steed.] in his old age dietrich, weary of life and imbittered by its many trials, ceased to take pleasure in anything except the chase. one day, while he was bathing in a limpid stream, his servant came to tell him that there was a fine stag in sight. dietrich immediately called for his horse, and as it was not instantly forthcoming, he sprang upon a coal-black steed standing near, and was borne rapidly away. the servant rode after as fast as possible, but could never overtake dietrich, who, the peasants aver, was spirited away, and now leads the wild hunt upon the same sable steed, which he is doomed to ride until the judgment day. in spite of this fabulous account, however, the tomb of theodoric is still to be seen near verona, but history demonstrates the impossibility of the story of dietrich von bern, by proving that theodoric was not born until after the death of attila, the unmistakeable original of the etzel in the "heldenbuch." [illustration: the tomb of theodoric.] chapter viii. charlemagne and his paladins. one of the favorite heroes of early mediaeval literature is charlemagne, whose name is connected with countless romantic legends of more or less antique origin. the son of pepin and bertha the "large footed," this monarch took up his abode near the rhine to repress the invasions of the northern barbarians, awe them into submission, and gradually induce them to accept the teachings of the missionaries he sent to convert them. [sidenote: the champion of christianity.] as charlemagne destroyed the irminsul, razed heathen temples and groves, abolished the odinic and druidic forms of worship, conquered the lombards at the request of the pope, and defeated the saracens in spain, he naturally became the champion of christianity in the chronicles of his day. all the heroic actions of his predecessors (such as charles martel) were soon attributed to him, and when these legends were turned into popular epics, in the tenth and eleventh centuries, he became the principal hero of france. the great deeds of his paladins, roland, oliver, ogier the dane, renaud de montauban, and others, also became the favorite theme of the poets, and were soon translated into every european tongue. the latin chronicle, falsely attributed to bishop turpin, charlemagne's prime minister, but dating from , is one of the oldest versions of charlemagne's fabulous adventures now extant. it contains the mythical account of the battle of roncesvalles (vale of thorns), told with infinite repetition and detail so as to give it an appearance of reality. [sidenote: chanson de roland.] einhard, the son-in-law and historian of charlemagne, records a partial defeat in the pyrenees in - , and adds that hroudlandus was slain. from this bald statement arose the mediaeval "chanson de roland," which was still sung at the battle of hastings. the probable author of the french metrical version is turoldus; but the poem, numbering originally four thousand lines, has gradually been lengthened, until now it includes more than forty thousand. there are early french, latin, german, italian, english, and icelandic versions of the adventures of roland, which in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries were turned into prose, and formed the basis of the "romans de chevalerie," which were popular for so many years. numerous variations can, of course, be noted in these tales, which have been worked over again by the italian poets ariosto and boiardo, and even treated by buchanan in our day. it would be impossible to give in this work a complete synopsis of all the _chansons de gestes_ referring to charlemagne and his paladins, so we will content ourselves with giving an abstract of the most noted ones and telling the legends which are found in them, which have gradually been woven around those famous names and connected with certain localities. [sidenote: charlemagne and the heavenly message.] we are told that charlemagne, having built a beautiful new palace for his use, overlooking the rhine, was roused from his sleep during the first night he spent there by the touch of an angelic hand, and, to his utter surprise, thrice heard the heavenly messenger bid him go forth and steal. not daring to disobey, charlemagne stole unnoticed out of the palace, saddled his steed, and, armed cap-a-pie, started out to fulfill the angelic command. he had not gone far when he met an unknown knight, evidently bound on the same errand. to challenge, lay his lance in rest, charge, and unhorse his opponent, was an easy matter for charlemagne. when he learned that he had disarmed elbegast (alberich), the notorious highwayman, he promised to let him go free if he would only help him steal something that night. guided by elbegast, charlemagne, still incognito, went to the castle of one of his ministers, and, thanks to elbegast's cunning, penetrated unseen into his bedroom. there, crouching in the dark, charlemagne overheard him confide to his wife a plot to murder the emperor on the morrow. patiently biding his time until they were sound asleep, charlemagne picked up a worthless trifle, and noiselessly made his way out, returning home unseen. on the morrow, profiting by the knowledge thus obtained, he cleverly outwitted the conspirators, whom he restored to favor only after they had solemnly sworn future loyalty. as for elbegast, he so admired the only man who had ever succeeded in conquering him that he renounced his dishonest profession to enter the emperor's service. in gratitude for the heavenly vision vouchsafed him, the emperor named his new palace ingelheim (home of the angel), a name which the place has borne ever since. this thieving episode is often alluded to in the later romances of chivalry, where knights, called upon to justify their unlawful appropriation of another's goods, disrespectfully remind the emperor that he too once went about as a thief. [sidenote: frastrada's magic ring.] when charlemagne's third wife died, he married a beautiful eastern princess by the name of frastrada, who, aided by a magic ring, soon won his most devoted affection. the new queen, however, did not long enjoy her power, for a dangerous illness overtook her. when at the point of death, fearful lest her ring should be worn by another while she was buried and forgotten, frastrada slipped the magic circlet into her mouth just before she breathed her last. solemn preparations were made to bury her in the cathedral of mayence (where a stone bearing her name could still be seen a few years ago), but the emperor refused to part with the beloved body. neglectful of all matters of state, he remained in the mortuary chamber day after day. his trusty adviser, turpin, suspecting the presence of some mysterious talisman, slipped into the room while the emperor, exhausted with fasting and weeping, was wrapped in sleep. after carefully searching for the magic jewel, turpin discovered it, at last, in the dead queen's mouth. "he searches with care, though with tremulous haste, for the spell that bewitches the king; and under her tongue, for security placed, its margin with mystical characters traced, at length he discovers a ring." southey, _king charlemain_. [sidenote: turpin and the magic ring.] to secure this ring and slip it on his finger was but the affair of a moment; but just as turpin was about to leave the room the emperor awoke. with a shuddering glance at the dead queen, charlemagne flung himself passionately upon the neck of his prime minister, declaring that he would never be quite inconsolable as long as he was near. taking advantage of the power thus secured by the possession of the magic ring, turpin led charlemagne away, forced him to eat and drink, and after the funeral induced him to resume the reins of the government. but he soon wearied of his master's constant protestations of undying affection, and ardently longed to get rid of the ring, which, however, he dared neither to hide nor to give away, for fear it should fall into unscrupulous hands. although advanced in years, turpin was now forced to accompany charlemagne everywhere, even on his hunting expeditions, and to share his tent. one moonlight night the unhappy minister stole noiselessly out of the imperial tent, and wandered alone in the woods, cogitating how to dispose of the unlucky ring. as he walked thus he came to a glade in the forest, and saw a deep pool, on whose mirrorlike surface the moonbeams softly played. suddenly the thought struck him that the waters would soon close over and conceal the magic ring forever in their depths; and, drawing it from his finger, he threw it into the pond. turpin then retraced his steps, and soon fell asleep. on the morrow he was delighted to perceive that the spell was broken, and that charlemagne had returned to the old undemonstrative friendship which had bound them for many a year. "overjoy'd, the good prelate remember'd the spell, and far in the lake flung the ring; the waters closed round it; and, wondrous to tell, released from the cursed enchantment of hell, his reason return'd to the king." southey, _king charlemain_. charlemagne, however, seemed unusually restless, and soon went out to hunt. in the course of the day, having lost sight of his suite in the pursuit of game, he came to the little glade, where, dismounting, he threw himself on the grass beside the pool, declaring that he would fain linger there forever. the spot was so charming that he even gave orders, ere he left it that night, that a palace should be erected there for his use; and this building was the nucleus of his favorite capital, aix-la-chapelle (aachen). "but he built him a palace there close by the bay, and there did he love to remain; and the traveler who will, may behold at this day a monument still in the ruins at aix of the spell that possess'd charlemain." southey, _king charlemain_. according to tradition, charlemagne had a sister by the name of bertha, who, against his will, married the brave young knight milon. rejected by the emperor, and therefore scorned by all, the young couple lived in obscurity and poverty. they were very happy, however, for they loved each other dearly, and rejoiced in the beauty of their infant son roland, who even in babyhood showed signs of uncommon courage and vigor. [sidenote: charlemagne and the boy roland.] one version of the story relates, however, that milon perished in a flood, and that bertha was almost dying of hunger while her brother, a short distance away, was entertaining all his courtiers at his board. little roland, touched by his mother's condition, walked fearlessly into the banquet hall, boldly advanced to the table, and carried away a dishful of meat. as the emperor seemed amused at the little lad's fearlessness, the servants did not dare to interfere, and roland bore off the dish in triumph. a few minutes later he reentered the hall, and with equal coolness laid hands upon the emperor's cup, full of rich wine. challenged by charlemagne, the child then boldly declared that he wanted the meat and wine for his mother, a lady of high degree. in answer to the emperor's bantering questions, he declared that he was his mother's cupbearer, her page, and her gallant knight, which answers so amused charlemagne that he sent for her. he then remorsefully recognized her, treated her with kindness as long as she lived, and took her son into his own service. another legend relates that charlemagne, hearing that the robber knight of the ardennes had a priceless jewel set in his shield, called all his bravest noblemen together, and bade them sally forth separately, with only a page as escort, in quest of the knight. once found, they were to challenge him in true knightly fashion, and at the point of the lance win the jewel he wore. a day was appointed when, successful or not, the courtiers were to return, and, beginning with the lowest in rank, were to give a truthful account of their adventures while on the quest. all the knights departed and scoured the forest of the ardennes, each hoping to meet the robber knight and win the jewel. among them was milon, accompanied by his son roland, a lad of fifteen, whom he had taken as page and armor-bearer. milon had spent many days in vain search for the knight, when, exhausted by his long ride, he dismounted, removed his heavy armor, and lay down under a tree to sleep, bidding roland keep close watch during his slumbers. [sidenote: roland and the jewel.] roland watched faithfully for a while; then, fired by a desire to distinguish himself, he donned his father's armor, sprang on his steed, and rode into the forest in search of adventures. he had not gone very far when he saw a gigantic horseman coming to meet him, and, by the dazzling glitter of a large stone set in his shield, he recognized in him the invincible knight of the ardennes. afraid of nothing, however, the lad laid his lance in rest when challenged to fight, and charged so bravely that he unhorsed the knight. a fearful battle on foot ensued, where many gallant blows were given and received; yet the victory finally remained with roland. he slew his adversary, and wrenching the jewel from his shield, hid it in his breast. then, riding rapidly back to his sleeping father, roland laid aside the armor, and removed all traces of a bloody encounter. when milon awoke he resumed the quest, and soon came upon the body of the dead knight. when he saw that another had won the jewel, he was disappointed indeed, and sadly rode back to court, to be present on the appointed day. charlemagne, seated on his throne, bade the knights appear before him, and relate their adventures. one after another strode up the hall, followed by an armor-bearer holding his shield, and all told of finding the knight slain and the jewel gone, and produced head, hands, feet, or some part of his armor, in token of the truth of their story. last of all came milon, with lowering brows, although roland walked close behind him, proudly holding his shield, in the center of which the jewel shone radiant. milon related his search, and reported that he too had found the giant knight slain and the jewel gone. a shout of incredulity made him turn his head. but when he saw the jewel blazing on his shield he appeared so amazed that charlemagne questioned roland, and soon learned how it had been obtained. in reward for his bravery in this encounter, roland was knighted and allowed to take his place among his uncle's paladins, of which he soon became the most renowned. charlemagne, according to the old _chanson de geste_ entitled "ogier le danois," made war against the king of denmark, defeated him, and received his son ogier (olger or holger danske) as hostage. the young danish prince was favored by the fairies from the time of his birth, six of them having appeared to bring him gifts while he was in his cradle. the first five promised him every earthly bliss; while the sixth, morgana, foretold that he would never die, but would dwell with her in avalon. [sidenote: ogier king of denmark.] ogier the dane, owing to a violation of the treaty on his father's part, was soon confined in the prison of st. omer. there he beguiled the weariness of captivity by falling in love with, and secretly marrying, the governor's daughter bellissande. charlemagne, being about to depart for war, and wishing for the hero's help, released him from captivity; and when ogier returned again to france he heard that bellissande had borne him a son, and that, his father having died, he was now the lawful king of denmark. ogier the dane then obtained permission to return to his native land, where he spent several years, reigning so wisely that he was adored by all his subjects. such is the admiration of the danes for this hero that the common people still declare that he is either in avalon, or sleeping in the vaults of elsinore, and that he will awaken, like frederick barbarossa, to save his country in the time of its direst need. "'thou know'st it, peasant! i am not dead; i come back to thee in my glory. i am thy faithful helper in need, as in denmark's ancient story.'" ingemann, _holder danske_. after some years spent in denmark, ogier returned to france, where his son, now grown up, had a dispute with prince chariot [ogier and charlemagne.] over a game of chess. the dispute became so bitter that the prince used the chessboard as weapon, and killed his antagonist with it. ogier, indignant at the murder, and unable to find redress at the hands of charlemagne, insulted him grossly, and fled to didier (desiderius), king of lombardy, with whom the franks were then at feud. several ancient poems represent didier on his tower, anxiously watching the approach of the enemy, and questioning his guest as to the personal appearance of charlemagne. these poems have been imitated by longfellow in one of his "tales of a wayside inn." "olger the dane, and desiderio, king of the lombards, on a lofty tower stood gazing northward o'er the rolling plains, league after league of harvests, to the foot of the snow-crested alps, and saw approach a mighty army, thronging all the roads that led into the city. and the king said unto olger, who had passed his youth as hostage at the court of france, and knew the emperor's form and face, 'is charlemagne among that host?' and olger answered, 'no.'" longfellow, _tales of a wayside inn_. this poet, who has made this part of the legend familiar to all english readers, then describes the vanguard of the army, the paladins, the clergy, all in full panoply, and the gradually increasing terror of the lombard king, who, long before the emperor's approach, would fain have hidden himself underground. finally charlemagne appears in iron mail, brandishing aloft his invincible sword "joyeuse," and escorted by the main body of his army, grim fighting men, at the mere sight of whom even ogier the dane is struck with fear. "this at a single glance olger the dane saw from the tower; and, turning to the king, exclaimed in haste: 'behold! this is the man you looked for with such eagerness!' and then fell as one dead at desiderio's feet." longfellow, _tales of a wayside inn_. charlemagne soon overpowered the lombard king, and assumed the iron crown, while ogier escaped from the castle in which he was besieged. shortly after, however, when asleep near a fountain, the danish hero was surprised by turpin. when led before charlemagne, he obstinately refused all proffers of reconciliation, and insisted upon charlot's death, until an angel from heaven forbade his asking the life of charlemagne's son. then, foregoing his revenge and fully reinstated in the royal good graces, ogier, according to a thirteenth-century epic by adenet, successfully encountered a saracenic giant, and in reward for his services received the hand of clarice, princess of england, and became king of that realm. [sidenote: ogier in the east.] weary of a peaceful existence, ogier finally left england, and journeyed to the east, where he successfully besieged acre, babylon and jerusalem. on his way back to france, the ship was attracted by the famous lodestone rock which appears in many mediaeval romances, and, all his companions having perished, ogier wandered alone ashore. there he came to an adamantine castle, invisible by day, but radiant at night, where he was received by the famous horse papillon, and sumptuously entertained. on the morrow, while wandering across a flowery meadow, ogier encountered morgana the fay, who gave him a magic ring. although ogier was then a hundred years old, he no sooner put it on than he became young once more. then, having donned the golden crown of oblivion, he forgot his home, and joined arthur, oberon, tristan, and lancelot, with whom he spent two hundred years in unchanged youth, enjoying constant jousting and fighting. at the end of that time, his crown having accidentally dropped off, ogier remembered the past, and returned to france, riding on papillon. he reached the court during the reign of one of the capetian kings. he was, of course, greatly amazed at the changes which had taken place, but bravely helped to defend paris against an invasion from the normans. [sidenote: ogier carried to avalon.] shortly after this, his magic ring was playfully drawn from his finger and put upon her own by the countess of senlis, who, seeing that it restored her vanished youth, would fain have kept it always. she therefore sent thirty champions to wrest it from ogier, who, however, defeated them all, and triumphantly retained his ring. the king having died, ogier next married the widowed queen, and would thus have become king of france had not morgana the fay, jealous of his affections, spirited him away in the midst of the marriage ceremony and borne him off to the isle of avalon, whence he, like arthur, will return only when his country needs him. [sidenote: roland and oliver.] another _chanson de geste_, a sort of continuation of "ogier le danois," is called "meurvin," and purports to give a faithful account of the adventures of a son of ogier and morgana, an ancestor of godfrey of bouillon, king of jerusalem. in "guerin de montglave," we find that charlemagne, having quarreled with the duke of genoa, proposed that each should send a champion to fight in his name. charlemagne selected roland, while the duke of genoa chose oliver as his defender. the battle, if we are to believe some versions of the legend, took place on an island in the rhone, and durandana, roland's sword, struck many a spark from altecler (hautecler), the blade of oliver. the two champions were so well matched, and the blows were dealt with such equal strength and courage, that "giving a roland for an oliver" has become a proverbial expression. after fighting all day, with intermissions to interchange boasts and taunts, and to indulge in sundry discussions, neither had gained any advantage. they would probably have continued the struggle indefinitely, however, had not an angel of the lord interfered, and bidden them embrace and become fast friends. it was on this occasion, we are told, that charlemagne, fearing for roland when he saw the strength of oliver, vowed a pilgrimage to jerusalem should his nephew escape alive. [sidenote: charlemagne's pilgrimage to jerusalem.] the fulfillment of this vow is described in "galyen rhetoré." charlemagne and his peers reached jerusalem safely in disguise, but their anxiety to secure relics soon betrayed their identity. the king of jerusalem, hugues, entertained them sumptuously, and, hoping to hear many praises of his hospitality, concealed himself in their apartment at night. the eavesdropper, however, only heard the vain talk of charlemagne's peers, who, unable to sleep, beguiled the hours in making extraordinary boasts. roland declared that he could blow his horn olivant loud enough to bring down the palace; ogier, that he could crumble the principal pillar to dust in his grasp; and oliver, that he could marry the princess in spite of her father. the king, angry at hearing no praises of his wealth and hospitality, insisted upon his guests fulfilling their boasts on the morrow, under penalty of death. he was satisfied, however, by the success of oliver's undertaking, and the peers returned to france. galyen, oliver's son by hugues's daughter, followed them thither when he reached manhood, and joined his father in the valley of roncesvalles, just in time to receive his blessing ere he died. then, having helped charlemagne to avenge his peers, galyen returned to jerusalem, where he found his grandfather dead and his mother a captive. his first act was, of course, to free his mother, after which he became king of jerusalem, and his adventures came to an end. the "chronicle" of turpin, whence the materials for many of the poems about roland were taken, declares that charlemagne, having conquered nearly the whole of europe, retired to his palace to seek repose. but one evening, while gazing at the stars, he saw a bright cluster move from the "friesian sea, by way of germany and france, into galicia." this prodigy, twice repeated, greatly excited charlemagne's wonder, and was explained to him by st. james in a vision. the latter declared that the progress of the stars was emblematic of the advance of the christian army towards spain, and twice bade the emperor deliver his land from the hands of the saracens. [sidenote: charlemagne in spain.] thus admonished, charlemagne set out for spain with a large army, and invested the city of pamplona, which showed no signs of surrender at the end of a two months' siege. recourse to prayer on the christians' part, however, produced a great miracle, for the walls tottered and fell like those of jericho. all the saracens who embraced christianity were spared, but the remainder were slain before the emperor journeyed to the shrine of st. james at santiago de compostela to pay his devotions. a triumphant march through the country then ensued, and charlemagne returned to france, thinking the saracens subdued. he had scarcely crossed the border, however, when aigolandus, one of the pagan monarchs, revolted, and soon recovered nearly all the territory his people had lost. when charlemagne heard these tidings, he sent back an army, commanded by milon, roland's father, who perished gloriously in this campaign. the emperor speedily followed his brother-in-law with great forces, and again besieged aigolandus in pamplona. during the course of the siege the two rulers had an interview, which is described at length, and indulged in sundry religious discussions, which, however, culminated in a resumption of hostilities. several combats now took place, in which the various heroes greatly distinguished themselves, the preference being generally given to roland, who, if we are to believe the italian poet, was as terrible in battle as he was gentle in time of peace. "on stubborn foes he vengeance wreak'd, and laid about him like a tartar; but if for mercy once they squeak'd, he was the first to grant them quarter. the battle won, of roland's soul each milder virtue took possession; to vanquished foes he o'er a bowl his heart surrender'd at discretion." ariosto, _orlando furioso_ (dr. burney's tr.). aigolandus being slain, and the feud against him thus successfully ended, charlemagne carried the war into navarre, where he was challenged by the giant ferracute (ferragus) to meet him in single combat. although the metrical "romances" describe charlemagne as twenty feet in height, and declare that he slept in a hall, his bed surrounded by one hundred lighted tapers and one hundred knights with drawn swords, the emperor felt himself no match for the giant, whose personal appearance was as follows:-- "so hard he was to-fond [proved], that no dint of brond no grieved him, i plight. he had twenty men's strength; and forty feet of length thilke [each] paynim had; and four feet in the face y-meten [measured] on the place; and fifteen in brede [breadth]. his nose was a foot and more; his brow as bristles wore; (he that saw it said) he looked lothliche [loathly], and was swart [black] as pitch; of him men might adrede!" _roland and ferragus_. [sidenote: roland and ferracute.] after convincing himself of the danger of meeting this adversary, charlemagne sent ogier the dane to fight him, and with dismay saw his champion not only unhorsed, but borne away like a parcel under the giant's arm, fuming and kicking with impotent rage. renaud de montauban met ferracute on the next day, with the same fate, as did several other champions. finally roland took the field, and although the giant pulled him down from his horse, he continued the battle all day. seeing that his sword durandana had no effect upon ferracute, roland armed himself with a club on the morrow. in the pauses of the battle the combatants talked together, and ferracute, relying upon his adversary's keen sense of honor, even laid his head upon roland's knee during their noonday rest. while resting thus, he revealed that he was vulnerable in only one point of his body. when called upon by roland to believe in christianity, he declared that the doctrine of the trinity was more than he could accept. roland, in answer, demonstrated that an almond is but one fruit, although composed of rind, shell, and kernel; that a harp is but one instrument, although it consists of wood, strings, and harmony. he also urged the threefold nature of the sun,--i.e., heat, light, and splendor; and these arguments having satisfied ferracute concerning the trinity, he removed his doubts concerning the incarnation by equally forcible reasoning. the giant, however, utterly refused to believe in the resurrection, although roland, in support of his creed, quoted the mediaeval belief that a lion's cubs are born into the world dead, but come to life on the third day at the sound of their father's roar, or under the warm breath of their mother. as ferracute would not accept this doctrine, but sprang to his feet proposing a continuation of the fight, the struggle was renewed. "quath ferragus: 'now ich wot your christian law every grot; now we will fight; whether law better be, soon we shall y-see, long ere it be night.'" _roland and ferragus_. roland, weary with his previous efforts, almost succumbed beneath the giant's blows, and in his distress had recourse to prayer. he was immediately strengthened and comforted by an angelic vision and a promise of victory. thus encouraged, he dealt ferracute a deadly blow in the vulnerable spot. the giant fell, calling upon mohammed, while roland laughed and the christians triumphed. the poem of sir otuel, in the auchinleck manuscript, describes how otuel, a nephew of ferracute, his equal in size and strength, came to avenge his death, and, after a long battle with roland, yielded to his theological arguments, and was converted at the sight of a snowy dove alighting on charlemagne's helmet in answer to prayer. he then became a devoted adherent of charlemagne, and served him much in war. charlemagne, having won navarre, carried the war to the south of spain, where the saracens frightened the horses of his host by beating drums and waving banners. having suffered a partial defeat on account of this device, charlemagne had the horses' ears stopped with wax, and their eyes blindfolded, before he resumed the battle. thanks to this precaution, he succeeded in conquering the saracen army. the whole country had now been again subdued, and charlemagne was preparing to return to france, when he remembered that marsiglio (marsilius), a saracen king, was still intrenched at saragossa. "carle, our most noble emperor and king, hath tarried now full seven years in spain, conqu'ring the highland regions to the sea; no fortress stands before him unsubdued, nor wall, nor city left, to be destroyed, save sarraguce, high on a mountain set. there rules the king marsile, who loves not god, apollo worships, and mohammed serves; nor can he from his evil doom escape." _chanson de roland_ (rabillon's tr.). [sidenote: battle of roncesvalles.] the emperor wished to send an embassy to him to arrange the terms of peace, but discarded roland's offer of service because of his impetuosity. then, following the advice of naismes de bavière, "the nestor of the carolingian legends," he selected ganelon, roland's stepfather, as ambassador. this man was a traitor, and accepted a bribe from the saracen king to betray roland and the rear guard of the french army into his power. advised by ganelon, charlemagne departed from spain at the head of his army, leaving roland to bring up the rear. the main part of the army passed through the pyrenees unmolested, but the rear guard of twenty thousand men, under roland, was attacked by a superior force of saracens in ambush, as it was passing through the denies of roncesvalles. a terrible encounter took place here. "the count rollànd rides through the battlefield and makes, with durendal's keen blade in hand, a mighty carnage of the saracens. ah! had you then beheld the valiant knight heap corse on corse; blood drenching all the ground; his own arms, hauberk, all besmeared with gore, and his good steed from neck to shoulder bleed!" _chanson de roland_ (rabillon's tr.). [illustration: the death of roland.--keller.] all the christians were slain except roland and a few knights, who succeeded in repulsing the first onslaught of the painims. roland then bound a saracen captive to a tree, wrung from him a confession of the dastardly plot, and, discovering where marsiglio was to be found, rushed into the very midst of the saracen army and slew him. the saracens, terrified at the apparition of the hero, beat a hasty retreat, little suspecting that their foe had received a mortal wound, and would shortly breathe his last. during the first part of the battle, roland, yielding to oliver's entreaty, sounded a blast on his horn olivant, which came even to charlemagne's ear. fearing lest his nephew was calling for aid, charlemagne would fain have gone back had he not been deterred by ganelon, who assured him that roland was merely pursuing a stag. "rolland raised to his lips the olifant, drew a deep breath, and blew with all his force. high are the mountains, and from peak to peak the sound reëchoes; thirty leagues away 'twas heard by carle and all his brave compeers. cried the king: 'our men make battle!' ganelon retorts in haste: 'if thus another dared to speak, we should denounce it as a lie.' aoi" _chanson de roland_ (rabillon's tr.). [sidenote: steed veillantif slain.] wounded and faint, roland now slowly dragged himself to the entrance of the pass of cisaire,--where the basque peasants aver they have often seen his ghost, and heard the sound of his horn,--and took leave of his faithful steed veillantif, which he slew with his own hand, to prevent its falling into the hands of the enemy. "'ah, nevermore, and nevermore, shall we to battle ride! ah, nevermore, and nevermore, shall we sweet comrades be! and veillintif, had i the heart to die forgetting thee? to leave thy mighty heart to break, in slavery to the foe? i had not rested in the grave, if it had ended so. ah, never shall we conquering ride, with banners bright unfurl'd, a shining light 'mong lesser lights, a wonder to the world.'" buchanan, _death of roland_. [sidenote: sword durandana destroyed.] then the hero gazed upon his sword durandana, which had served him faithfully for so many years, and to prevent its falling into the hands of the pagans, he tried to dispose of it also. according to varying accounts, he either sank it deep into a poisoned stream, where it is still supposed to lie, or, striking it against the mighty rocks, cleft them in two, without even dinting its bright blade. "and roland thought: 'i surely die; but, ere i end, let me be sure that thou art ended too, my friend! for should a heathen hand grasp thee when i am clay, my ghost would grieve full sore until the judgment day!' then to the marble steps, under the tall, bare trees, trailing the mighty sword, he crawl'd on hands and knees, and on the slimy stone he struck the blade with might-- the bright hilt, sounding, shook, the blade flash'd sparks of light; wildly again he struck, and his sick head went round, again there sparkled fire, again rang hollow sound; ten times he struck, and threw strange echoes down the glade, yet still unbroken, sparkling fire, glitter'd the peerless blade." buchanan, _death of roland_. finally, despairing of disposing of it in any other way, the hero, strong in death, broke durandana in his powerful hands and threw the shards away. horse and sword were now disposed of, and the dying hero, summoning his last strength, again put his marvelous horn olivant to his lips, and blew such a resounding blast that the sound was heard far and near. the effort, however, was such that his temples burst, as he again sank fainting to the ground. one version of the story (turpin's) relates that the blast brought, not charlemagne, but the sole surviving knight, theodoricus, who, as roland had been shriven before the battle, merely heard his last prayer and reverently closed his eyes. then turpin, while celebrating mass before charlemagne, was suddenly favored by a vision, in which he beheld a shrieking crew of demons bearing marsiglio's soul to hell, while an angelic host conveyed roland's to heaven. turpin immediately imparted these revelations to charlemagne, who, knowing now that his fears were not without foundation, hastened back to roncesvalles. here the scriptural miracle was repeated, for the sun stayed its course until the emperor had routed the saracens and found the body of his nephew. he pronounced a learned funeral discourse or lament over the hero's remains, which were then embalmed and conveyed to blaive for interment. another version relates that bishop turpin himself remained with roland in the rear, and, after hearing a general confession and granting full absolution to all the heroes, fought beside them to the end. it was he who heard the last blast of roland's horn instead of theodoricus, and came to close his eyes before he too expired. the most celebrated of all the poems, however, the french epic "chanson de roland," gives a different version and relates that, in stumbling over the battlefield, roland came across the body of his friend oliver, over which he uttered a touching lament. "'alas for all thy valor, comrade dear! year after year, day after day, a life of love we led; ne'er didst thou wrong to me, nor i to thee. if death takes thee away, my life is but a pain.'" _chanson de roland_ (rabillon's tr.). [sidenote: death of roland.] slowly and painfully now--for his death was near--roland climbed up a slope, laid himself down under a pine tree, and placed his sword and horn beneath him. then, when he had breathed a last prayer, to commit his soul to god, he held up his glove in token of his surrender. "his right hand glove he offered up to god; saint gabriel took the glove.--with head reclined upon his arm, with hands devoutly joined, he breathed his last. god sent his cherubim, saint raphael, _saint michiel del peril._ the soul of count rolland to paradise. aoi." _chanson de roland_ (rabillon's tr.). it was here, under the pine, that charlemagne found his nephew ere he started out to punish the saracens, as already related. not far off lay the bodies of ogier, oliver, and renaud, who, according to this version, were all among the slain. "here endeth otuel, roland, and olyvere, and of the twelve dussypere, that dieden in the batayle of runcyvale: jesu lord, heaven king, to his bliss hem and us both bring, to liven withouten bale!" _sir otuel_. on his return to france charlemagne suspected ganelon of treachery, and had him tried by twelve peers, who, unable to decide the question, bade him prove his innocence in single combat with roland's squire, thiedric. ganelon, taking advantage of the usual privilege to have his cause defended by a champion, selected pinabel, the most famous swordsman of the time. in spite of all his valor, however, this champion was defeated, and the "judgment of god"--the term generally applied to those judicial combats--was in favor of thiedric. ganelon, thus convicted of treason, was sentenced to be drawn and quartered, and was executed at aix-la-chapelle, in punishment for his sins. "ere long for this he lost both limb and life, judged and condemned at aix, there to be hanged with thirty of his race who were not spared the punishment of death. aoi." _chanson de roland_ (rabillon's tr.). [sidenote: roland and aude.] roland, having seen aude, oliver's sister, at the siege of viane, where she even fought against him, if the old epics are to be believed, had been so smitten with her charms that he declared that he would marry none but her. when the siege was over, and lifelong friendship had been sworn between roland and oliver after their memorable duel on an island in the rhone, roland was publicly betrothed to the charming aude. before their nuptials could take place, however, he was forced to leave for spain, where, as we have seen, he died an heroic death. the sad news of his demise was brought to paris, where the lady aude was awaiting him. when she heard that he would never return, she died of grief, and was buried at his side in the chapel of blaive. "in paris lady alda sits, sir roland's destined bride. with her three hundred maidens, to tend her, at her side; alike their robes and sandals all, and the braid that binds their hair, and alike the meal, in their lady's hall, the whole three hundred share. around her, in her chair of state, they all their places hold; a hundred weave the web of silk, and a hundred spin the gold, and a hundred touch their gentle lutes to sooth that lady's pain, as she thinks on him that's far away with the host of charlemagne. lulled by the sound, she sleeps, but soon she wakens with a scream; and, as her maidens gather round, she thus recounts her dream: 'i sat upon a desert shore, and from the mountain nigh, right toward me, i seemed to see a gentle falcon fly; but close behind an eagle swooped, and struck that falcon down, and with talons and beak he rent the bird, as he cowered beneath my gown.' the chief of her maidens smiled, and said; 'to me it doth not seem that the lady alda reads aright the boding of her dream. thou art the falcon, and thy knight is the eagle in his pride, as he comes in triumph from the war, and pounces on his bride.' the maiden laughed, but alda sighed, and gravely shook her head. 'full rich,' quoth she, 'shall thy guerdon be, if thou the truth hast said.' 'tis morn; her letters, stained with blood, the truth too plainly tell, how, in the chase of ronceval, sir roland fought and fell." _lady alda's dreams_ (sir edmund head's tr.). [sidenote: legend of roland and hildegarde.] a later legend, which has given rise to sundry poems, connects the name of roland with one of the most beautiful places on the rhine. popular tradition avers that he sought shelter one evening in the castle of drachenfels, where he fell in love with hildegarde, the beautiful daughter of the lord of drachenfels. the sudden outbreak of the war in spain forced him to bid farewell to his betrothed, but he promised to return as soon as possible to celebrate their wedding. during the campaign, many stories of his courage came to hildegarde's ears, and finally, after a long silence, she heard that roland had perished at roncesvalles. broken-hearted, the fair young mourner spent her days in tears, and at last prevailed upon her father to allow her to enter the convent on the island of nonnenworth, in the middle of the river, and within view of the gigantic crag where the castle ruins can still be seen. "the castled crag of drachenfels frowns o'er the wide and winding rhine, whose breast of water broadly swells between the banks which bear the vine, and hills all rich with blossomed trees, and fields which promise corn and wine, and scattered cities crowning these, whose fair white walls along them shine." byron, _childe harold_. with pallid cheeks and tear-dimmed eyes, hildegarde now spent her life either in her tiny cell or in the convent chapel, praying for the soul of her beloved, and longing that death might soon come to set her free to join him. the legend relates, however, that roland was not dead, as she supposed, but had merely been sorely wounded at roncesvalles. when sufficiently recovered to travel, roland painfully made his way back to drachenfels, where he presented himself late one evening, eagerly calling for hildegarde. a few moments later the joyful light left his eyes forever, for he learned that his beloved had taken irrevocable vows, and was now the bride of heaven. that selfsame day roland left the castle of drachenfels, and riding to an eminence overlooking the island of nonnenwörth, he gazed long and tearfully at a little light twinkling in one of the convent windows. as he could not but suppose that it illumined hildegarde's cell and lonely vigils, he watched it all night, and when morning came he recognized his beloved's form in the long procession of nuns on their way to the chapel. [sidenote: rolandseck.] this view of the lady he loved seemed a slight consolation to the hero, who built a retreat on this rock, which is known as rolandseck. here he spent his days in penance and prayer, gazing constantly at the island at his feet, and the swift stream which parted him from hildegarde. one wintry day, many years after he had taken up his abode on the rocky height, roland missed the graceful form he loved, and heard, instead of the usual psalm, a dirge for the dead. then he noticed that six of the nuns were carrying a coffin, which they lowered into an open tomb. roland's nameless fears were confirmed in the evening, when the convent priest visited him, and gently announced that hildegarde was at rest. calmly roland listened to these tidings, begged the priest to hear his confession as usual, and, when he had received absolution, expressed a desire to be buried with his face turned toward the convent where hildegarde had lived and died. the priest readily promised to observe this request, and departed. when he came on the morrow, he found roland dead. they buried him reverently on the very spot which bears his name, with his face turned toward nonnenwörth, where hildegarde lay at rest. chapter ix. the sons of aymon. the different _chansons de gestes_ relating to aymon and the necromancer malagigi (malagis), probably arose from popular ballads commemorating the struggles of charles the bald and his feudatories. these ballads are of course as old as the events which they were intended to record, but the _chansons de gestes_ based upon them, and entitled "duolin de mayence," "aymon, son of duolin de mayence," "maugis," "rinaldo de trebizonde," "the four sons of aymon," and "mabrian," are of much later date, and were particularly admired during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. one of the most famous of charlemagne's peers was doubtless the noble aymon of dordogne; and when the war against the avars in hungary had been successfully closed, owing to his bravery, his adherents besought the king to bestow upon this knight some reward. charlemagne, whom many of these later _chansons de gestes_ describe as mean and avaricious, refused to grant any reward, declaring that were he to add still further to his vassal's already extensive territories, aymon would soon be come more powerful than his sovereign. [sidenote: war between aymon and charlemagne.] this unjust refusal displeased lord hug of dordogne, who had pleaded for his kinsman, so that he ventured a retort, which so incensed the king that he slew him then and there. aymon, learning of the death of lord hug, and aware of the failure of his last embassy, haughtily withdrew to his own estates, whence he now began to wage war against charlemagne. instead of open battle, however, a sort of guerrilla warfare was carried on, in which, thanks to his marvelous steed bayard, which his cousin malagigi, the necromancer, had brought him from hell, aymon always won the advantage. at the end of several years, however, charlemagne collected a large host, and came to lay siege to the castle where aymon had intrenched himself with all his adherents. [sidenote: loss of the horse bayard.] during that siege, aymon awoke one morning to find that his beloved steed had vanished. malagigi, hearing him bewail his loss, bade him be of good cheer, promising to restore bayard ere long, although he would be obliged to go to mount vulcanus, the mouth of hell, to get him. thus comforted, aymon ceased to mourn, while malagigi set to work to fulfill his promise. as a brisk wind was blowing from the castle towards the camp, he flung upon the breeze some powdered hellebore, which caused a violent sneezing throughout the army. then, while his foes were wiping their streaming eyes, the necromancer, who had learned his black art in the famous school of toledo, slipped through their ranks unseen, and journeyed on to mount vulcanus, where he encountered his satanic majesty. his first act was to offer his services to satan, who accepted them gladly, bidding him watch the steed bayard, which he had stolen because he preferred riding a horse to sitting astride a storm cloud as usual. the necromancer artfully pretended great anxiety to serve his new master, but having discovered just where bayard was to be found, he made use of a sedative powder to lull satan to sleep. then, hastening to the angry steed, malagigi made him tractable by whispering his master's name in his ear; and, springing on his back, rode swiftly away. satan was awakened by the joyful whinny of the flying steed, and immediately mounted upon a storm cloud and started in pursuit, hurling a red-hot thunderbolt at malagigi to check his advance. but the necromancer muttered a magic spell and held up his crucifix, and the bolt fell short; while the devil, losing his balance, fell to the earth, and thus lamed himself permanently. [sidenote: bayard restored by malagigi.] count aymon, in the mean while, had been obliged to flee from his besieged castle, mounted upon a sorry steed instead of his fleet-footed horse. when the enemy detected his flight, they set out in pursuit, tracking him by means of bloodhounds, and were about to overtake and slay him when malagigi suddenly appeared with bayard. to bound on the horse's back, draw his famous sword flamberge, which had been made by the smith wieland, and charge into the midst of his foes, was the work of a few seconds. the result was that most of aymon's foes bit the dust, while he rode away unharmed, and gathering many followers, he proceeded to win back all the castles and fortresses he had lost. frightened by aymon's successes, charlemagne finally sent roland, his nephew and favorite, bidding him offer a rich ransom to atone for the murder of lord hug, and instructing him to secure peace at any price. aymon at first refused these overtures, but consented at last to cease the feud upon receipt of six times lord hug's weight in gold, and the hand of the king's sister, aya, whom he had long loved. these demands were granted, peace was concluded, and aymon, having married aya, led her to the castle of pierlepont, where they dwelt most happily together, and became the parents of four brave sons, renaud, alard, guiscard, and richard. inactivity, however, was not enjoyable to an inveterate fighter like aymon, so he soon left home to journey into spain, where the bitter enmity between the christians and the moors would afford him opportunity to fight to his heart's content. years now passed by, during which aymon covered himself with glory; for, mounted on bayard, he was the foremost in every battle, and always struck terror into the hearts of his foes by the mere flash of his blade flamberge. thus he fought until his sons attained manhood, and aya had long thought him dead, when a messenger came to pierlepont, telling them that aymon lay ill in the pyrenees, and wished to see his wife and his children once more. in answer to these summons aya hastened southward, and found her husband old and worn, yet not so changed that she could not recognize him. aymon, sick as he was, rejoiced at the sight of his manly sons. he gave the three eldest the spoil he had won during those many years' warfare, and promised renaud (reinold) his horse and sword, if he could successfully mount and ride the former. [sidenote: bayard won by renaud.] renaud, who was a skillful horseman, fancied the task very easy, and was somewhat surprised when his father's steed caught him by the garments with his teeth, and tumbled him into the manger. undismayed by one failure, however, renaud sprang boldly upon bayard; and, in spite of all the horse's efforts, kept his seat so well that his father formally gave him the promised mount and sword. when restored to health by the tender nursing of his loving wife, aymon returned home with his family. then, hearing that charlemagne had returned from his coronation journey to rome, and was about to celebrate the majority of his heir, aymon went to court with his four sons. during the tournament, held as usual on such festive occasions, renaud unhorsed every opponent, and even defeated the prince. this roused the anger of charlot, or berthelot as he is called by some authorities, and made him vow revenge. he soon discovered that renaud was particularly attached to his brother alard, so he resolved first to harm the latter. advised by the traitor ganelon, chariot challenged alard to a game of chess, and insisted that the stakes should be the players' heads. this proposal was very distasteful to alard, for he knew that he would never dare lay any claim to the prince's head even if he won the game, and feared to lose his own if he failed to win. compelled to accept the challenge, however, alard began the game, and played so well that he won five times in succession. then charlot, angry at being so completely checkmated, suddenly seized the board and struck his antagonist such a cruel blow that the blood began to flow. alard, curbing his wrath, simply withdrew; and it was only when renaud questioned him very closely that he told how the quarrel had occurred. renaud was indignant at the insult offered his brother, and went to the emperor with his complaint. the umpires reluctantly testified that the prince had forfeited his head, so renaud cut it off in the emperor's presence, and effected his escape with his father and brothers before any one could lay hands upon them. closely pursued by the imperial troops, aymon and his sons were soon brought to bay, and fought so bravely that they slew many of their assailants. at last, seeing that all their horses except the incomparable bayard had been slain, renaud bade his brothers mount behind him, and they dashed away. the aged aymon had already fallen into the hands of the emperor's adviser, turpin, who solemnly promised that no harm should befall him. but in spite of this oath, and of the remonstrances of all his peers, charlemagne prepared to have aymon publicly hanged, and consented to release him only upon condition that aymon would promise to deliver his sons into the emperor's hands, were it ever in his power to do so. the four young men, knowing their father safe, and unwilling to expose their mother to the unpleasant experiences of the siege which would have followed had they remained at pierlepont, now journeyed southward, and entered the service of saforet, king of the moors. with him they won many victories; but, seeing at the end of three years that this monarch had no intention of giving them the promised reward, they slew him, and offered their swords to iwo, prince of tarasconia. [sidenote: fortress of montauban.] afraid of these warriors, yet wishing to bind them to him by indissoluble ties, iwo gave renaud his daughter clarissa in marriage, and helped him build an impregnable fortress at montauban. this stronghold was scarcely finished when charlemagne came up with a great army to besiege it; but at the end of a year of fruitless attempts, the emperor reluctantly withdrew, leaving montauban still in the hands of his enemies. seven years had now elapsed since the four young men had seen their mother; and, anxious to embrace her once more, they went in pilgrims' robes to the castle of pierlepont. here the chamberlain recognized them and betrayed their presence to aymon, who, compelled by his oath, prepared to bind his four sons fast and take them captive to his sovereign. the young men, however, defended themselves bravely, secured their father instead, and sent him in chains to charlemagne. unfortunately the monarch was much nearer pierlepont at the time than the young men supposed. hastening onward, he entered the castle before they had even become aware of his approach, and secured three of them. the fourth, renaud, aided by his mother, escaped in pilgrim's garb, and returned to montauban. here he found bayard, and without pausing to rest, he rode straight to paris to deliver his brothers from the emperor's hands. overcome by fatigue after this hasty journey, renaud dismounted shortly before reaching paris, and fell asleep. when he awoke he found that his steed had vanished, and he reluctantly continued his journey on foot, begging his way. he was joined on the way by his cousin malagigi, who also wore a pilgrim's garb, and who promised to aid renaud, not only in freeing his brothers, but also in recovering bayard. [sidenote: malagigi's stratagem.] unnoticed, the beggars threaded their way through the city of paris and came to the palace. there a great tournament was to be held, and the emperor had promised to the victor of the day the famous steed bayard. to stimulate the knights to greater efforts by a view of the promised prize, the emperor bade a groom lead forth the renowned steed. the horse seemed restive, but suddenly paused beside two beggars, with a whinny of joy. the groom, little suspecting that the horse's real master was hidden under the travel-stained pilgrim's robe, laughingly commented upon bayard's bad taste. then malagigi, the second beggar, suddenly cried aloud that his poor companion had been told that he would recover from his lameness were he only once allowed to bestride the famous steed. anxious to witness a miracle, the emperor gave orders that the beggar should be placed upon bayard; and renaud, after feigning to fall off through awkwardness, suddenly sat firmly upon his saddle, and dashed away before any one could stop him. as for malagigi, having wandered among the throng unheeded, he remained in paris until evening. then, making his way into the prison by means of the necromantic charm "abracadabra," which he continually repeated, he delivered the other sons of aymon from their chains. he next entered the palace of the sleeping emperor, spoke to him in his sleep, and forced him, under hypnotic influence, to give up the scepter and crown, which he triumphantly bore away. [treachery of iwo.] when charlemagne awoke on the morrow, found his prisoners gone, and realized that what had seemed a dream was only too true, and that the insignia of royalty were gone, he was very angry indeed. more than ever before he now longed to secure the sons of aymon; so he bribed iwo, with whom the brothers had taken refuge, to send them to him. clarissa suspected her father's treachery, and implored renaud not to believe him; but the brave young hero, relying upon iwo's promise, set out without arms to seek the emperor's pardon. on the way, however, the four sons of aymon fell into an ambuscade, whence they would scarcely have escaped alive had not one of the brothers drawn from under his robe the weapons clarissa had given him. the emperor's warriors, afraid of the valor of these doughty brethren now that they were armed, soon withdrew to a safe distance, whence they could watch the young men and prevent their escape. suddenly, however, malagigi came dashing up on bayard, for clarissa had warned him of his kinsmen's danger, and implored him to go to their rescue. renaud immediately mounted his favorite steed, and brandishing flamberge, which his uncle had brought him, he charged so gallantly into the very midst of the imperial troops that he soon put them to flight. [sidenote: renaud and roland.] the emperor, baffled and angry, suspected that iwo had warned his son-in-law of the danger and provided him with weapons. in his wrath he had iwo seized, and sentenced him to be hanged. but renaud, seeing clarissa's tears, vowed that he would save his father-in-law from such an ignominious death. with his usual bravery he charged into the very midst of the executioners, and unhorsed the valiant champion, roland. during this encounter, iwo effected his escape, and renaud followed him, while roland slowly picked himself up and prepared to follow his antagonist and once more try his strength against him. on the way to montauban, roland met richard, one of the four brothers, whom he carried captive to charlemagne. the emperor immediately ordered the young knight to be hanged, and bade some of his most noble followers to see the sentence executed. they one and all refused, however, declaring death on the gallows too ignominious a punishment for a knight. the discussions which ensued delayed the execution and enabled malagigi to warn renaud of his brother's imminent peril. mounted upon bayard, renaud rode straight to montfaucon, accompanied by his two other brothers and a few faithful men. there they camped under the gallows, to be at hand when the guard came to hang the prisoner on the morrow. but renaud and his companions slept so soundly that they would have been surprised had not the intelligent bayard awakened his master by a very opportune kick. springing to his feet, renaud roused his companions, vaulted upon his steed, and charged the guard. he soon delivered his captive brother and carried him off in triumph, after hanging the knight who had volunteered to act as executioner. [sidenote: montauban besieged by charlemagne.] charlemagne, still anxious to seize and punish these refractory subjects, now collected an army and began again to besiege the stronghold of montauban. occasional sallies and a few bloody encounters were the only variations in the monotony of a several-years' siege. but finally the provisions of the besieged became very scanty. malagigi, who knew that a number of provision wagons were expected, advised renaud to make a bold sally and carry them off, while he, the necromancer, dulled the senses of the imperial army by scattering one of his magic sleeping powders in the air. he had just begun his spell when oliver perceived him and, pouncing upon him, carried him off to the emperor's tent. oliver, on the way thither, never once relinquished his grasp, although the magician tried to make him do so by throwing a pinch of hellebore in his face. while sneezing loudly the paladin told how he had caught the magician, and the emperor vowed that the rascal should be hanged on the very next day. when he heard this decree, malagigi implored the emperor to give him a good meal, since this was to be his last night on earth, pledging his word not to leave the camp without the emperor. this promise so reassured charlemagne that he ordered a sumptuous repast, charging a few knights to watch malagigi, lest, after all, he should effect his escape. the meal over, the necromancer again had recourse to his magic art to plunge the whole camp into a deep sleep. then, proceeding unmolested to the imperial tent, he bore off the sleeping emperor to the gates of montauban, which flew open at his well-known voice. charlemagne, on awaking, was as surprised as dismayed to find himself in the hands of his foes, who, however, when they saw his uneasiness, gallantly gave him his freedom without exacting any pledge or ransom in return. but when malagigi heard of this foolhardy act of generosity, he burned up his papers, boxes, and bags, and, when asked why he acted thus, replied that he was about to leave his mad young kinsmen to their own devices, and take refuge in a hermitage, where he intended to spend the remainder of his life in repenting of his sins. soon after this he disappeared, and aymon's sons, escaping secretly from montauban just before it was forced to surrender, took refuge in a castle they owned in the ardennes. here the emperor pursued them, and kept up the siege until aya sought him, imploring him to forgive her sons and to cease persecuting them. charlemagne yielded at last to her entreaties, and promised to grant the sons of aymon full forgiveness provided the demoniacal steed bayard were given over to him to be put to death. aya hastened to renaud to tell him this joyful news, but when he declared that nothing would ever induce him to give up his faithful steed, she besought him not to sacrifice his brothers, wife, and sons, out of love for his horse. [sidenote: death of bayard.] thus adjured, renaud, with breaking heart, finally consented. the treaty was signed, and bayard, with feet heavily weighted, was led to the middle of a bridge over the seine, where the emperor had decreed that he should be drowned. at a given signal from charlemagne the noble horse was pushed into the water; but, in spite of the weights on his feet, he rose to the surface twice, casting an agonized glance upon his master, who had been forced to come and witness his death. aya, seeing her son's grief, drew his head down upon her motherly bosom, and when bayard rose once more and missed his beloved master's face among the crowd, he sank beneath the waves with a groan of despair, and never rose again. renaud, maddened by the needless cruelty of this act, now tore up the treaty and flung it at the emperor's feet. he then broke his sword flamberge and cast it into the seine, declaring that he would never wield such a weapon again, and returned to montauban alone and on foot. there he bade his wife and children farewell, after committing them to the loyal protection of roland. he then set out for the holy land, where he fought against the infidels, using a club as weapon, so as not to break his vow. this evidently proved no less effective in his hands than the noted flamberge, for he was offered the crown of jerusalem in reward for his services. as he had vowed to renounce all the pomps and vanities of the world, renaud passed the crown on to godfrey of bouillon. then, returning home, he found that clarissa had died, after having been persecuted for years by the unwelcome attentions of many suitors, who would fain have persuaded her that her husband was dead. [sidenote: death of renaud.] according to one version of the story, renaud died in a hermitage, in the odor of sanctity; but if we are to believe another, he journeyed on to cologne, where the cathedral was being built, and labored at it night and day. exasperated by his constant activity, which put them all to shame, his fellow-laborers slew him and flung his body into the rhine. strange to relate, however, his body was not carried away by the strong current, but lingered near the city, until it was brought to land and interred by some pious people. many miracles having taken place near the spot where he was buried, the emperor gave orders that his remains should be conveyed either to aix-la-chapelle or to paris. the body was therefore laid upon a cart, which moved of its own accord to dortmund, in westphalia, where it stopped, and where a church was erected in honor of renaud in . here the saintly warrior's remains were duly laid to rest, and the church in dortmund still bears his name. a chapel in cologne is also dedicated to him, and is supposed to stand on the very spot where he was so treacherously slain after his long and brilliant career. chapter x. huon of bordeaux. it is supposed that this _chanson de geste_ was first composed in the thirteenth century; but the version which has come down to us must have been written shortly before the discovery of printing. although this poem was deservedly a favorite composition during the middle ages, no manuscript copy of it now exists. such was the admiration that it excited that lord berners translated it into english under henry viii. in modern times it has been the theme of wieland's finest poem, and of one of weber's operas, both of which works are known by the title of "oberon." it is from this work that shakespeare undoubtedly drew some of the principal characters for his "midsummer-night's dream," where oberon, king of the fairies, plays no unimportant part. [sidenote: charlot slain by huon.] the hero of this poem, huon of bordeaux, and his brother girard, were on their way from guienne to paris to do homage to charlemagne for their estates. charlot, the monarch's eldest son, who bears a very unenviable reputation in all the mediaeval poems, treacherously waylaid the brothers, intending to put them both to death. he attacked them separately; but, after slaying girard, was himself slain by huon, who, quite unconscious of the illustrious birth of his assailant, calmly proceeded on his way. the rumor of the prince's death soon followed huon to court, and charlemagne, incensed, vowed that he would never pardon him until he had proved his loyalty and repentance by journeying to bagdad, where he was to cut off the head of the great bashaw, to kiss the sultan's daughter, and whence he was to bring back a lock of that mighty potentate's gray beard and four of his best teeth. "'yet hear the terms; hear what no earthly power shall ever change!' he spoke, and wav'd below his scepter, bent in anger o'er my brow.-- 'yes, thou may'st live;--but, instant, from this hour, away! in exile rove far nations o'er; thy foot accurs'd shall tread this soil no more, till thou, in due obedience to my will shalt, point by point, the word i speak fulfill; thou diest, if this unwrought thou touch thy native shore. "'go hence to bagdad; in high festal day at his round table, when the caliph, plac'd in stately pomp, with splendid emirs grac'd, enjoys the banquet rang'd in proud array, slay him who lies the monarch's left beside, dash from his headless trunk the purple tide. then to the right draw near; with courtly grace the beauteous heiress of his throne embrace; and thrice with public kiss salute her as thy bride. "'and while the caliph, at the monstrous scene, such as before ne'er shock'd a caliph's eyes, stares at thy confidence in mute surprise, then, as the easterns wont, with lowly mien fall on the earth before his golden throne, and gain (a trifle, proof of love alone) that it may please him, gift of friend to friend, four of his grinders at my bidding send, and of his beard a lock with silver hair o'ergrown." wieland. _oberon_ (sotheby's tr.). [illustration: huon before the pope--gabriel max.] [sidenote: huon's quest.] huon regretfully, left his native land to begin this apparently hopeless quest; and, after visiting his uncle, the pope, in rome, he tried to secure heavenly assistance by a pilgrimage to the holy sepulcher. then he set out for babylon, or bagdad, for, with the visual mediaeval scorn for geography, evinced in all the _chansons de gestes_, these are considered interchangeable names for the same town. as the hero was journeying towards his goal by way of the red sea, it will not greatly surprise the modern reader to hear that he lost his way and came to a pathless forest. darkness soon overtook him, and huon was blindly stumbling forward, leading his weary steed by the bridle, when he perceived a light, toward which he directed his way. "not long his step the winding way pursued, when on his wistful gaze, to him beseems, the light of distant fire delightful gleams. his cheek flash'd crimson as the flame he view'd. half wild with hope and fear, he rushed to find in these lone woods some glimpse of human kind, and, ever and anon, at once the ray flash'd on his sight, then sunk at once away, while rose and fell the path as hill and valley wind." wieland, _oberon_ (sotheby's tr.). [sidenote: sherasmin.] huon at last reached a cave, and found a gigantic old man all covered with hair, which was his sole garment. after a few moments' fruitless attempt at conversation in the language of the country, huon impetuously spoke a few words in his mother tongue. imagine his surprise when the uncouth inhabitant of the woods answered him fluently, and when he discovered, after a few rapid questions, that the man was sherasmin (gerasmes), an old servant of his father's! this old man had escaped from the hands of his saracen captors, and had taken refuge in these woods, where he had already dwelt many years. after relating his adventures, huon entreated sherasmin to point out the nearest way to bagdad, and learned with surprise that there were two roads, one very long and comparatively safe, even for an inexperienced traveler, and the other far shorter, but leading through an enchanted forest, where countless dangers awaited the venturesome traveler. the young knight of course decided to travel along the most perilous way; and, accompanied by sherasmin, who offered his services as guide, he set out early upon the morrow to continue his quest. on the fourth day of their journey they saw a saracen struggling single-handed against a band of arabs, whom huon soon put to flight with a few well directed strokes from his mighty sword. after resting a few moments, huon bade sherasmin lead the way into the neighboring forest, although his guide and mentor again strove to dissuade him from crossing it by explaining that the forest was haunted by a goblin who could change men into beasts. the hero, who was on his way to insult the proudest ruler on earth, was not to be deterred by a goblin; and as sherasmin still refused to enter first, huon plunged boldly into the enchanted forest. sherasmin followed him reluctantly, finding cause for alarm in the very silence of the dense shade, and timorously glancing from side to side in the gloomy recesses, where strange forms seemed to glide noiselessly about. "meanwhile the wand'ring travelers onward go unawares within the circuit of a wood, whose mazy windings at each step renew'd, in many a serpent-fold, twin'd to and fro, so that our pair to lose themselves were fain." wieland, _oberon_ (sotheby's tr.). [sidenote: meeting with oberon.] the travelers lost their way entirely as they penetrated farther into the forest, and they came at last to a little glade, where, resting under the spreading branches of a mighty oak, they were favored with the vision of a castle. its golden portals opened wide to permit of the egress of oberon, king of the fairies, the son of julius caesar and morgana the fay. he came to them in the radiant guise of the god of love, sitting in a chariot of silver, drawn by leopards. sherasmin, terrified at the appearance of this radiant creature, and under the influence of wild, unreasoning fear, seized the bridle of his master's steed and dragged him into the midst of the forest, in spite of all his remonstrances. at last he paused, out of breath, and thought himself safe from further pursuit; but he was soon made aware of the goblin's wrath by the sudden outbreak of a frightful storm. "a tempest, wing'd with lightning, storm, and rain, o'ertakes our pair: around them midnight throws darkness that hides the world: it peels, cracks, blows, as if the uprooted globe would split in twain; the elements in wild confusion flung, each warr'd with each, as fierce from chaos sprung. yet heard from time to time amid the storm, the gentle whisper of th' aërial form breath'd forth a lovely tone that died the gales among." wieland, _oberon_ (sotheby's tr.). all sherasmin's efforts to escape from the spirit of the forest had been in vain. oberon's magic horn had called forth the raging tempest, and his power suddenly stayed its fury as huon and his companion overtook a company of monks and nuns. these holy people had been celebrating a festival by a picnic, and were now hastening home, drenched, bedraggled, and in a sorry plight. they had scarcely reached the convent yard, however, where sherasmin fancied all would be quite safe from further enchantment, when oberon suddenly appeared in their midst like a brilliant meteor. "at once the storm is fled; serenely mild heav'n smiles around, bright rays the sky adorn, while beauteous as an angel newly born beams in the roseate dayspring, glow'd the child. a lily stalk his graceful limbs sustain'd, round his smooth neck an ivory horn was chain'd; yet lovely as he was, on all around strange horror stole, for stern the fairy frown'd, and o'er each sadden'd charm a sullen anger reign'd." wieland, _oberon_ (sotheby's tr.). [sidenote: oberon's aid promised.] the displeasure of the king of the fairies had been roused by huon and sherasmin's discourteous flight, but he merely vented his anger and showed his power by breathing a soft strain on his magic horn. at the same moment, monks, nuns, and sherasmin, forgetting their age and calling, began to dance in the wildest abandon. huon alone remained uninfluenced by the music, for he had had no wish to avoid an encounter with oberon. the king of the fairies now revealed to huon that as his life had been pure and his soul true, he would help him in his quest. then, at a wave from the lily wand the magic music ceased, and the charm was broken. sherasmin was graciously forgiven by oberon, who, seeing the old man well-nigh exhausted, offered him a golden beaker of wine, bidding him drink without fear. but sherasmin was of a suspicious nature, and it was only when he found that the draught had greatly refreshed him that he completely dismissed his fears. [sidenote: the magic horn.] after informing huon that he was fully aware of the peculiar nature of his quest, oberon gave him the golden beaker, assuring him that it would always be full of the richest wine for the virtuous, but would burn the evil doer with a devouring fire. he also bestowed his magic horn upon him, telling him that a gentle blast would cause all the hearers to dance, while a loud one would bring to his aid the king of the fairies himself. "does but its snail-like spiral hollow sing, a lovely note soft swell'd with gentle breath, though thousand warriors threaten instant death, and with advancing weapons round enring; then, as thou late hast seen, in restless dance all, all must spin, and every sword and lance fall with th' exhausted warriors to the ground. but if thou peal it with impatient sound, i at thy call appear, more swift than lightning glance." wieland, _oberon_ (sotheby's tr.). another wave of his lily wand, and oberon disappeared, leaving a subtle fragrance behind him; and had it not been for the golden beaker and the ivory horn which he still held, huon might have been tempted to consider the whole occurrence a dream. the journey to bagdad was now resumed in a more hopeful spirit; and when the travelers reached tourmont they found that it was governed by one of huon's uncles, who, captured in his youth by the saracens, had turned mussulman, and had gradually risen to the highest dignity. seeing huon refresh some of the christians of his household with a draught of wine from the magic cup, he asked to be allowed to drink from it too. he had no sooner taken hold of it, however, than he was unmercifully burned, for he was a renegade, and the magic cup refreshed only the true believers. incensed at what he fancied a deliberate insult, the governor of tourmont planned to slay huon at a great banquet. but the young hero defended himself bravely, and, after slaying sundry assailants, disposed of the remainder by breathing a soft note upon his magic horn, and setting them all to dancing wildly, until they sank breathless and exhausted upon their divans. [sidenote: the giant angoulaffre.] as huon had taken advantage of the spell to depart and continue his journey, he soon reached the castle of the giant angoulaffre. the latter had stolen from oberon a magic ring which made the wearer invulnerable, and thus suffered him to commit countless crimes with impunity. when huon came near the castle he met an unfortunate knight who imformed him that the giant detained his promised bride captive, together with several other helpless damsels. like a true knight errant, huon vowed to deliver these helpless ladies, and, in spite of the armed guards at every doorway, he passed unmolested into angoulaffre's chamber. there he found the giant plunged in a lethargy, but was rapturously welcomed by the knight's fair betrothed, who had long sighed for a deliverer. in a few hurried sentences she told him that her captor constantly forced his unwelcome attentions upon her; but that, owing to the protection of the virgin, a trance overtook him and made him helpless whenever he tried to force her inclinations and take her to wife. "'as oft the hateful battle he renews, as oft the miracle his force subdues; the ring no virtue boasts whene'er that sleep assails.'" wieland, _oberon_ (sotheby's tr.). prompted by this fair princess, whose name was angela, huon secured the ring, and donned a magic hauberk hanging near. but, as he scorned to take any further advantage of a sleeping foe, he patiently awaited the giant's awakening to engage in one of those combats which the mediaeval poets loved to describe. [sidenote: angela and alexis.] of course huon was victorious, and after slaying angoulaffre, he restored the fair angela to her lover, alexis, and gave a great banquet, which was attended by the fifty rescued damsels, and by fifty knights who had come to help alexis. although this gay company would fain have had him remain with them, huon traveled on. when too exhausted to continue his way, he again rested under a tree, where oberon caused a tent to be raised by invisible hands. here huon had a wonderful dream, in which he beheld his future ladylove, and was warned of some of the perils which still awaited him before he could claim her as his own. the journey was then resumed, and when they reached the banks of the red sea, oberon sent one of his spirits, malebron, to carry them safely over. they traveled through burning wastes of sand, refreshed and strengthened by occasional draughts from the magic goblet, and came at last to a forest, where they saw a saracen about to succumb beneath the attack of a monstrous lion. huon immediately flew to his rescue, slew the lion, and, having drunk deeply from his magic cup, handed it to the saracen, on whose lips the refreshing wine turned to liquid flame. "with evil eye, from huon's courteous hand, filled to the brim, the heathen takes the bowl-- back from his lip th' indignant bubbles roll! the spring is dried, and hot as fiery brand, proof of internal guilt, the metal glows. far from his grasp the wretch the goblet throws, raves, roars, and stamps." wieland, _oberon_ (sotheby's tr.). with a blasphemous exclamation the saracen flung aside the cup, and seeing that his own steed had been slain by the lion, he sprang unceremoniously upon huon's horse, and rode rapidly away. [sidenote: princess rezia.] as there was but one mount left for them both, huon and sherasmin were now obliged to proceed more slowly to bagdad, where they found every hostelry full, as the people were all coming thither to witness the approaching nuptials of the princess, rezia (esclamonde), and babican, king of hyrcania. huon and sherasmin, after a long search, finally found entertainment in a little hut, where an old woman, the mother of the princess's attendant, entertained them by relating that the princess was very reluctant to marry. she also told them that rezia had lately been troubled by a dream, in which she had seen herself in the guise of a hind and pursued through a pathless forest by babican. in this dream she was saved and restored to her former shape by a radiant little creature, who rode in a glistening silver car, drawn by leopards. he was accompanied by a fair-haired knight, whom he presented to her as her future bridegroom. "the shadow flies; but from her heart again he never fades--the youth with golden hair; eternally his image hovers there, exhaustless source of sweetly pensive pain, in nightly visions, and in daydreams shown." wieland, _oberon_ (sotheby's tr.). huon listened in breathless rapture, for he now felt assured that the princess rezia was the radiant creature he had seen in his dream, and that oberon intended them for each other. he therefore assured the old woman that the princess should never marry the detested babican. then, although sherasmin pointed out to him that the way to a lady's favor seldom consists in cutting off the head of her intended bridegroom, depriving her father of four teeth and a lock of his beard, and kissing her without the usual preliminary of "by your leave," the young hero persisted in his resolution to visit the palace on the morrow. [sidenote: oberon again to the rescue.] that selfsame night, huon and rezia were again visited by sweet dreams, in which oberon, their guardian spirit, promised them his aid. while the princess was arraying herself for her nuptials on the morrow, the old woman rushed into her apartment and announced that a fair-haired knight, evidently the promised deliverer, had slept in her humble dwelling the night before. comforted by these tidings, rezia made a triumphant entrance into the palace hall, where her father, the bridegroom, and all the principal dignitaries of the court, awaited her appearance. "emirs and viziers, all the courtly crowd meantime attendant at the sultan's call, with festal splendor grace the nuptial hall. the banquet waits, the cymbals clang aloud. the gray-beard caliph from his golden door stalks mid the slaves that fall his path before; behind, of stately gesture, proud to view, the druse prince, though somewhat pale of hue, comes as a bridegroom deck'd with jewels blazing o'er." wieland, _oberon_ (sotheby's tr.). in the mean while huon, awaking at early dawn, found a complete suit of saracenic apparel at his bedside. he donned it joyfully, entered the palace unchallenged, and passed into the banquet hall, where he perceived the gray-bearded caliph, and recognized in the bridegroom at his left the saracen whom he had delivered from the lion, and who had so discourteously stolen his horse. [sidenote: huon's success.] one stride forward, a flash of his curved scimitar, and the first part of charlemagne's order was fulfilled, for the saracen's head rolled to the ground. the sudden movement caused huon's turban to fall off, however, and the princess, seated at the caliph's right, gazed spellbound upon the knight, whose golden locks fell in rich curls about his shoulders. there are several widely different versions of this part of the story. the most popular, however, states that huon, taking advantage of the first moments of surprise, kissed rezia thrice, slipping on her finger, in sign of betrothal, the magic ring which he had taken from angoulaffre. then, seeing the caliph's guards about to fall upon him, he gently breathed soft music on his magic horn, and set caliph and court a-dancing. "the whole divan, one swimming circle glides swift without stop: the old bashaws click time, as if on polish'd ice; in trance sublime the iman hoar with some spruce courtier slides. nor rank nor age from capering refrain; nor can the king his royal foot restrain! he too must reel amid the frolic row, grasp the grand vizier by his beard of snow, and teach the aged man once more to bound amain!" wieland, _oberon_ (sotheby's tr.). [sidenote: flight of rezia.] while they were thus occupied, huon conducted the willing rezia to the door, where sherasmin was waiting for them with fleet steeds, and with fatima, the princess's favorite attendant. while sherasmin helped the ladies to mount, huon hastened back to the palace hall, and found that the exhausted caliph had sunk upon a divan. with the prescribed ceremonies, our hero politely craved a lock of his beard and four of his teeth as a present for charlemagne. this impudent request so incensed the caliph that he vociferated orders to his guards to slay the stranger. huon was now forced to defend himself with a curtain pole and a golden bowl, until, needing aid, he suddenly blew a resounding peal upon his magic horn. the earth shook, the palace rocked, oberon appeared in the midst of rolling thunder and flashing lightning, and with a wave of his lily wand plunged caliph and people into a deep sleep. then he placed his silver car at huon's disposal, to bear him and his bride and attendants to ascalon, where a ship was waiting to take them back to france. "'so haste, thou matchless pair! on wings of love, my car, that cuts the air, shall waft you high above terrestrial sight, and place, ere morning melt the shades of night, on askalon's far shore, beneath my guardian care.'" wieland, _oberon_ (sotheby's tr.). [sidenote: oberon's warning.] when huon and rezia were about to embark at ascalon, oberon appeared. he claimed his chariot, which had brought them thither, and gave the knight a golden and jeweled casket, which contained the teeth of the caliph and a lock of his beard. one last test of huon's loyalty was required, however; for oberon, at parting, warned him to make no attempt to claim rezia as his wife until their union had been blessed at rome by the pope. "'and deep, o huon! grave it in your brain! till good sylvester, pious father, sheds heaven's holy consecration on your heads, as brother and as sister chaste remain! oh, may ye not, with inauspicious haste, the fruit forbidden prematurely taste! know, if ye rashly venture ere the time, that oberon, in vengeance of your crime, leaves you, without a friend, on life's deserted waste!'" wieland, _oberon_ (sotheby's tr.). the first part of the journey was safely accomplished; but when they stopped at lepanto, on the way, huon insisted upon his mentor, sherasmin, taking passage on another vessel, which sailed direct to france, that he might hasten ahead, lay the golden casket at charlemagne's feet, and announce huon's coming with his oriental bride. [illustration: huon and amanda leap overboard.--gabriel max.] when sherasmin had reluctantly departed, and they were again on the high seas, huon expounded the christian faith to rezia, who not only was converted, but was also baptized by a priest on board. he gave her the christian name of amanda, in exchange for her pagan name of rezia or esclarmonde. this same priest also consecrated their marriage; and while huon intended to await the pope's blessing ere he claimed amanda as his wife, his good resolutions were soon forgotten, and the last injunction of oberon disregarded. [sidenote: disobedience and punishment.] this disobedience was immediately punished, for a frightful tempest suddenly arose, threatening to destroy the vessel and all on board. the sailors, full of superstitious fears, cast lots to discover who should be sacrificed to allay the fury of the storm. when the choice fell upon huon, amanda flung herself with him into the tumultuous waves. as the lovers vanished overboard the storm was suddenly appeased, and, instead of drowning together, huon and amanda, by the magic of the ring she wore, drifted to a volcanic island, where they almost perished from hunger and thirst. much search among the rocks was finally rewarded by the discovery of some dates, which were particularly welcome, as the lovers had been bitterly deluded by the sight of some apples of sodom. the fruit, however, was soon exhausted, and, after untold exertions, huon made his way over the mountains to a fertile valley, the retreat of titania, queen of the fairies, who had quarreled with oberon, and who was waiting here until recalled to fairyland. the only visible inhabitant of the valley, however, was a hermit, who welcomed huon, and showed him a short and convenient way to bring amanda thither. after listening attentively to the story of huon's adventures, the hermit bade him endeavor to recover the favor of oberon by voluntarily living apart from his wife, and leading a life of toil and abstinence. "'blest,' says the hermit, 'blest the man whom fate guides with strict hand, but not unfriendly aim! how blest! whose slightest fault is doom'd to shame! him, trained to virtue, purest joys await,-- earth's purest joys reward each trying pain! think not the fairy will for aye remain inexorable foe to hearts like thine: still o'er you hangs his viewless hand divine; do but deserve his grace, and ye his grace obtain." wieland, _oberon_ (sotheby's tr.). [sidenote: huon's penance.] huon was ready and willing to undergo any penance which would enable him to deliver his beloved amanda from the isle, and after building her a little hut, within call of the cell he occupied with the hermit, he spent all his time in tilling the soil for their sustenance, and in listening to the teachings of the holy man. time passed on. one day amanda restlessly wandered a little way up the mountain, and fell asleep in a lovely grotto, which she now for the first time discovered. when she awoke from a blissful dream she found herself clasping her new-born babe, who, during her slumbers, had been cared for by the fairies. this child, huonet, was, of course, a great comfort to amanda, who was devoted to him. when the babe was a little more than a year old the aged monk died. huon and amanda, despairing of release from the desert island, were weary of living apart; and titania, who foresaw that oberon would send new misfortunes upon them to punish them in case they did not stand the second test, carried little huonet off to fairyland, lest he should suffer for his parents' sins. [sidenote: amanda and the pirates.] huon and amanda, in the mean time, searched frantically for the missing babe, fancying it had wandered off into the woods. during their search they became separated, and amanda, while walking along the seashore, was seized by pirates. they intended to carry her away and sell her as a slave to the sultan. huon heard her cries of distress, and rushed to her rescue; but in spite of his utmost efforts to join her he saw her borne away to the waiting vessel, while he was bound to a tree in the woods, and left there to die. "deep in the wood, at distance from the shore, they drag their victim, that his loudest word pour'd on the desert air may pass unheard. then bind the wretch, and fasten o'er and o'er arm, leg, and neck, and shoulders, to a tree. to heaven he looks in speechless agony, o'ercome by woe's unutterable weigfit. thus he--the while, with jocund shout elate the crew bear off their prey, and bound along the sea." wieland, _oberon_ (sotheby's tr.). oberon, however, had pity at last upon the unfortunate knight, and sent one of his invisible servants, who not only unbound him, but transported him, with miraculous rapidity, over land and sea, and deposited him at the door of a gardener's house in tunis. [sidenote: sherasmin's search.] after parting from his master at lepanto, sherasmin traveled on until he came to the gates of the palace with his precious casket. then only did he realize that charlemagne would never credit his tale unless huon were there with his bride to vouch for its truth. instead of entering the royal abode he therefore hastened back to rome, where for two months he awaited the arrival of the young couple. then, sure that some misfortune had overtaken them, the faithful sherasmin wandered in pilgrim guise from place to place seeking them, until he finally came to tunis, where fatima, amanda's maid, had been sold into slavery, and where he sorrowfully learned of his master's death. to be near fatima, sherasmin took a gardener's position in the sultan's palace, and when he opened the door of his humble dwelling one morning he was overjoyed to find huon, who had been brought there by the messenger of oberon. an explanation ensued, and huon, under the assumed name of hassan, became sherasmin's assistant in the sultan's gardens. the pirates, in the mean while, hoping to sell amanda to the sultan himself, had treated her with the utmost deference; but as they neared the shore of tunis their vessel suffered shipwreck, and all on board perished miserably, except amanda. she was washed ashore at the sultan's feet. charmed by her beauty, the sultan conveyed her to his palace, where he would immediately have married her had she not told him that she had made a vow of chastity which she was bound to keep for two years. [sidenote: huon and amanda reunited.] huon, unconscious of amanda's presence, worked in the garden, where the sultan's daughter saw him and fell in love with him. as she failed to win him, she became very jealous. soon after this fatima discovered amanda's presence in the palace, and informed huon, who made a desperate effort to reach her. this was discovered by the jealous princess, and since huon would not love her, she was determined that he should not love another. she therefore artfully laid her plans, and accused him of a heinous crime, for which the sultan, finding appearances against him, condemned him to death. amanda, who was warned by fatima of huon's danger, rushed into the sultan's presence to plead for her husband's life; but when she discovered that she could obtain it only at the price of renouncing him forever and marrying the sultan, she declared that she preferred to die, and elected to be burned with her beloved. the flames were already rising around them both, when oberon, touched by their sufferings and their constancy, suddenly appeared, and again hung his horn about huon's neck. the knight hailed this sign of recovered favor with rapture, and, putting the magic horn to his lips, showed his magnanimity by blowing only a soft note and making all the pagans dance. "no sooner had the grateful knight beheld, with joyful ardor seen, the ivory horn, sweet pledge of fairy grace, his neck adorn, than with melodious whisper gently swell'd, his lip entices forth the sweetest tone that ever breath'd through magic ivory blown: he scorns to doom a coward race to death. 'dance! till ye weary gasp, depriv'd of breath-- huon permits himself this slight revenge alone'" wieland, _oberon_ (sotheby's tr.). [sidenote: huon and amanda in fairyland.] while all were dancing, much against their will, huon and amanda, sherasmin and fatima, promptly stepped into the silvery car which oberon placed at their disposal, and were rapidly transported to fairyland. there they found little huonet in perfect health. great happiness now reigned, for titania, having secured the ring which amanda had lost in her struggle with the pirates on the sandy shore, had given it back to oberon. he was propitiated by the gift, and as the sight of huon and amanda's fidelity had convinced him that wives could be true, he took titania back into favor, and reinstated her as queen of his realm. when huon and amanda had sojourned as long as they wished in fairyland, they were wafted in oberon's car to the gates of paris. there huon arrived just in time to win, at the point of his lance, his patrimony of guienne, which charlemagne had offered as prize at a tournament. bending low before his monarch, the young hero then revealed his name, presented his wife, gave him the golden casket containing the lock of hair and the four teeth, and said that he had accomplished his quest. "our hero lifts the helmet from his head; and boldly ent'ring, like the god of day, his golden ringlets down his armor play. all, wond'ring, greet the youth long mourn'd as dead, before the king his spirit seems to stand! sir huon with amanda, hand in hand, salutes the emperor with respectful bow-- 'behold, obedient to his plighted vow, thy vassal, sovereign liege, returning to thy land! "'for by the help of heaven this arm has done what thou enjoin'dst--and lo! before thine eye the beard and teeth of asia's monarch lie, at hazard of my life, to please thee, won; and in this fair, by every peril tried, the heiress of his throne, my love, my bride!' he spoke; and lo! at once her knight to grace, off falls the veil that hid amanda's face, and a new radiance gilds the hall from side to side." wieland, _oberon_ (sotheby's tr.). the young couple, entirely restored to favor, sojourned a short time at court and then traveled southward to guienne, where their subjects received them with every demonstration of extravagant joy. here they spent the remainder of their lives together in happiness and comparative peace. [sidenote: an earlier version of the story.] according to an earlier version of the story, esclarmonde, whom the pirates intended to convey to the court of her uncle, yvoirin of montbrand, was wrecked near the palace of galafre, king of tunis, who respected her vow of chastity but obstinately refused to give her up to her uncle when he claimed her. huon, delivered from his fetters on the island, was borne by malebron, oberon's servant, to yvoirin's court, where he immediately offered himself as champion to defy galafre and win back his beloved wife at the point of the sword. no sooner did huon appear in martial array at tunis than galafre selected sherasmin (who had also been shipwrecked off his coast, and had thus become his slave) as his champion. huon and sherasmin met, but, recognizing each other after a few moments' struggle, they suddenly embraced, and, joining forces, slew the pagans and carried off esclarmonde and fatima. they embarked upon a swift sailing vessel, and soon arrived at rome, where huon related his adventures to the pope, who gave him his blessing. as they were on their way to charlemagne's court, girard, a knight who had taken possession of huon's estates, stole the golden casket from sherasmin, and sent huon and esclarmonde in chains to bordeaux. then, going to court, he informed charlemagne that although huon had failed in his quest, he had dared to return to france. charlemagne, whose anger had not yet cooled, proceeded to bordeaux, tried huon, and condemned him to death. but just as the knight was about to perish, oberon appeared, bound the emperor and girard fast, and only consented to restore them to freedom when charlemagne promised to reinstate huon. oberon then produced the missing casket, revealed girard's treachery, and, after seeing him punished, bore huon and esclarmonde off to fairyland. huon eventually became ruler of this realm in oberon's stead; and his daughter, claretie, whose equally marvelous adventures are told at great length in another, but far less celebrated, _chanson de geste_, is represented as the ancestress of all the capetian kings of france. chapter xi. titurel and the holy grail. [sidenote: origin of the legend.] the most mystical and spiritual of all the romances of chivalry is doubtless the legend of the holy grail. rooted in the mythology of all primitive races is the belief in a land of peace and happiness, a sort of earthly paradise, once possessed by man, but now lost, and only to be attained again by the virtuous. the legend of the holy grail, which some authorities declare was first known in europe by the moors, and christianized by the spaniards, was soon introduced into france, where robert de borron and chrestien de troyes wrote lengthy poems about it. other writers took up the same theme, among them walter map, archdeacon of oxford, who connected it with the arthurian legends. it soon became known in germany, where, in the hands of gottfried von strassburg, and especially of wolfram von eschenbach, it assumed its most perfect and popular form. the "parzival" of eschenbach also forms the basis of a recent work, the much-discussed last opera of the great german composer, wagner.[ ] [footnote : see guerber's stories of the wagner opera.] the story of the grail is somewhat confused, owing to the many changes made by the different authors. the account here given, while mentioning the most striking incidents of other versions, is in general an outline of the "titurel" and "parzival" of von eschenbach. [sidenote: the holy grail.] when lucifer was cast out of heaven, one stone of great beauty as detached from the marvelous crown which sixty thousand angels had tendered him. this stone fell upon earth, and from it was carved a vessel of great beauty, which came, after many ages, into the hands of joseph of arimathea. he offered it to the savior, who made use of it in the last supper. when the blood flowed from the redeemer's side, joseph of arimathea caught a few drops of it in this wonderful vessel; and, owing to this circumstance, it was thought to be endowed with marvelous powers. "wherever it was there were good things in abundance. whoever looked upon it, even though he were sick unto death, could not die that week; whoever looked at it continually, his cheeks never grew pale, nor his hair gray." once a year, on the anniversary of the savior's death, a white dove brought a fresh host down from heaven, and placed it on the vessel, which was borne by a host of angels, or by spotless virgins. the care of it was at times intrusted to mortals, who, however, had to prove themselves worthy of this exalted honor by leading immaculate lives. this vessel, called the "holy grail," remained, after the crucifixion, in the hands of joseph of arimathea. the jews, angry because joseph had helped to bury christ, cast him into a dungeon, and left him there for a whole year without food or drink. their purpose in doing so was to slay joseph, as they had already slain nicodemus, so that should the romans ever ask them to produce christ's body, they might declare that it had been stolen by joseph of arimathea. the jews little suspected, however, that joseph, having the holy grail with him, could suffer no lack. when vespasian, the roman emperor, heard the story of christ's passion, as related by a knight who had just returned from the holy land, he sent a commission to jerusalem to investigate the matter and bring back some holy relic to cure his son titus of leprosy. in due time the ambassadors returned, giving pilate's version of the story, and bringing with them an old woman (known after her death as st. veronica). she produced the cloth with which she had wiped the lord's face, and upon which his likeness had been stamped by miracle. the mere sight of this holy relic sufficed to restore titus, who now proceeded with vespasian to jerusalem. there they vainly tried to compel the jews to produce the body of christ, until one of them revealed, under pressure of torture, the place where joseph was imprisoned. vespasian proceeded in person to the dungeon, and was hailed by name by the perfectly healthy prisoner. joseph was set free, but, fearing further persecution from the jews, soon departed with his sister, enigée, and her husband, brons, for a distant land. the pilgrims found a place of refuge near marseilles, where the holy grail supplied all their needs, until one of them committed a sin. then divine displeasure became manifest by a terrible famine. as none knew who had sinned, joseph was instructed in a vision to discover the culprit by the same means with which the lord had revealed the guilt of judas. still following divine commands, joseph made a table, and directed brons to catch a fish. the grail was placed before joseph's seat at table, where all who implicitly believed were invited to take a seat. eleven seats were soon occupied, and only judas's place remained empty. moses, a hypocrite and sinner, attempted to sit there, but the earth opened wide beneath him and ingulfed him. in another vision joseph was now informed that the vacancy would only be filled on the day of doom. he was also told that a similar table would be constructed by merlin. here the grandson of brons would honorably occupy the vacant place, which is designated in the legend as the "siege perilous," because it proved fatal to all for whom it was not intended. in the "great st. grail," one of the longest poems on this theme, there are countless adventures and journeys, "transformations of fair females into foul fiends, conversions wholesale and individual, allegorical visions, miracles, and portents. eastern splendor and northern weirdness, angelry and deviltry, together with abundant fighting and quite a phenomenal amount of swooning, which seem to reflect a strange medley of celtic, pagan, and mythological traditions, and christian legends and mysticism, alternate in a kaleidoscopic maze that defies the symmetry which modern aesthetic canons associate with every artistic production." the holy grail was, we are further told, transported by joseph of arimathea to glastonbury, where it long remained visible, and whence it vanished only when men became too sinful to be permitted to retain it in their midst. [sidenote: birth of titurel.] another legend relates that a rich man from cappadocia, berillus, followed vespasian to rome, where he won great estates. he was a very virtuous man, and his good qualities were inherited by all his descendants. one of them, called titurisone, greatly regretted having no son to continue his race. when advised by a soothsayer to make a pilgrimage to the holy sepulcher, and there to lay a crucifix of pure gold upon the altar, the pious titurisone hastened to do so. on his return he was rewarded for his pilgrimage by the birth of a son, called titurel. this child, when he had attained manhood, spent all his time in warring against the saracens, as all pagans are called in these metrical romances. the booty he won he gave either to the church or to the poor, and his courage and virtue were only equaled by his piety and extreme humility. one day, when titurel was walking alone in the woods, he was favored by the vision of an angel. the celestial messenger sailed down to earth out of the blue, and announced in musical tones that the lord had chosen him to be the guardian of the holy grail on montsalvatch (which some authors believe to have been in spain), and that it behooved him to set his house in order and obey the voice of god. when the angel had floated upward and out of sight, titurel returned home. after disposing of all his property, reserving nothing but his armor and trusty sword, he again returned to the spot where he had been favored with the divine message. there he saw a mysterious white cloud, which seemed to beckon him onward. titurel followed it, passed through vast solitudes and almost impenetrable woods, and eventually began to climb a steep mountain, whose ascent at first seemed impossible. clinging to the rocks, and gazing ever ahead at the guiding cloud, titurel came at last to the top of the mountain, where, in a beam of refulgent light, he beheld the holy grail, borne in the air by invisible hands. he raised his heart in passionate prayer that he might be found worthy to guard the emerald-colored wonder which was thus intrusted to his care, and in his rapture hardly heeded the welcoming cries of a number of knights in shining armor, who hailed him as their king. the vision of the holy grail was as evanescent as beautiful, and soon disappeared; but titurel, knowing that the spot was holy, guarded it with all his might against the infidels, who would fain have climbed the mountain. after several years had passed without the holy grail's coming down to earth, titurel conceived the plan of building a temple suitable for its reception. the knights who helped to build and afterward guarded this temple were called "templars." their first effort was to clear the mountain top, which they found was one single onyx of enormous size. this they leveled and polished until it shone like a mirror, and upon this foundation they prepared to build their temple. [sidenote: temple of the holy grail.] as titurel was hesitating what plan to adopt for the building, he prayed for guidance, and when he arose on the morrow he found the ground plan all traced out and the building materials ready for use. the knights labored piously from morning till night, and when they ceased, invisible hands continued to work all night. thus pushed onward, the work was soon completed, and the temple rose on the mountain top in all its splendor. "the temple itself was one hundred fathoms in diameter. around it were seventy-two chapels of an octagonal shape. to every pair of chapels there was a tower six stories high, approachable by a winding stair on the outside. in the center stood a tower twice as big as the others, which rested on arches. the vaulting was of blue sapphire, and in the center was a plate of emerald, with the lamb and the banner of the cross in enamel. all the altar stones were of sapphire, as symbols of the propitiation of sins. upon the inside of the cupola surmounting the temple, the sun and moon were represented in diamonds and topazes, and shed a light as of day even in the darkness of the night. the windows were of crystal, beryl, and other transparent stones. the floor was of translucent crystal, under which all the fishes of the sea were carved out of onyx, just like life. the towers were of precious stones inlaid with gold; their roofs of gold and blue enamel. upon every tower there was a crystal cross, and upon it a golden eagle with expanded wings, which, at a distance, appeared to be flying. at the summit of the main tower was an immense carbuncle, which served, like a star, to guide the templars thither at night. in the center of the building, under the dome, was a miniature representation, of the whole, and in this the holy vessel was kept." [sidenote: descent of the holy grail.] when all the work was finished, the temple was solemnly consecrated, and as the priests chanted the psalms a sweet perfume filled the air, and the holy vessel was seen to glide down on a beam of light. while it hovered just above the altar the wondering assembly heard the choir of the angels singing the praises of the most high. the holy grail, which had thus come down upon earth, was faithfully guarded by titurel and his knights, who were fed and sustained by its marvelous power, and whose wounds were healed as soon as they gazed upon it. from time to time it also delivered a divine message, which appeared in letters of fire inscribed about its rim, and which none of the templars ever ventured to disregard. by virtue of the miraculous preservative influence of the holy grail, titurel seemed but forty when he was in reality more than four hundred years old. his every thought had been so engrossed by the care of the precious vessel that he was somewhat surprised when he read upon its rim a luminous command to marry, so that his race might not become extinct. when the knights of the temple had been summoned, and had all perused the divine command, they began to consider where a suitable helpmate could be found for their beloved king. they soon advised him to woe richoude, the daughter of a spaniard. an imposing embassy was sent to the maiden, who, being piously inclined, immediately consented to the marriage. richoude was a faithful wife for twenty years, and when she died she left two children,--a son, frimoutel, and a daughter, richoude,--to comfort the sorrowing titurel for her loss. these children both married in their turn, and frimoutel had two sons, amfortas and trevrezent, and three daughters, herzeloide, josiane, and repanse de joie. as these children grew up, titurel became too old to bear the weight of his armor, and spent all his days in the temple, where he finally read on the holy grail a command to anoint frimoutel king. joyfully the old man obeyed, for he had long felt that the defense of the holy grail should be intrusted to a younger man than he. [sidenote: birth of parzival.] although he renounced the throne in favor of his son, titurel lived on, witnessed the marriage of josiane, and mourned for her when she died in giving birth to a little daughter, called sigune. this child, being thus deprived of a mother's care, was intrusted to herzeloide, who brought her up with tchionatulander, the orphaned son of a friend. herzeloide married a prince named gamuret, and became the happy mother of parzival, who, however, soon lost his father in a terrible battle. fearful lest her son, when grown up, should want to follow his father's example, and make war against even the most formidable foes, herzeloide carried him off into the forest of soltane (which some authors locate in brittany), and there brought him up in complete solitude and ignorance. "the child her falling tears bedew; no wife was ever found more true. she teemed with joy and uttered sighs; and tears midst laughter filled her eyes her heart delighted in his birth; in sorrow deep was drowned her mirth." wolfram von eschenbach, _parzival_ (dippold's tr.). [illustration: parzival uncovering the holy grail.--pixis.] [sidenote: amfortas's wound.] while she was living there, frimoutel, weary of the dull life on montsalvatch, went out into the world, and died of a lance wound when far away from home. amfortas, his son, who was now crowned in obedience to the command of the holy grail, proved equally restless, and went out also in search of adventures. like his father, he too was wounded by a poisoned lance; but, instead of dying, he lived to return to the holy grail. but since his wound had not been received in defense of the holy vessel, it never healed, and caused him untold suffering. titurel, seeing this suffering, prayed ardently for his grandson's release from the pain which imbittered every moment of his life, and was finally informed by the glowing letters on the rim of the holy grail that a chosen hero would climb the mountain and inquire the cause of amfortas's pain. at this question the evil spell would be broken, amfortas healed, and the newcomer appointed king and guardian of the holy grail. this promise of ultimate cure saved amfortas from utter despair, and all the templars lived in constant anticipation of the coming hero, and of the question which would put an end to the torment which they daily witnessed. [sidenote: parzival's early life.] parzival, in the mean while, was growing up in the forest, where he amused himself with a bow and arrow of his own manufacture. but when for the first time he killed a tiny bird, and saw it lying limp and helpless in his hand, he brought it tearfully to his mother and inquired what it meant. in answering him she, for the first time also, mentioned the name of god; and when he eagerly questioned her about the creator, she said to him: "brighter is god than e'en the brightest day; yet once he took the form and face of man." thus brought up in complete ignorance, it is no wonder that when young parzival encountered some knights in brilliant armor in the forest, he fell down and offered to worship them. amused at the lad's simplicity, the knights told him all about the gay world of chivalry beyond the forest, and advised him to ride to arthur's court, where, if worthy, he would receive the order of knighthood, and perchance be admitted to the round table. beside himself with joy at hearing all these marvelous things, and eager to set out immediately, parzival returned to his mother to relate what he had seen, and to implore her to give him a horse, that he might ride after the knights. "'i saw four men, dear mother mine; not brighter is the lord divine. they spoke to me of chivalry; through arthur's power of royalty, in knightly honor well arrayed, i shall receive the accolade.'" wolfram von eschenbach, _parzival_ (dippold's tr.). the mother, finding herself unable to detain him any longer, reluctantly consented to his departure, and, hoping that ridicule and lack of success would soon drive him back to her, prepared for him the motley garb of a fool and gave him a very sorry nag to ride. "the boy, silly yet brave indeed, oft from his mother begged a steed. that in her heart she did lament; she thought: 'him must i make content, yet must the thing an evil be.' thereafter further pondered she: 'the folk are prone to ridicule. my child the garments of a fool shall on his shining body wear. if he be scoffed and beaten there, perchance he'll come to me again.'" wolfram von eschenbach, _parzival_ (bayard taylor's tr.). [sidenote: parzival's journey into the world.] thus equipped, his mind well stored with all manner of unpractical advice given by his mother in further hopes of making a worldly career impossible for him, the young hero set out. as he rode away from home, his heart was filled with regret at leaving and with an ardent desire to seek adventures abroad,--conflicting emotions which he experienced for the first time in his life. herzeloide accompanied her son part way, kissed him good-by, and, as his beloved form disappeared from view in the forest paths, her heart broke and she breathed her last! parzival rode onward and soon came to a meadow, in which some tents were pitched. he saw a beautiful lady asleep in one of these tents, and, dismounting, he wakened her with a kiss, thus obeying one of his mother's injunctions--to kiss every fair lady he met. to his surprise, however, the lady seemed indignant; so he tried to pacify her by telling her that he had often thus saluted his mother. then, slipping the bracelet from off her arm, and carrying it away as a proof that she was not angry, he rode on. lord orilus, the lady's husband, hearing from her that a youth had kissed her, flew into a towering rage, and rode speedily away, hoping to overtake the impudent varlet and punish him. parzival, in the mean while, had journeyed on, and, passing through the forest, had seen a maiden weeping over the body of her slain lover. in answer to his inquiries she told him that she was his cousin, sigune, and that the dead man, tchionatulander, had been killed in trying to fulfill a trifling request--to recover her pet dog, which had been stolen. parzival promised to avenge tchionatulander as soon as possible, and to remember that the name of the murderer was orilus. next he came to a river, where he was ferried across, and repaid the boatman by giving him the bracelet he had taken from orilus's wife. then, hearing that arthur was holding his court at nantes, he proceeded thither without further delay. on entering the city, parzival encountered the red knight, who mockingly asked him where he was going. the unabashed youth immediately retorted, "to arthur's court to ask him for your arms and steed!" [sidenote: parzival at arthur's court.] a little farther on the youth's motley garb attracted much attention, and the town boys made fun of him until iwanet, one of the king's squires, came to inquire the cause of the tumult. he took parzival under his protection, and conducted him to the great hall, where, if we are to believe some accounts, parzival boldly presented himself on horseback. the sight of the gay company so dazzled the inexperienced youth that he wonderingly inquired why there were so many arthurs. when iwanet told him that the wearer of the crown was the sole king, parzival boldly stepped up to him and asked for the arms and steed of the red knight. arthur wonderingly gazed at the youth, and then replied that he could have them provided he could win them. this was enough. parzival sped after the knight, overtook him, and loudly bade him surrender weapons and steed. the red knight, thus challenged, began to fight; but parzival, notwithstanding his inexperience, wielded his spear so successfully that he soon slew his opponent. to secure the steed was an easy matter, but how to remove the armor the youth did not know. by good fortune, however, iwanet soon came up and helped parzival to don the armor. he put it on over his motley garb, which he would not set aside because his mother had made it for him. some time after, parzival came to the castle of gurnemanz, a noble knight, with whom he remained for some time. here he received valuable instructions in all a knight need know. when parzival left this place, about a year later, he was an accomplished knight, clad as beseemed his calling, and ready to fulfill all the duties which chivalry imposed upon its votaries. [sidenote: parzival and conduiramour.] he soon heard that queen conduiramour was hard pressed, in her capital of belripar, by an unwelcome suitor. as he had pledged his word to defend all ladies in distress, parzival immediately set out to rescue this queen. a series of brilliant single fights disposed of the besiegers, and the citizens of belripar, to show their gratitude to their deliverer, offered him the hand of their queen, conduiramour, which he gladly accepted. but parzival, even in this new home, could not forget his sorrowing mother, and he soon left his wife to go in search of herzeloide, hoping to comfort her. he promised his wife that he would return soon, however, and would bring his mother to belripar to share their joy. in the course of this journey homeward parzival came to a lake, where a richly dressed fisherman, in answer to his inquiry, directed him to a neighboring castle where he might find shelter. [sidenote: castle of the holy grail.] although parzival did not know it, he had come to the temple and castle on montsalvatch. the drawbridge was immediately lowered at his call, and richly clad servants bade him welcome with joyful mien. they told him that he had long been expected, and after arraying him in a jeweled garment, sent by queen repanse de joie, they conducted him into a large, brilliantly illumined hall. there four hundred knights were seated on soft cushions, before small tables each laid for four guests; and as they saw him enter a flash of joy passed over their grave and melancholy faces. the high seat was occupied by a man wrapped in furs, who was evidently suffering from some painful disease. he made a sign to parzival to draw near, gave him a seat beside him, and presented him with a sword of exquisite workmanship. to parzival's surprise this man bade him welcome also, and repeated that he had long been expected. the young knight, amazed by all he heard and saw, remained silent, for he did not wish to seem inquisitive,--a failing unworthy of a knight. suddenly the great doors opened, and a servant appeared bearing the bloody head of a lance, with which he silently walked around the hall, while all gazed upon it and groaned aloud. the servant had scarcely vanished when the doors again opened, and beautiful virgins came marching in, two by two. they bore an embroidered cushion, an ebony stand, and sundry other articles, which they laid before the fur-clad king. last of all came the beautiful maiden, repanse de joie, bearing a glowing vessel; and as she entered and laid it before the king, parzival heard the assembled knights whisper that this was the holy grail. "now after them advanced the queen, with countenance of so bright a sheen, they all imagined day would dawn. one saw the maiden was clothed on with muslin stuffs of araby. on a green silk cushion she the pearl of paradise did bear. * * * * * the blameless queen, proud, pure, and calm, before the host put down the grail; and percival, so runs the tale, to gaze upon her did not fail, who thither bore the holy grail." wolfram von eschenbach, _parzival_(bayard taylor's tr.). the maidens then slowly retired, the knights and squires drew near, and now from the shining vessel streamed forth a supply of the daintiest dishes and richest wines, each guest being served with the viands which he liked best. all ate sadly and in silence, while parzival wondered what it might all mean, yet remained mute. the meal ended, the sufferer rose from his seat, gazed reproachfully at the visitor, who, by asking a question, could have saved him such pain, and slowly left the room, uttering a deep sigh. with angry glances the knights also left the hall, and sad-faced servants conducted parzival past a sleeping room, where they showed him an old white-haired man who lay in a troubled sleep. parzival wondered still more, but did not venture to ask who it might be. next the servants took him to an apartment where he could spend the night. the tapestry hangings of this room were all embroidered with gorgeous pictures. among them the young hero noticed one in particular, because it represented his host borne down to the ground by a spear thrust into his bleeding side. parzival's curiosity was even greater than before; but, scorning to ask a servant what he had not ventured to demand of the master, he went quietly to bed, thinking that he would try to secure an explanation on the morrow. when he awoke he found himself alone. no servant answered his call. all the doors were fastened except those which led outside, where he found his steed awaiting him. when he had passed the drawbridge it rose up slowly behind him, and a voice called out from the tower, "thou art accursed; for thou hadst been chosen to do a great work, which thou hast left undone!" then looking upward, parzival saw a horrible face gazing after him with a fiendish grin, and making a gesture as of malediction. [sidenote: sigune.] at the end of that day's journey, parzival came to a lonely cell in the desert, where he found sigune weeping over a shrine in which lay tchionatulander's embalmed remains. she too received him with curses, and revealed to him that by one sympathetic question only he might have ended amfortas's prolonged pain, broken an evil spell, and won for himself a glorious crown. horrified, now that he knew what harm he had done, parzival rode away, feeling as if he were indeed accursed. his greatest wish was to return to the mysterious castle and atone for his remissness by asking the question which would release the king from further pain. but alas! the castle had vanished; and our hero was forced to journey from place to place, seeking diligently, and meeting with many adventures on the way. at times the longing to give up the quest and return home to his young wife was almost unendurable. his thoughts were ever with her, and the poem relates that even a drop of blood fallen on the snow reminded, him most vividly of the dazzling complexion of conduiramour, and of her sorrow when he departed. "'conduiramour, thine image is here in the snow now dyed with red and in the blood on snowy bed. conduiramour, to them compare thy forms of grace and beauty rare.'" wolfram von eschenbach, _parzival_ (dippold's tr.). although exposed to countless temptations, parzival remained true to his wife as he rode from place to place, constantly seeking the holy grail. his oft-reiterated questions concerning it caused him to be considered a madman or a fool by all he met. in the course of his journeys, he encountered a lady in chains, led by a knight who seemed to take pleasure in torturing her. taught by gurnemanz to rescue all ladies in distress, parzival challenged and defeated this knight. then only did he discover that it was sir orilus, who had led his wife about in chains to punish her for accepting a kiss from a strange youth. of course parzival now hastened to give an explanation of the whole affair, and the defeated knight, at his request, promised to treat his wife with all kindness in future. as parzival had ordered all the knights whom he had defeated to journey immediately to arthur's court and tender him their services, the king had won many brave warriors. he was so pleased by these constant arrivals, and so delighted at the repeated accounts of parzival's valor, that he became very anxious to see him once more. [sidenote: parzival knighted.] to gratify this wish several knights were sent in search of the wanderer, and when they finally found him they bade him come to court. parzival obeyed, was knighted by arthur's own hand, and, according to some accounts, occupied the "siege perilous" at the round table. other versions state, however, that just as he was about to take this seat the witch kundrie, a messenger of the holy grail, appeared in the hall. she vehemently denounced him, related how sorely he had failed in his duty, and cursed him, as the gate keeper had done, for his lack of sympathy. thus reminded of his dereliction, parzival immediately left the hall, to renew the quest which had already lasted for many months. he was closely followed by gawain, one of arthur's knights, who thought that parzival had been too harshly dealt with. [sidenote: gawain's quest.] four years now elapsed,--four years of penance and suffering for parzival, and of brilliant fighting and thrilling adventures for gawain. seeking parzival, meeting many whom he had helped or defeated, gawain journeyed from land to land, until at last he decided that his quest would end sooner if he too sought the holy grail, the goal of all his friend's hopes. on the way to montsalvatch gawain met a beautiful woman, to whom he made a declaration of love; but she merely answered that those who loved her must serve her, and bade him fetch her palfrey from a neighboring garden. the gardener told him that this lady was the duchess orgueilleuse; that her beauty had fired many a knight; that many had died for her sake; and that amfortas, king of the holy grail, had braved the poisoned spear which wounded him, only to win her favor. gawain, undeterred by this warning, brought out the lady's palfrey, helped her to mount, and followed her submissively through many lands. everywhere they went the proud lady stirred up some quarrel, and always called upon gawain to fight the enemies whom she had thus wantonly made. after much wandering, gawain and his ladylove reached the top of a hill, whence they could look across a valley to a gigantic castle, perched on a rock, near which was a pine tree. orgueilleuse now informed gawain that the castle belonged to her mortal enemy, gramoflaus. she bade him bring her a twig of the tree, and conquer the owner of the castle, who would challenge him as soon as he touched it, and promised that if he obeyed her exactly she would be his faithful wife. [sidenote: klingsor's castle.] gawain, emboldened by this promise, dashed down into the valley, swam across the moat, plucked a branch from the tree, and accepted the challenge which gramoflaus promptly offered. the meeting was appointed for eight days later, in front of klingsor's castle, whither gawain immediately proceeded with the lady orgueilleuse. on the way she told him that this castle, which faced her father's, was occupied by a magician who kept many noble ladies in close confinement, and had even cruelly laden them with heavy chains. gawain, on hearing this, vowed that he would punish the magician; and, having seen orgueilleuse safely enter her ancestral home, he crossed the river and rode toward klingsor's castle. as night drew on the windows were brilliantly illumined, and at each one he beheld the pallid, tear-stained faces of some of the captives, whose years ranged from early childhood to withered old age. calling for admittance at this castle, gawain was allowed to enter, but, to his surprise, found hall and court deserted. he wandered from room to room, meeting no one; and, weary of his vain search, prepared at last to occupy a comfortable couch in one of the chambers. to his utter amazement, however, the bed retreated as he advanced, until, impatient at this trickery, he sprang boldly upon it. a moment later a rain of sharp spears and daggers fell upon his couch, but did him no harm, for he had not removed his heavy armor. when the rain of weapons was over, a gigantic peasant, armed with a huge club, stalked into the room, closely followed by a fierce lion. when the peasant perceived that the knight was not dead, as he expected, he beat a hasty retreat, leaving the lion to attack him alone. in spite of the size and fury of the lion, gawain defended himself so bravely that he finally slew the beast, which was klingsor in disguise. as the monster expired the spell was broken, the captives were released, and the exhausted gawain was tenderly cared for by his mother and sister itonie, who were among those whom his courage had set free. the news of this victory was immediately sent to arthur, who now came to witness the battle between gawain and a champion who was to appear for gramoflaus. gawain's strength and courage were about to give way before the stranger's terrible onslaught, when itonie implored the latter to spare gawain, whose name and valor were so well known. at the sound of this name the knight sheathed his sword, and, raising his visor, revealed the sad but beautiful countenance of parzival. the joy of reunion over, parzival remained there long enough to witness the marriage of gawain and orgueilleuse, and of itonie and gramoflaus, and to be solemnly admitted to the round table. still, the general rejoicing could not dispel his sadness or the recollection of amfortas and his grievous wound; and as soon as possible parzival again departed, humbly praying that he might at last find the holy grail, and right the wrong he had unconsciously done. [sidenote: parzival and the hermit.] some months later, exhausted by constant journeys, parzival painfully dragged himself to a hermit's hut. there he learned that the lonely penitent was trevrezent, the brother of amfortas, who, having also preferred worldly pleasures to the service of the holy grail, had accompanied him on his fatal excursion. when trevrezent saw his brother sorely wounded, he repented of his sins, and, retiring into the woods, spent his days and nights in penance and prayer. he told parzival of the expected stranger, whose question would break the evil spell, and related how grievously he and all the templars had been disappointed when such a man had actually come and gone, but without fulfilling their hopes. parzival then penitently confessed that it was he who had thus disappointed them, related his sorrow and ceaseless quest, and told the story of his early youth and adventures. trevrezent, on hearing his guest's name, exclaimed that they must be uncle and nephew, as his sister's name was herzeloide. he then informed parzival of his mother's death, and, after blessing him and giving him some hope that sincere repentance would sometime bring its own reward, allowed him to continue his search for the holy grail. [sidenote: fierefiss.] soon after this meeting parzival encountered a knight, who, laying lance in rest, challenged him to fight. in one of the pauses of the battle he learned that his brave opponent was his stepbrother, fierefiss, whom he joyfully embraced, and who now followed him on his almost endless quest. at last they came to a mountain, painfully climbed its steep side, and, after much exertion, found themselves in front of a castle, which seemed strangely familiar to parzival. the doors opened, willing squires waited upon both brothers, and led them into the great hall, where the pageant already described was repeated. when queen repanse de joie entered bearing the holy grail, parzival, mindful of his former failure to do the right thing, humbly prayed aloud for divine guidance to bring about the promised redemption. an angel voice now seemed to answer, "ask!" then parzival bent kindly over the wounded king, and gently inquired what ailed him. at those words the spell was broken, and a long cry of joy arose as amfortas, strong and well, sprang to his feet. a very aged man, parzival's great-grandfather, titurel, now drew near, bearing the crown, which he placed on the young hero's head, as he hailed him as guardian and defender of the holy grail. this cry was taken up by all present, and even echoed by the angelic choir. "'hail to thee, percival, king of the grail! seemingly lost forever, now thou art blessed forever. hail to thee, percival, king of the grail!'" wolfram von eschenbach (mcdowall's tr.). the doors now opened wide once more to admit conduiramour and her twin sons, summoned thither by the power of the holy grail, that parzival's happiness might be complete. all the witnesses of this happy reunion were flooded with the light of the holy grail, except fierefiss, who, being a moor and a pagan, still remained in outer darkness. these miracles, however, converted him to the christian faith, and made him beg for immediate baptism. the christening was no sooner performed than he too beheld and was illumined by the holy vase. fierefiss, now a true believer, married repanse de joie, and they were the parents of a son named john, who became a noted warrior, and was the founder of the historic order of the knights templars. titurel, having lived to see the recovery of his son, blessed all his descendants, told them that sigune had joined her lover's spirit in the heavenly abode, and, passing out of the great hall, was never seen again; and the witch kundrie died of joy. another version of the legend of the holy grail relates that parzival, having cured his uncle, went to arthur's court. there he remained until amfortas died, when he was called back to montsalvatch to inherit his possessions, among which was the holy grail. arthur and all the knights of the round table were present at his coronation, and paid him a yearly visit. when he died, "the sangreal, the sacred lance, and the silver trencher or paten which covered the grail, were carried up to the holy heavens in presence of the attendants, and since that time have never anywhere been seen on earth." other versions relate that arthur and his knights sought the holy grail in vain, for their hearts were not pure enough to behold it. still others declare that the sacred vessel was conveyed to the far east, and committed to the care of prester john. the legend of lohengrin, which is connected with the holy grail, is in outline as follows: [sidenote: lohengrin.] parzival and conduiramour dwelt in the castle of the holy grail. when their sons had grown to man's estate, kardeiss, the elder, became ruler of his mother's kingdom of belripar, while lohengrin, the younger, remained in the service of the holy grail, which was now borne into the hall by his young sister, aribadale, repanse de joie having married. whenever a danger threatened, or when the services of one of the knights were required, a silver bell rang loudly, and the letters of flame around the rim of the holy vessel revealed the nature of the deed to be performed. one day the sound of the silvery bell was heard pealing ever louder and louder, and when the knights entered the hall, they read on the vase that lohengrin had been chosen to defend the rights of an innocent person, and would be conveyed to his destination by a swan. as the knights of the grail never disputed its commands, the young man immediately donned the armor of silver which amfortas had worn, and, bidding farewell to his mother and sister, left the temple. parzival, his father, accompanied him to the foot of the mountain, where, swimming gracefully over the smooth waters of the lake, they saw a snowy swan drawing a little boat after her. lohengrin received a horn from his father, who bade him sound it thrice on arriving at his destination, and an equal number of times when he wished to return to montsalvatch. then he also reminded him that a servant of the grail must reveal neither his name nor his origin unless asked to do so, and that, having once made himself known, he was bound to return without delay to the holy mountain. thus reminded of the custom of all the templars, lohengrin sprang into the boat, and was rapidly borne away, to the sound of mysterious music. [sidenote: else of brabant.] while lohengrin was swiftly wafted over the waters, else, duchess of brabant, spent her days in tears. she was an orphan, and, as she possessed great wealth and extensive lands, many were anxious to secure her hand. among these suitors her guardian, frederick of telramund, was the most importunate; and when he saw that she would never consent to marry him, he resolved to obtain her inheritance in a different way. one day, while else was wandering alone in the forest, she rested for a moment under a tree, where she dreamed that a radiant knight came to greet her, and offered her a little bell, saying that she need but ring it whenever she required a champion. the maiden awoke, and as she opened her eyes a falcon came gently sailing down from the sky and perched upon her shoulder. seeing that he wore a tiny bell like the one she had noticed in her dream, else unfastened it; and as the falcon flew away, she hung it on her rosary. a few days later else was in prison, for frederick of telramund had accused her of a great crime. he said that she had received the attentions of a man beneath her, or, according to another version, that she had been guilty of the murder of her brother. henry the fowler, emperor of germany, hearing of this accusation, came to cleves, where, as the witnesses could not agree, he ordered that the matter should be settled by a judicial duel. [illustration: arrival of lohengrin.--pixis.] frederick of telramund, proud of his strength, challenged any man to prove him mistaken at the point of the sword. but no champion appeared to fight for else, who, kneeling in her cell, beat her breast with her rosary, until the little silver bell attached to it rang loudly as she fervently prayed, "o lord, send me a champion." the faint tinkling of the bell floated out of the window, and was wafted away to montsalvatch. it grew louder and louder the farther it traveled, and its sound called the knights into the temple, where lohengrin received his orders from the holy grail. the day appointed for the duel dawned, and just as the heralds sounded the last call for else's champion to appear, the swan boat glided up the rhine, and lohengrin sprang into the lists, after thrice blowing his magic horn. [sidenote: else rescued by lohengrin.] with a god-sent champion opposed to a liar, the issue of the combat could not long remain doubtful. soon frederick of telramund lay in the dust and confessed his guilt, while the people hailed the swan knight as victor. else, touched by his prompt response to her appeal, and won by his passionate wooing, then consented to become his wife, without even knowing his name. their nuptials were celebrated at antwerp, whither the emperor went with them and witnessed their marriage. lohengrin had cautioned else that she must never ask his name; but she wished to show that he was above the people who, envying his lot, sought to injure him by circulating malicious rumors, so she finally asked the fatal question. regretfully lohengrin led her into the great hall, where, in the presence of the assembled knights, he told her that he was lohengrin, son of parzival, the guardian of the holy grail. then, embracing her tenderly, he told her that "love cannot live without faith," and that he must now leave her and return to the holy mountain. when he had thrice blown his magic horn, the sound of faint music again heralded the approach of the swan; lohengrin sprang into the boat, and soon vanished, leaving else alone. some versions of the story relate that she did not long survive his departure, but that her released spirit followed him to montsalvatch, where they dwelt happy forever. other accounts, however, aver that when lohengrin vanished else's brother returned to champion her cause and prevent her ever being molested again. chapter xii. merlin. as saintsbury so ably expressed it, "the origin of the legends of king arthur, of the round table, of the holy grail, and of all the adventures and traditions connected with these centers, is one of the most intricate questions in the history of mediaeval literature." owing to the loss of many ancient manuscripts, the real origin of all these tales may never be discovered; and whether the legends owe their birth to celtic, breton, or welsh poetry we may never know, as the authorities fail to agree. these tales, apparently almost unknown before the twelfth century, soon became so popular that in the course of the next two centuries they had given birth to more than a dozen poems and prose romances, whence malory drew the materials for his version of the story of king arthur. nennius, geoffrey of monmouth, walter map, chrestien de troyes, robert de borron, gottfried von strassburg, wolfram von eschenbach, hartmann von aue, tennyson, matthew arnold, swinburne, and wagner have all written of these legends in turn, and to these writers we owe the most noted versions of the tales forming the arthurian cycle. they include, besides the story of arthur himself, an account of merlin, of lancelot, of parzival, of the love of tristan and iseult, and of the quest of the holy grail. the majority of these works were written in french, which was the court language of england in the mediaeval ages; but the story was "englished" by malory in the fourteenth century. in every european language there are versions of these stories, which interested all hearers alike, and which exerted a softening influence upon the rude customs of the age, "communicated a romantic spirit to literature," and taught all men courtesy. [the real merlin] the first of these romances is that of merlin the enchanter, in very old french, ascribed to robert de borron. the following outline of the story is modified and supplemented from other sources. the real merlin is said to have been a bard of the fifth century, and is supposed to have served the british chief ambrosius aurelianus, and then king arthur. this merlin lost his reason after the battle of solway firth, broke his sword, and retired into the forest, where he was soon after found dead by a river bank. the mythical merlin had a more exciting and interesting career, however. king constans, who drove hengist from england, was the father of three sons,--constantine, aurelius ambrosius, and uther pendragon. when dying he left the throne to his eldest son, constantine, who chose vortigern as his prime minister. shortly after constantine's accession, hengist again invaded england, and constantine, deserted by his minister, was treacherously slain. in reward for his defection at this critical moment, vortigern was offered the crown, which he accepted, and which he hoped to retain, although constans's two other sons, who, according to another version of the story, were called uther and pendragon, were still in existence. to defend himself against any army which might try to deprive him of the throne, vortigern resolved to build a great fortress on the salisbury plains. but, although the masons worked diligently by day, and built walls wide and thick, they always found them overturned in the morning. the astrologers, when consulted in reference to this strange occurrence, declared that the walls would not stand until the ground had been watered with the blood of a child who could claim no human father. five years previous to this prediction, the demons, seeing that so many souls escaped them owing to the redemption procured by a child of divine origin, thought that they could regain lost ground by engendering a demon child upon a human virgin. a beautiful, pious maiden was chosen for this purpose; and as she daily went to confess her every deed and thought to a holy man, blaise, he soon discovered the plot of the demons, and resolved to frustrate it. [sidenote: birth of the mythical merlin.] by his advice the girl, instead of being immediately put to death, as the law required, was locked up in a tower, where she gave birth to her son. blaise, the priest, more watchful than the demons, no sooner heard of the child's birth than he hastened to baptize him, giving him the name of merlin. the holy rite annulled the evil purpose of the demons, but, owing to his uncanny origin, the child was gifted with all manner of strange powers, of which he made use on sundry occasions. "to him great light from god gave sight of all things dim, and wisdom of all wondrous things, to say what root should bear what fruit of night or day; and sovereign speech and counsel above man: wherefore his youth like age was wise and wan, and his age sorrowful and fain to sleep." swinburne, _tristram of lyonesse_. the child thus baptized soon gave the first proof of his marvelous power; for, when his mother embraced him and declared that she must soon die, he comforted her by speaking aloud and promising to prove her innocent of all crime. the trial took place soon after this occurrence, and although merlin was but a few days old, he sat up boldly in his mother's lap and spoke so forcibly to the judges that he soon secured her acquittal. once when he was five years old, while playing in the street, he saw the messengers of vortigern. warned by his prophetic instinct that they were seeking him, he ran to meet them, and offered to accompany them to the king. on the way thither he saw a youth buying shoes, and laughed aloud. when questioned concerning the cause of his mirth, he predicted that the youth would die within a few hours. "then said merlin, 'see ye nought that young man, that hath shoon bought, and strong leather to do hem clout [patch], and grease to smear hem all about? he weeneth to live hem to wear: but, by my soul, i dare well swear, his wretched life he shall for-let [lose], ere he come to his own gate.'" ellis, _merlin_. [sidenote: merlin as a prophet.] a few more predictions of an equally uncanny and unpleasant nature firmly established his reputation as a prophet even before he reached court. there he boldly told the king that the astrologers, wishing to destroy the demon's offspring, who was wiser than they, had demanded his blood under pretext that the walls of salisbury would stand were it only shed. when asked why the walls continually fell during the night, merlin attributed it to the nightly conflict of a red and a white dragon concealed underground. in obedience to his instructions, search was made for these monsters, and the assembled court soon saw a frightful struggle between them. this battle finally resulted in the death of the red dragon and the triumph of the white. "with long tailis, fele [many] fold, and found right as merlin told. that one dragon was red as fire, with eyen bright, as basin clear; his tail was great and nothing small; his body was a rood withal. his shaft may no man tell; he looked as a fiend from hell. the white dragon lay him by, stern of look, and griesly. his mouth and throat yawned wide; the fire brast [burst] out on ilka [each] side. his tail was ragged as a fiend, and, upon his tail's end, there was y-shaped a griesly head, to fight with the dragon red." ellis, _merlin_. the white dragon soon disappeared also, and the work of the castle now proceeded without further hindrance. vortigern, however, was very uneasy, because merlin had not only said that the struggle of the red and the white dragon represented his coming conflict with constans's sons, but further added that he would suffer defeat. this prediction was soon fulfilled. uther and his brother pendragon landed in britain with the army they had assembled, and vortigern was burned in the castle he had just completed. shortly after this victory a war arose between the britons under uther and pendragon, and the saxons under hengist. merlin, who had by this time become the prime minister and chief adviser of the british kings, predicted that they would win the victory, but that one would be slain. this prediction was soon verified, and uther, adding his brother's name to his own, remained sole king. his first care was to bury his brother, and he implored merlin to erect a suitable monument to his memory; so the enchanter conveyed great stones from ireland to england in the course of a single night, and set them up at stonehenge, where they can still be seen. "how merlin by his skill, and magic's wondrous might, from ireland hither brought the stonendge in a night." drayton, _polyolbion_. [sidenote: round table established by merlin.] proceeding now to carduel (carlisle), merlin, who is represented as a great architect and wonder-worker, built uther pendragon a beautiful castle, and established the round table, in imitation of the one which joseph of arimathea had once instituted. there were places for a large number of knights around this board (the number varying greatly with different writers), and a special place was reserved for the holy grail, which, having vanished from britain because of the sinfulness of the people, the knights still hoped to have restored when they became sufficiently pure. "this table gan [began] uther the wight; ac [but] it to ende had he no might. for, theygh [though] alle the kinges under our lord hadde y-sitten [sat] at that bord, knight by knight, ich you telle, the table might nought fulfille, till they were born that should do all fulfill the mervaile of the greal." ellis, _merlin_. a great festival was announced for the institution of the round table, and all the knights came to carduel, accompanied by their wives. among the latter the fairest was yguerne, wife of gorlois, lord of tintagel in cornwall, and with her uther fell desperately in love. "this fest was noble ynow, and nobliche y-do [done]; for mony was the faire ledy, that y-come was thereto. yguerne, gorloys wyf, was fairest of echon [each one], that was contasse of cornewail, for so fair was there non." robert of gloucester. yguerne had already three or four daughters, famous in the arthurian legends as mothers of the knights gawain, gravain, ywain, and others. one of the king's councilors, ulfin, revealed the king's passion to yguerne, and she told her husband. indignant at the insult offered him, gorlois promptly left court, locked his wife up in the impregnable fortress of tintagel, and, gathering together an army, began to fight against uther pendragon. the day before the battle, merlin changed uther into the form of gorlois, and himself and ulfin into those of the squires of the duke of cornwall. thus disguised, the three went to tintagel, where yguerne threw the gates open at their call and received uther as her husband, without suspecting the deception practiced upon her. [sidenote: birth of arthur.] on the morrow the battle took place. gorlois was slain. shortly after, uther married yguerne, who never suspected that the child which was soon born, and which uther immediately confided to merlin, was not a son of gorlois. arthur, the child who had thus come into the world, was intrusted to the care of sir hector, who brought him up with his own son, sir kay, little suspecting his royal descent. this child grew up rapidly, and when but fifteen years of age was handsome, accomplished, and dearly loved by all around him. "he was fair, and well agré [agreeable], and was a thild [child] of gret noblay. he was curteys, faire and gent, and wight [brave], and hardi, veramen [truly]. curteyslich [courteously] and fair he spac [spake]. with him was none evil lack [fault]." ellis, _merlin_. when uther died without leaving any heir, there was an interregnum, for merlin had promised that the true king should be revealed by a miracle. this prophecy was duly fulfilled, as will be shown hereafter. merlin became the royal adviser as soon as arthur ascended the throne, helped him win signal victories over twelve kings, and in the course of a single night conveyed armies over from france to help him. as merlin could assume any shape he pleased, arthur often used him as messenger; and one of the romances relates that the magician, in the guise of a stag, once went to rome to bear the king's challenge to julius caesar (not the conqueror of gaul but the mythical father of oberon) to single combat. merlin was also renowned for the good advice which he gave, not only to vortigern and uther pendragon, but also to arthur, and for his numerous predictions concerning the glorious future of england, all of which, if we are to believe tradition, have been fulfilled. "o goodly river! near unto thy sacred spring prophetic merlin sate, when to the british king the changes long to come, auspiciously he told." drayton, _polyolbion_. [sidenote: palace at camelot.] merlin also won great renown as a builder and architect. besides the construction of stonehenge, and of the castle for uther pendragon, he is said to have built arthur's beautiful palace at camelot. he also devised sundry magic fountains, which are mentioned in other mediaeval romances. one of these is referred to by spenser in the "faerie queene," and another by ariosto in his "orlando furioso." "this spring was one of those four fountains rare, of those in france produced by merlin's sleight, encompassed round about with marble fair, shining and polished, and than milk more white. there in the stones choice figures chiseled were, by that magician's god-like labour dight; some voice was wanting, these you might have thought were living, and with nerve and spirit fraught." ariosto, _orlando furioso_ (rose's tr.). merlin was also supposed to have made all kinds of magic objects, among which the poets often mention a cup. this would, reveal whether the drinker had led a pure life, for it always overflowed when touched by polluted lips. he was also the artificer of arthur's armor, which no weapon could pierce, and of a magic mirror in which one could see whatever one wished. "it merlin was, which whylome did excel all living wightes in might of magicke spell: both shield, and sword, and armour all he wrought for this young prince, when first to armes he fell." spenser, _faerie queene_. [sidenote: merlin and vivian.] merlin, in spite of all his knowledge and skill, yielded often to the entreaties of his fair mistress, vivian, the lady of the lake. she followed him wherever he went, and made countless efforts to learn all his arts and to discover all his magic spells. in order to beguile the aged merlin into telling her all she wished to know, vivian pretended great devotion, which is admirably related in tennyson's "idylls of the king," one of which treats exclusively of merlin and vivian. this enchantress even went with him to the fairy-haunted forest of broceliande, in brittany, where she finally beguiled him into revealing a magic spell whereby a human being could be inclosed in a hawthorn tree, where he must dwell forever. "and then she follow'd merlin all the way, e'en to the wild woods of broceliande. for merlin once had told her of a charm, the which if any wrought on any one with woven paces and with waving arms, the man so wrought on ever seem'd to lie closed in the four walls of a hollow tower, from which was no escape for evermore; and none could find that man for evermore, nor could he see but him who wrought the charm coming and going; and he lay as dead and lost to life and use and name and fame." tennyson, _merlin and vivien_. this charm having been duly revealed, the lady of the lake, weary of her aged lover, and wishing to rid herself of him forever now that she had learned all he could teach her, lured him into the depths of the forest. there, by aid of the spell, she imprisoned him in a thorn bush, whence, if the tales of the breton peasants can be believed, his voice can be heard to issue from time to time. "they sate them down together, and a sleep fell upon merlin, more like death, so deep. her finger on her lips, then vivian rose, and from her brown-lock'd head the wimple throws, and takes it in her hand, and waves it over the blossom'd thorn tree and her sleeping lover. nine times she waved the fluttering wimple round, and made a little plot of magic ground. and in that daised circle, as men say, is merlin prisoner till the judgment day; but she herself whither she will can rove-- for she was passing weary of his love." matthew arnold, _tristram and iseult_. [illustration: the beguiling of merlin.--burne-jones.] according to another version of the tale, merlin, having grown very old indeed, once sat down on the "siege perilous," forgetting that none but a sinless man could occupy it with impunity. he was immediately swallowed up by the earth, which yawned wide beneath his feet, and he never visited the earth again. a third version says that vivian through love imprisoned merlin in an underground palace, where she alone could visit him. there he dwells, unchanged by the flight of time, and daily increasing the store of knowledge for which he was noted. chapter xiii. the round table. fortunately "the question of the actual existence and acts of arthur has very little to do with the question of the origin of the arthurian cycle." but although some authorities entirely deny his existence, it is probable that he was a briton, for many places in wales, scotland, and england are connected with his name. on the very slightest basis, many of the mediaeval writers constructed long and fabulous tales about this hero. such was the popularity of the arthurian legends all over europe that prose romances concerning him were among the first works printed, and were thus brought into general circulation. an outline of the principal adventures of arthur and of his knights is given here. it has been taken from many works, whose authors will often be mentioned as we proceed. king uther pendragon, as we have already seen, intrusted his new-born son, arthur, to the care of the enchanter merlin, who carried him to the castle of sir hector (anton), where the young prince was brought up as a child of the house. "wherefore merlin took the child, and gave him to sir anton, an old knight and ancient friend of uther; and his wife nursed the young prince, and rear'd him with her own; and no man knew." tennyson, _the coming of arthur_. [sidenote: the magic sword.] two years later king uther pendragon died, and the noblemen, not knowing whom to choose as his successor, consulted merlin, promising to abide by his decision. by his advice they all assembled in st. stephen's church, in london, on christmas day. when mass was over they beheld a large stone which had mysteriously appeared in the churchyard. this stone was surmounted by a ponderous anvil, in which the blade of a sword was deeply sunk. drawing near to examine the wonder, they read an inscription upon the jeweled hilt, to the effect that none but the man who could draw out the sword should dare to take possession of the throne. of course all present immediately tried to accomplish this feat, but all failed. several years passed by ere sir hector came to london with his son, sir kay, and his foster son, young arthur. sir kay, who, for the first time in his life, was to take part in a tournament, was greatly chagrined, on arriving there, to discover that he had forgotten his sword; so arthur volunteered to ride back and get it. he found the house closed; yet, being determined to secure a sword for his foster brother, he strode hastily into the churchyard, and easily drew from the anvil the weapon which all had vainly tried to secure. [sidenote: arthur made king.] this mysterious sword was handed to sir kay, and sir hector, perceiving it, and knowing whence it came, immediately inquired how arthur had secured it. he even refused at first to believe the evidence of his own eyes; but when he and all the principal nobles of the realm had seen arthur replace and draw out the sword, after all had again vainly tried their strength, they gladly hailed the young man king. as merlin was an enchanter, it was popularly rumored that arthur was not, as he now declared, the son of uther pendragon and yguerne, but a babe mysteriously brought up from the depths of the sea, on the crest of the ninth wave, and cast ashore at the wizard's feet. hence many people distrusted the young king, and at first refused to obey him. "watch'd the great sea fall, wave after wave, each mightier than the last, till last, a ninth one, gathering half the deep, and full of voices, slowly rose and plunged roaring, and all the wave was in a flame: and down the wave and in the flame was borne a naked babe, and rode to merlin's feet, who stoopt and caught the babe, and cried 'the king! here is an heir for uther!'" tennyson, _the coming of arthur_. among the unbelievers were some of the king's own kindred, and notably his four nephews, gawain, gaheris, agravaine, and gareth. arthur was therefore obliged to make war against them; but although gawain's strength increased in a truly marvelous fashion from nine to twelve in the morning, and from three to six in the afternoon, the king succeeded in defeating him by following merlin's advice and taking advantage of his comparatively weak moments. [sidenote: sir pellinore.] arthur, aided by merlin, ruled over the land wisely and well, redressed many wrongs, reëstablished order and security, which a long interregnum had destroyed, and brandished his sword in many a fight, in which he invariably proved victor. but one day, having drawn his blade upon sir pellinore, who did not deserve to be thus attacked, it suddenly failed him and broke. left thus without any means of defense, the king would surely have perished had not merlin used his magic arts to put sir pellinore to sleep and to bear his charge to a place of safety. arthur, thus deprived of his magic sword, bewailed its loss; but while he stood by a lake, wondering how he should procure another, he beheld a white-draped hand and arm rise out of the water, holding aloft a jeweled sword which the lady of the lake, who appeared beside him, told him was intended for his use. "'thou rememberest how in those old days, one summer noon, an arm rose up from out the bosom of the lake, clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, holding the sword--and how i row'd across and took it, and have worn it, like a king; and, wheresoever i am sung or told in aftertime, this also shall be known.'" tennyson, _the passing of arthur_. [sidenote: excalibur.] arthur rowed out into the middle of the lake and secured the sword which is known by the name excalibur. he was then told by the lady of the lake that it was gifted with magic powers, and that as long as the scabbard remained in his possession he would suffer neither wound nor defeat. thus armed, arthur went back to his palace, where, hearing that the saxons had again invaded the country, he went to wage war against them, and won many victories. shortly after this arthur heard that leodegraunce, king of scotland, was threatened by his brother ryance, king of ireland, who was determined to complete a mantle furred with the beards of kings, and wanted to secure one more at any price. arthur hastened to this monarch's assistance, and delivered him from the clutches of ryance. he not only killed this savage monarch, but appropriated his mantle and carried it away in triumph as a trophy of the war. "and for a trophy brought the giant's coat away made of the beards of kings." drayton, _polyolbion_. [sidenote: arthur's marriage with guinevere.] after these martial exploits arthur returned to the court of leodegraunce, where he fell in love with the latter's fair daughter, guinevere. the king sued successfully for her hand, but merlin would not allow him to marry this princess until he had distinguished himself by a campaign in brittany. the wedding was then celebrated with true mediaeval pomp; and arthur, having received, besides the princess, the round table once made for his father, conveyed his bride and wedding gift to camelot (winchester), where he bade all his court be present for a great feast at pentecost. "the nearest neighboring flood to arthur's ancient seat, which made the britons' name through all the world so great. like camelot, what place was ever yet renown'd? where, as at carlion, oft, he kept the table-round, most famous for the sports at pentecost so long, from whence all knightly deeds, and brave achievements sprong." drayton,--_polyolbion_. [sidenote: knights of the round table.] arthur had already warred successfully against twelve revolted kings, whose remains were interred at camelot by his order. there merlin erected a marvelous castle, containing a special hall for the reception of the round table. this hall was adorned with the lifelike statues of all the conquered kings, each holding a burning taper which the magician declared would burn brightly until the holy grail should appear. hoping to bring that desirable event to pass, arthur bade merlin frame laws for the knights of the round table. as distinctive mark, each of the noblemen admitted to a seat at this marvelous table adopted some heraldic device. the number of these knights varies from twelve to several hundred, according to the different poets or romancers. "the fellowshipp of the table round, soe famous in those dayes; whereatt a hundred noble knights and thirty sat alwayes; who for their deeds and martiall feates, as bookes done yett record, amongst all other nations wer feared through the world." _legend of king arthur_ (old ballad). merlin, by virtue of his magic powers, easily selected the knights worthy to belong to this noble institution, and the archbishop of canterbury duly blessed them and the board around which they sat. all the places were soon filled except two; and as the knights arose from their seats after the first meal they noticed that their names were inscribed in letters of gold in the places they had occupied. but one of the empty seats was marked "siege perilous," and could only be occupied by a peerless knight. [sidenote: lancelot du lac.] among all the knights of the round table, sir lancelot du lac, who is the hero of several lengthy poems and romances bearing his name, was the most popular. chrestien de troyes, geoffrey de ligny, robert de borron, and map have all written about him, and he was so well known that his name was given to one of the knaves on the playing cards invented at about this time. malory, in his prose version of the "morte d'arthur," has drawn principally from the poems treating of lancelot, whose early life was somewhat extraordinary, too. some accounts relate that lancelot was the son of king ban and helen. when he was but a babe, his parents were obliged to flee from their besieged castle in brittany. before they had gone far, the aged ban, seeing his home in flames, sank dying to the ground. helen, eager to minister to her husband, laid her baby boy down on the grass near a lake, and when she again turned around, she saw him in the arms of vivian, the lady of the lake, who plunged with him into the waters. "in the wife's woe, the mother was forgot. at last (for i was all earth held of him who had been all to her, and now was not) she rose, and looked with tearless eyes, but dim, in the babe's face the father still to see; and lo! the babe was on another's knee! "another's lips had kissed it into sleep, and o'er the sleep another watchful smiled; the fairy sate beside the lake's still deep, and hush'd with chaunted charms the orphan child! scared at the mother's cry, as fleets a dream, both child and fairy melt into the stream." bulwer lytton, _king arthur_. the bereaved wife and mother now sorrowfully withdrew into a convent, while lancelot was brought up in the palace of the lady of the lake, with his two cousins, lyonel and bohort. here he remained until he was eighteen, when the fairy herself brought him to court and presented him to the king. arthur then and there made him his friend and confidant, and gave him an honored place at the round table. he was warmly welcomed by all the other knights also, whom he far excelled in beauty and courage. "but one sir lancelot du lake, who was approved well, he for his deeds and feats of armes all others did excell." _sir lancelot du lake_ (old ballad). [sidenote: lancelot and guinevere.] lancelot, however, was doomed to much sorrow, for he had no sooner beheld queen guinevere than he fell deeply in love with her. the queen fully returned his affection, granted him many marks of her favor, and encouraged him to betray his friend and king on sundry occasions, which form the themes of various episodes in the romances of the time. lancelot, urged in one direction by passion, in another by loyalty, led a very unhappy life, which made him relapse into occasional fits of insanity, during which he roamed aimlessly about for many years. when restored to his senses, he always returned to court, where he accomplished unheard-of deeds of valor, delivered many maidens in distress, righted the wrong wherever he found it, won all the honors at the tournaments, and ever remained faithful in his devotion to the queen, although many fair ladies tried to make him forget her. some of the poems, anxious to vindicate the queen, declare that there were two guineveres, one pure, lovely, and worthy of all admiration, who suffered for the sins of the other, an unprincipled woman. when arthur discovered his wife's intrigue with lancelot, he sent her away, and guinevere took refuge with her lover in joyeuse garde (berwick), a castle he had won at the point of his lance to please her. but the king, having ascertained some time after that the real guinevere had been wrongfully accused, reinstated her in his favor, and lancelot again returned to court, where he continued to love and serve the queen. [illustration: sir lancelot du lac.--sir john gilbert.] on one occasion, hearing that she had been made captive by meleagans, lancelot rushed after guinevere to rescue her, tracing her by a comb and ringlet she had dropped on the way. his horse was taken from him by enchantment, so lancelot, in order sooner to overtake the queen, rode on in a cart. this was considered a disgraceful mode of progress for a knight, as a nobleman in those days was condemned to ride in a cart in punishment for crimes for which common people were sentenced to the pillory. lancelot succeeded in reaching the castle of guinevere's kidnaper, whom he challenged and defeated. the queen, instead of showing herself grateful for this devotion, soon became needlessly jealous, and in a fit of anger taunted her lover about his journey in the cart. this remark sufficed to unsettle the hero's evidently very tottering reason, and he roamed wildly about until the queen recognized her error, and sent twenty-three knights in search of him. they journeyed far and wide for two whole years without finding him. "'then sir bors had ridden on softly, and sorrowing for our lancelot, because his former madness, once the talk and scandal of our table, had return'd; for lancelot's kith and kin so worship him that ill to him is ill to them.'" tennyson, _the holy grail_. finally a fair and pious damsel took pity upon the frenzied knight, and seeing that he had atoned by suffering for all his sins, she had him borne into the chamber where the holy grail was kept; "and then there came a holy man, who uncovered the vessel, and so by miracle, and by virtue of that holy vessel, sir lancelot was all healed and recovered." [sidenote: gareth and lynette.] sane once more, lancelot now returned to camelot, where the king, queen, and all the knights of the round table rejoiced to see him. here lancelot knighted sir gareth, who, to please his mother, had concealed his true name, and had acted as kitchen vassal for a whole year. the new-made knight immediately started out with a fair maiden called lynette, to deliver her captive sister. thinking him nothing but the kitchen vassal he seemed, the damsel insulted gareth in every possible way. he bravely endured her taunts, courageously defeated all her adversaries, and finally won her admiration and respect to such a degree that she bade him ride beside her, and humbly asked his pardon for having so grievously misjudged him. "'sir,--and, good faith, i fain had added knight, but that i heard thee call thyself a knave,-- shamed am i that i so rebuked, reviled, missaid thee; noble i am; and thought the king scorn'd me and mine; and now thy pardon, friend, for thou hast ever answer'd courteously, and wholly bold thou art, and meek withal as any of arthur's best, but, being knave, hast mazed my wit: i marvel what thou art.'" tennyson, _gareth and lynette_. granting her full forgiveness, gareth now rode beside her, fought more bravely still, and, after defeating many knights, delivered her sister from captivity, and secured lynette's promise to become his wife as soon as he had been admitted to the round table. when he returned to arthur's court this honor was immediately awarded him, for his prowess had won the admiration of all, and he was duly married on st. michaelmas day. "and he that told the tale in older times says that sir gareth wedded lyoners, but he that told it later, says lynette." tennyson, _gareth and lynette_. [sidenote: geraint and enid.] gareth's brother, geraint, was also an honored member of the round table. after distinguishing himself by many deeds of valor he married enid the fair, the only daughter of an old and impoverished knight whom he delivered from the tyranny of his oppressor and restored to all his former state. taking his fair wife away with him to his lonely manor, geraint surrounded her with every comfort, and, forgetting his former high aspirations, spent all his time at home, hoping thereby to please her. "he compass'd her with sweet observances and worship, never leaving her, and grew forgetful of his promise to the king. forgetful of the falcon and the hunt, forgetful of the tilt and tournament, forgetful of his glory and his name, forgetful of his princedom and its cares. and this forgetfulness was hateful to her." tennyson, _geraint and enid_. enid, however, soon perceived that her husband was forgetting both honor and duty to linger by her side. one day, while he lay asleep before her, she, in an outburst of wifely love, poured out her heart, and ended her confession by declaring that since geraint neglected everything for her sake only, she must be an unworthy wife. geraint awoke too late to overhear the first part of her speech; but, seeing her tears, and catching the words "unworthy wife," he immediately imagined that she had ceased to love him, and that she received the attentions of another. in his anger geraint (whom the french and german poems call erec) rose from his couch, and sternly bade his wife don her meanest apparel and silently follow him through the world. "the page he bade with speed prepare his own strong steed, dame enid's palfrey there beside; he said that he would ride for pastime far away: so forward hastened they." hartmann von ave, _erek and enid_ (bayard taylor's tr.) patiently enid did her husband's bidding, watched him fight the knights by the way, and bound up his wounds. she suffered intensely from his incomprehensible coldness and displeasure; but she stood all his tests so nobly that he finally recognized how greatly he had misjudged her. he then restored her to her rightful place, and loved her more dearly than ever before. "nor did he doubt her more, but rested in her fealty, till he crown'd a happy life with a fair death, and fell against the heathen of the northern sea in battle, fighting for the blameless king." tennyson,--_geraint and enid_. [sidenote: sir galahad.] one pentecost day, when all the knights were assembled, as usual, around the table at camelot, a distressed damsel suddenly entered the hall and implored lancelot to accompany her to the neighboring forest, where a young warrior was hoping to receive knighthood at his hands. this youth was sir galahad, the peerless knight, whom some authorities call lancelot's son, while others declare that he was not of mortal birth. on reëntering the hall after performing this ceremony, lancelot heard that a miracle had occurred, and rushed with the king and his companions down to the riverside. there the rumor was verified, for they all saw a heavy stone floating down the stream, and perceived that a costly weapon was sunk deep in the stone. on this weapon was an inscription, declaring that none but a peerless knight should attempt to draw it out, upon penalty of a grievous punishment. as all the knights of the round table felt guilty of some sin, they modestly refused to touch it. when they returned into the hall an aged man came in, accompanied by galahad, and the latter, fearless by right of innocence, sat down in the "siege perilous." as his name then appeared upon it, all knew that he was the rightful occupant, and hailed his advent with joy. then, noticing that he wore an empty scabbard, and hearing him state that he had been promised a marvelous sword, they one and all escorted him down to the river, where he easily drew the sword out of the stone. this fitted exactly in his empty sheath, and all vowed that it was evidently meant for him. that selfsame night, after evensong, when all the knights were seated about the round table at camelot, they heard a long roll of thunder, and felt the palace shake. the brilliant lights held by the statues of the twelve conquered kings grew strangely dim, and then, gliding down upon a beam of refulgent celestial light, they all beheld a dazzling vision of the holy grail. covered by white samite, and borne by invisible hands, the sacred vessel was slowly carried all around the great hall, while a delicious perfume was wafted throughout the huge edifice. all the knights of the round table gazed in silent awe at this resplendent vision, and when it vanished as suddenly and as mysteriously as it had come, each saw before him the food which he liked best. speechless at first, and motionless until the wonted light again illumined the hall, the knights gave fervent thanks for the mercy which had been vouchsafed them, and then lancelot, springing impetuously to his feet, vowed that he would ride forth in search of the holy grail and would know no rest until he had beheld it unveiled. this vow was echoed by all the knights of the round table; and when arthur now questioned them closely, he discovered that none had seen the vessel unveiled. still he could not prevent his knights from setting out in quest of it, because they had solemnly vowed to do so. "'nay, lord, i heard the sound, i saw the light, but since i did not see the holy thing, i sware a vow to follow it till i saw.' "then when he ask'd us, knight by knight, if any had seen it, all their answers were as one: 'nay, lord, and therefore have we sworn our vows.'" tennyson, _the holy grail_. [sidenote: quest of the holy grail.] during this quest the knights traveled separately or in pairs all through the world, encountered many dangers, and in true mediaeval fashion defended damsels in distress, challenged knights, and covered themselves with scars and glory. some of the legends declare that parzival alone saw the holy grail, while others aver that lancelot saw it through a veil faintly. the pure galahad, having never sinned at all, and having spent years in prayer and fasting, finally beheld it just as his immaculate soul was borne to heaven by the angels. the rest of the knights, realizing after many years' fruitless search that they were unworthy of the boon, finally returned to camelot, where they were duly entertained by the queen. while they were feasting at her table, one of their number, having partaken of a poisonous draught, fell lifeless to the ground. as the incident had happened at the queen's side, some of her detractors accused her of the crime, and bade her confess, or prove her innocence by a judicial duel. being her husband, arthur was debarred by law of the privilege of fighting for her in the lists of camelot, and the poor queen would have been condemned to be burned alive for lack of a champion had not lancelot appeared incognito, and forced her accuser to retract his words. throughout his reign arthur had been wont to encourage his knights by yearly tournaments, the victor's prize being each time a precious jewel. it seems that these jewels had come into his possession in a peculiar way. while wandering as a lad in lyonesse, arthur found the moldering bones of two kings. tradition related that these monarchs had slain each other, and, as they were brothers, the murder seemed so heinous that none dared touch their remains. there among the rusty armor lay a kingly crown studded with diamonds, which arthur picked up and carelessly set upon his own head. at that very moment a prophetic voice was heard declaring to him that he should rule. arthur kept the crown, and made each jewel set in it the object of a brilliant pageant when the prophecy had been fulfilled. "and arthur came, and laboring up the pass, all in a misty moonshine, unawares had trodden that crown'd skeleton, and the skull brake from the nape, and from the skull the crown roll'd into light, and turning on its rims fled like a glittering rivulet to the tarn. and down the shingly scaur he plunged, and caught, and set it on his head, and in his heart heard murmurs,--'lo! thou likewise shalt be king.'" tennyson, _lancelot and elaine_. [sidenote: lancelot's prowess.] lancelot had been present at every one of these knightly games, and had easily borne away the prize, for his very name was almost enough to secure him the victory. when the time for the last tournament came, he pretended to take no interest in it; but, riding off to astolat (guildford), he asked elaine, the fair maiden who dwelt there, to guard his blazoned shield and give him another in exchange. this fair lady, who had fallen in love with lancelot at first sight, immediately complied with his request, and even timidly suggested that he should wear her colors in the coming fray. lancelot had never worn any favors except guinevere's, but thinking that it would help to conceal his identity, he accepted the crimson, pearl-embroidered sleeve she offered, and fastened it to his helmet in the usual way. "'lady, thy sleeve thou shalt off-shear, i wol it take for the love of thee; so did i never no lady's ere [before] but one, that most hath loved me.'" ellis, _lancelot du lac_. thus effectually disguised, and accompanied by sir lawaine, elaine's brother, lancelot rode on to the tournament, where, still unknown, he unhorsed every knight and won the prize. his last encounter, however, nearly proved fatal, for in it he received a grievous wound. as he felt faint, and was afraid to be recognized, lancelot did not wait to claim the prize, but rode immediately out of the town. he soon fainted, but was conveyed to the cell of a neighboring hermit. here his wound was dressed, and he was carefully nursed by elaine, who had heard that he was wounded, and had immediately set out in search of him. [sidenote: lancelot and elaine.] when lancelot, entirely recovered, was about to leave elaine after claiming his own shield, she timidly confessed her love, hoping that it was returned. gently and sorrowfully lancelot repulsed her, and, by her father's advice, was even so discourteous as to leave her without a special farewell. unrequited love soon proved too much for the "lily maid of astolat," who pined away very rapidly. feeling that her end was near, she dictated a farewell letter to lancelot, which she made her father promise to put in her dead hand. she also directed that her body should be laid in state on a barge, and sent in charge of a mute boatman to camelot, where she was sure she would receive a suitable burial from the hands of lancelot. in the meanwhile the hero of the tournament had been sought everywhere by gawain, who was the bearer of the diamond won at such a cost. coming to astolat before lancelot was cured, gawain had learned the name of the victor, which he immediately proclaimed to guinevere. the queen, however, hearing a vague rumor that lancelot had worn the colors of the maiden of astolat, and was about to marry her, grew so jealous that when lancelot reappeared at court she received him very coldly, and carelessly flung his present (a necklace studded with the diamonds he had won at various tournaments) into the river flowing beneath the castle walls. "she seized, and, thro' the casement standing wide for heat, flung them, and down they flash'd, and smote the stream. then from the smitten surface flash'd, as it were, diamonds to meet them, and they passed away." tennyson, _lancelot and elaine_. [illustration: elaine--rosenthal.] [sidenote: the funeral barge.] as he leaned out of the window to trace them in their fall, lancelot saw a barge slowly drifting down the stream. its peculiar appearance attracted his attention, and as it passed close by him he saw that it bore a corpse. a moment later he had recognized the features of the dead elaine. the mute boatman paused at the castle steps, and arthur had the corpse borne into his presence. the letter was found and read aloud in the midst of the awestruck court. arthur, touched by the girl's love, bade lancelot fulfill her last request and lay her to rest. lancelot then related the brief story of the maiden, whose love he could not return, but whose death he sincerely mourned. "'my lord liege arthur, and all ye that hear, know that for this most gentle maiden's death right heavy am i; for good she was and true, but loved me with a love beyond all love in women, whomsoever i have known. yet to be loved makes not to love again; not at my years, however it hold in youth. i swear by truth and knighthood that i gave no cause, not willingly, for such a love: to this i call my friends in testimony, her brethren, and her father, who himself besought me to be plain and blunt, and use, to break her passion, some discourtesy against my nature: what i could, i did. i left her and i bade her no farewell; tho', had i dreamt the damsel would have died, i might have put my wits to some rough use, and help'd her from herself.'" tennyson, _lancelot and elaine_. haunted by remorse for this involuntary crime, lancelot again wandered away from camelot, but returned in time to save guinevere, who had again been falsely accused. in his indignation at the treatment to which she had been exposed, lancelot bore her off to joyeuse garde, where he swore he would defend her even against the king. arthur, whose mind, in the mean while, had been poisoned by officious courtiers, besieged his recreant wife and knight; but although repeatedly challenged, the loyal lancelot ever refused to bear arms directly against his king. when the pope heard of the dissension in england he finally interfered; and lancelot, assured that guinevere would henceforth be treated with all due respect, surrendered her to the king and retreated to his paternal estate in brittany. as arthur's resentment against lancelot had not yet cooled, he left guinevere under the care and protection of mordred, his nephew,--some versions say his son,--and then, at the head of a large force, departed for brittany. [sidenote: treachery of mordred.] mordred the traitor immediately took advantage of his uncle's absence to lay claim to the throne; and loudly declaring that arthur had been slain, he tried to force guinevere to marry him. as she demurred, he kept her a close prisoner, and set her free only when she pretended to agree with his wishes, and asked permission to go to london to buy wedding finery. when guinevere arrived in that city she intrenched herself in the tower, and sent word to her husband of her perilous position. without any delay arthur abandoned the siege of lancelot's stronghold, and, crossing the channel, encountered mordred's army near dover. negotiations now took place, and it was finally agreed that arthur and a certain number of knights should meet mordred with an equal number, and discuss the terms of peace. it had been strictly enjoined on both parties that no weapon should be drawn, and all would have gone well had not an adder been lurking in the grass. one of the knights drew his sword to kill it, and this unexpected movement proved the signal for one of the bloodiest battles described in mediaeval poetry. "an addere crept forth of a bushe, stunge one o' th' king's knightes on the knee. alacke! it was a woefulle chance, as ever was in christientie; when the knighte founde him wounded sore, and sawe the wild worme hanginge there, his sworde he from the scabbarde drewe; a piteous case, as ye shall heare; for when the two hostes saw the sworde, they joyned in battayle instantlye; till of so manye noble knightes, on one side there was left but three." _king arthur's death_. [sidenote: arthur wounded.] on both sides the knights fought with the utmost courage, and when nearly all were slain, arthur encountered the traitor mordred. summoning all his strength, the exhausted king finally slew the usurper, who, in dying, dealt arthur a mortal blow. this would never have occurred, however, had not morgana the fay, arthur's sister, purloined his magic scabbard and substituted another. all the enemy's host had perished, and of arthur's noble army only one man remained alive, sir bedivere, a knight of the round table. he hastened to the side of his fallen master, who in faltering accents now bade him take the brand excalibur, cast it far from him into the waters of the lake, and return to report what he should see. the knight, thinking it a pity to throw away so valuable a sword, concealed it twice; but the dying monarch detected the fraud, and finally prevailed upon bedivere to fulfill his wishes. as the magic blade touched the waters sir bedivere saw a hand and arm rise up from the depths to seize it, brandish it thrice, and disappear. "'sir king, i closed mine eyelids, lest the gems should blind my purpose; for i never saw, nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till i die, not tho' i live three lives of mortal men, so great a miracle as yonder hilt. then with both hands i flung him, wheeling him; but when i look'd again, behold an arm, clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, that caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him three times, and drew him under in the mere.'" tennyson, _the passing of arthur_. arthur gave a sigh of relief when he heard this report; and after telling his faithful squire that merlin had declared that he should not die, he bade the knight lay him in a barge, all hung with black, wherein he would find morgana the fay, the queen of northgallis, and the queen of the westerlands. sir bedivere obeyed all these orders exactly; and then, seeing his beloved king about to leave him, he implored permission to accompany him. this, however, arthur could not grant, for it had been decreed that he should go alone to the island of avalon, where he hoped to be cured of his grievous wound, and some day to return to his sorrowing people. "'but now farewell. i am going a long way with these thou seest--if indeed i go (for all my mind is clouded with a doubt)-- to the island-valley of avilion; where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns and bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, where i will heal me of my grievous wound.'" tennyson, _the passing of arthur_. [sidenote: arthur in avalon.] it was because arthur thus disappeared and was never seen again, according to one version of the myth, and because none knew whether he were living or dead, that he was popularly supposed to be enjoying perpetual youth and bliss in the fabled island of avalon, whence they averred he would return when his people needed him. this belief was so deeply rooted in england that philip of spain, upon marrying mary, was compelled to take a solemn oath whereby he bound himself to relinquish the crown in favor of arthur should he appear to claim it. "still look the britons for the day of arthur's coming o'er the sea." layamon, _brut_. other romances and poems relate that arthur was borne in the sable-hung barge to glastonbury, where his remains were laid in the tomb, while guinevere retired into the nunnery at almesbury. there she was once more visited by the sorrowing lancelot, who, in spite of all his haste, had come upon the scene too late to save or be reconciled to the king, to whom he was still devotedly attached. in his sorrow and remorse the knight withdrew into a hermitage, where he spent six years in constant penance and prayer. at last he was warned in a vision that guinevere was no more. he hastened to almesbury, and found her really dead. after burying her by arthur's side, in the chapel of glastonbury, lancelot again withdrew to his cell. six weeks later, worn to a shadow by abstinence and night watches, he peacefully passed away, and a priest watching near him said that he had seen the angels receive and bear his ransomed spirit straight up to heaven. lancelot was buried either at arthur's feet or at joyeuse garde. he was deeply mourned by all his friends, and especially by his heir, sir ector de maris, who eulogized him in the following touching terms: "'ah, sir lancelot,' he said, 'thou were head of all christian knights; and now i dare say,' said sir ector, 'that, sir lancelot, there thou liest, thou were never matched of none earthly knight's hands; and thou were the courtliest knight that ever bare shield; and thou were the truest friend to thy lover that ever bestrode horse; and thou were the truest lover of a sinful man that ever loved woman; and thou were the kindest man that ever struck with sword; and thou were the goodliest person that ever came among press of knights; and thou were the meekest man, and the gentlest, that ever ate in hall among ladies; and thou were the sternest knight to thy mortal foe that ever put spear in rest.'" chapter xiv. tristan and iseult. [sidenote: origin of the story.] the story of tristan, which seems to have been current from earliest times, refers, perhaps, to the adventures of a knight, the contemporary of arthur or of cassivellaunus. the tale seems to have already been known in the sixth century, and was soon seized upon by the bards, who found it a rich theme for their metrical romances. it is quite unknown whether it was first turned into latin, french, or welsh verse; but an established fact is that it has been translated into every european language, and was listened to with as much interest by the inhabitants of iceland as by those of the sunny plains of greece. we know that there are metrical versions, or remains of metrical versions, attributed to thomas of ercildoune (the rhymer), to raoul de beauvais, chrestien de troyes, rusticien de pise, luces de cast, robert and hélie de borron, and gottfried von strassburg, and that in our day it has been retold by matthew arnold and swinburne, and made the subject of an opera by wagner. these old metrical versions, recited with manifold variations by the minstrels, were finally collected into a prose romance, like most of the mediaeval poems of this kind. the outline of the story, collected from many different sources, is as follows: meliadus (rivalin, or roland rise) was lord of lyonesse (ermonie, or parmenia), and after warring for some time against morgan, he entered into a seven-years' truce. this time of respite was employed by meliadus in visiting mark, king of cornwall, who dwelt at tintagel, where he was holding a great tournament. many knights of tried valor hurried thither to win laurels, but none were able to unhorse meliadus, who obtained every prize. his courage was such that he even won the heart of blanchefleur, the sister of the king. as the monarch refused to consent to their union, the young people were secretly married, or eloped, if we are to believe another version of the story. [sidenote: birth of tristan.] according to the first account, blanchefleur remained at court, where, hearing that her husband had died, she breathed her last in giving birth to a son, whom she called tristan (tristrem), because he had come into the world under such sad circumstances. the second version relates that blanchefleur died as morgan entered the castle over her husband's dead body, and that her faithful retainer, kurvenal (rohand, rual), in order to save her son, claimed him as his own. the child tristan grew up without knowing his real parentage, learned all that a knight was expected to know, and became especially expert as a hunter and as a harp player. one day he strolled on board of a norwegian vessel which had anchored in the harbor near his ancestral home, and accepted the challenge of the norsemen to play a game of chess for a certain wager. as tristan played at chess as well as upon the harp, he soon won the game; but the northmen, rather than pay their forfeited wager, suddenly raised the anchor and sailed away, intending to sell the kidnaped youth as a slave. "ther com a ship of norway, to sir rohandes hold, with haukes white and grey, and panes fair y-fold: tristrem herd it say, on his playing he wold tventi schilling to lay, sir rohand him told, and taught; for hauke silver he gold; the fairest men him raught." scott, _sir tristrem_. they had not gone far, however, before a terrible tempest arose, which threatened to sink the vessel and drown all on board. the mariners, supposing in their terror that this peril had come upon them because they had acted dishonorably, made a solemn vow to liberate the youth if they escaped. the vow having been made, the wind ceased to blow; and anchoring in the nearest bay, the norsemen bade tristan land, and paid him the sum he had won at chess. [sidenote: tristan in cornwall.] thus forsaken on an unknown shore, with nothing but his harp and bow, tristan wandered through an extensive forest, where, coming across a party of huntsmen who had just slain a deer, he gave them valuable and lengthy instructions in matters pertaining to the chase, and taught them how to flay and divide their quarry according to the most approved mediaeval style. then, accompanying them to the court of their master, king mark, he charmed every one with his minstrelsy, and was invited to tarry there as long as he pleased. his foster father, kurvenal, in the mean while, had set out to seek him; and in the course of his wanderings he too came to mark's court, where he was overjoyed to find tristan, whose parentage he revealed to the king. tristan now for the first time heard the story of his father's death, and refused to rest until he had avenged him. he immediately set out, slew morgan, and recovered his father's estate of lyonesse, which he intrusted to kurvenal's care, while he himself went back to cornwall. on arriving at tintagel he was surprised to find all the court plunged in sorrow. upon inquiring the cause he was informed that morold, brother of the king of ireland, had come to claim the usual tribute of three hundred pounds of silver and tin and three hundred promising youths to be sold into slavery. indignant at this claim, which had been enforced ever since mark had been defeated in battle by the irish king, tristan boldly strode up to the emissary, tore the treaty in two, flung the pieces in his face, and challenged him to single combat. morold, confident in his strength,--for he was a giant,--and relying particularly upon his poisoned sword, immediately accepted the challenge. when the usual preliminaries had been settled, the battle began. "sir morold rode upon his steed, and flew against tristan with speed still greater than is falcons' flight; but warlike too was tristan's might." gottfried von strassburg (dippold's tr.). terrible blows were given and received, and at last tristan sank to the ground on one knee, for his opponent's poisoned weapon had pierced his side. morold then called upon him to acknowledge himself beaten, promising to obtain a balsam from his sister iseult (isolde, ysolde), who knew a remedy for such a dangerous wound. but tristan, remembering that, if he surrendered, three hundred innocent children would be sold as slaves, made a last despairing effort, and slew morold. such was the force of the blow he dealt that he cut through the helmet and pierced morold's skull, which was so hard that a fragment of his sword remained imbedded within the wound. the people of cornwall were, of course, delighted; and while the irish heralds returned empty-handed to dublin with morold's remains, the king of cornwall loudly proclaimed that as he had no son, tristan should be his heir. [sidenote: tristan's wound.] tristan, however, was far from happy, for the wound in his side refused to heal, and gradually became so offensive that no one could bear his presence. as none of the court doctors could relieve him, he remembered morold's words, and resolved to go to ireland, in hopes that iseult would cure him. conscious, however, that she would never consent to help him if she suspected his identity, he embarked alone, or with kurvenal, in a small vessel, taking only his harp, and drifted toward ireland, where he arrived at the end of fifteen days. when he appeared at court, tristan declared that he was a wandering minstrel called tantris, and bespoke the kind offices of the queen, iseult. charmed by his music, she hastened to cure him of the grievous wound from which he had suffered so much. tristan, still unknown, remained at the irish court for some time, spending many hours with iseult, the daughter and namesake of the queen, whom he instructed daily in the art of music. after some months passed thus in pleasant intercourse, tristan returned to cornwall, where he related to mark the story of his cure, and so extolled the beauty of young iseult that the king finally expressed a desire to marry her. by the advice of the courtiers, who were jealous of tristan, and who hoped that this mission would cost him his life, the young hero was sent to ireland with an imposing retinue, to sue for the maiden's hand and to escort her safely to cornwall. on landing in dublin, tristan immediately became aware that the people were laboring under an unusual excitement. upon questioning them he learned that a terrible dragon had taken up its station near the city, that it was devastating the country, and that the king had promised the hand of iseult to the man who would slay the monster. tristan immediately concluded that by killing the dragon he would have the best chance of successfully carrying out his uncle's wishes, so he sallied forth alone to attack it. "this dragon had two furious wings, each one upon each shoulder; with a sting in his tayl as long as a flayl, which made him bolder and bolder. "he had long claws, and in his jaws four and forty teeth of iron; with a hide as tough as any buff which did him round environ." _dragon of wantly_ (old ballad). [sidenote: tristan and the dragon.] in spite of the fearful appearance of this dragon, and of the volumes of fire and venom which it belched forth, tristan encountered it bravely, and finally slew it. then, cutting out the monster's tongue, he thrust it into his pocket, intending to produce it at the right moment. he had gone only a few steps, however, when, exhausted by his prolonged conflict, stunned by the poisonous fumes which he had inhaled, and overcome by the close contact with the dragon's tongue, he sank fainting to the ground. a few moments later the butler of the irish king rode up. he saw the dragon dead, with his conqueror lifeless beside him, and quickly resolved to take advantage of this fortunate chance to secure the hand of the fair princess. he therefore cut off the dragon's head, and, going to court, boasted of having slain the monster just as it had killed a strange knight. iseult and her mother, well aware that the man was a coward, refused to believe his story, and hastened off to the scene of the conflict, where they found the fainting tristan with the dragon's tongue in his pocket. to remove the poisonous substance, (which they, however, preserved,) convey the knight to the palace, and restore him by tender care, was the next impulse of these brave women. then, while iseult the younger sat beside her patient, watching his slumbers, she idly drew his sword from the scabbard. suddenly her eye was caught by a dint in the blade, which she soon discovered was of exactly the same shape and size as the fragment of steel which she had found in her uncle's skull. "then all at once her heart grew cold in thinking of that deed of old. her color changed through grief and ire from deadly pale to glowing fire. with sorrow she exclaimed: 'alas! oh, woe! what has now come to pass? who carried here this weapon dread, by which mine uncle was struck dead? and he who slew him, tristan hight. who gave it to this minstrel knight?'" gottfried von strassburg (dippold's tr.). morold's murderer lay helpless before her, and iseult, animated by the spirit of vengeance, which was considered a sacred duty among the people of the time, was about to slay tristan, when he opened his eyes and disarmed her by a glance. her mother further hindered her carrying out her hostile intentions by telling her that tristan had atoned for his crime by delivering the people from the power of the dragon. as soon as tristan had quite recovered, he appeared at court, where he offered to prove at the point of his sword that the butler had no claim to the princess's hand. a duel was arranged, and the butler, disarmed by tristan, confessed his lie. tristan then produced the dragon's tongue and told his adventures; but, to the general surprise, instead of suing for iseult's hand for himself, he now asked it in the name of his uncle, king mark of cornwall. [sidenote: the love potion.] the young princess was none too well pleased at this unexpected turn of affairs; but, as princesses never had much to say about the choice of a husband, she obediently prepared to accompany the embassy to tintagel. her mother, wishing to preserve her from a loveless marriage, now sought out all manner of herbs wherewith to brew one of those magic love potions which were popularly supposed to have unlimited powers. "bethought her with her secret soul alone to work some charm for marriage unison, and strike the heart of iseult to her lord with power compulsive more than stroke of sword." swinburne, _tristram of lyonesse_. this magic potion was put in a golden cup and intrusted to brangwaine, the attendant of iseult, with strict injunctions to guard the secret well, and to give the draught to her mistress and mark to quaff together on their wedding day. "therefore with marvelous herbs and spells she wrought to win the very wonder of her thought, and brewed it with her secret hands, and blest and drew and gave out of her secret breast to one her chosen and iseult's handmaiden, brangwain, and bade her hide from sight of men this marvel covered in a golden cup, so covering in her heart the counsel up as in the gold the wondrous wine lay close." swinburne, _tristram of lyonesse_. brangwaine carefully carried this potion on board the ship, and placed it in a cupboard, whence she intended to produce it when the suitable moment came. iseult embarked with the escort sent from cornwall, and tristan, in order to beguile the long, weary hours of the journey, entertained her with all the songs and stories that he knew. one day, after singing for some time, he asked his fair young mistress for a drink; and she, going to the cupboard, drew out the magic potion, little guessing its power. as was customary in those days in offering wine to an honored guest, she first put it to her own lips and then handed it to the thirsty minstrel, who drained it greedily. they had no sooner drunk, however, than the draught, working with subtle power, suddenly kindled in their hearts a passionate love, destined to last as long as they both lived. "now that the maiden and the man, fair iseult and tristan, both drank the drink, upon them pressed what gives the world such sore unrest,-- love, skilled in sly and prowling arts,-- and swiftly crept in both their hearts; so, ere of him they were aware, stood his victorious banners there. he drew them both into his power; one and single were they that hour that two and twofold were before." gottfried von strassburg (bayard taylor's tr.). after the first few hours of rapture had passed, the young people, who honorably intended to keep their word and conquer the fatal passion which had overwhelmed them, remained apart, and when iseult landed in cornwall her marriage was celebrated with mark. brangwaine, who knew all that had passed, tried to shield her mistress in every way, and blind the king, who is depicted as a very unheroic monarch, but little fitted to secure the affections of the proud young iseult. [sidenote: tristan and iseult.] this story of a love potion whose magic power none could resist, and of the undying love which it kindled in the unsuspecting hearts of tristan and iseult, has been treated in many ways by the different poets and prose writers who have handled it. in many of the older versions we have lengthy descriptions of stolen interviews, hairbreadth escapes, and tests of love, truth, and fidelity without number. in many respects the story is a parallel of that of lancelot and guinevere, although it contains some incidents which are duplicated in the "nibelungenlied" only. but throughout, the writers all aver that, owing to the magic draught, the lovers, however good their intentions, could not long exist without seeing each other. by means of this boundless love tristan is said to have had an intuitive knowledge of iseult's peril, for he hastened to rescue her from danger whenever events took a turn which might prove fatal to her. there are in some of these old romances pretty descriptions of scenery and of the signals used by the lovers to communicate with each other when forced by adverse circumstances to remain apart. one of the poems, for instance, says that tristan's love messages were written on chips of wood, which he floated down the little stream which flowed past his sylvan lodge and crossed the garden of the queen. [sidenote: meliadus.] the inevitable villain of the tale is one of mark's squires, the spy meliadus, also a very unheroic character, who told the king of tristan's love for iseult. mark, who all through the story seems strangely indifferent to his beautiful wife, was not aware of the magic draught and its powerful effect, but meliadus roused him temporarily from his apathy. [illustration: iseult signals tristan.--pixis.] as the queen had been publicly accused, he compelled her to prove her innocence by undergoing the ordeal of fire, or by taking a public oath that she had shown favor to none but him. on her way to the place where this ceremony was to take place, iseult was carried across a stream by tristan disguised as a beggar, and, at his request, kissed him in reward for this service. when called upon to take her oath before the judges and assembled court, iseult could truthfully swear that, with the exception of the beggar whom she had just publicly kissed, no other man than the king could ever boast of having received any special mark of her favor. thus made aware of their danger, the lovers again decided to part, and tristan, deprived for a time of the sight of iseult, went mad, and performed many extraordinary feats; for mediaeval poets generally drove their heroes into a frenzy when they did not know what else to do with them. having recovered, and hoping to forget the fatal passion which had already caused him so much sorrow, tristan now wandered off to arthur's court, where he performed many deeds of valor. thence he went on to various strange lands, distinguishing himself greatly everywhere, until he received from a poisoned arrow a wound which no doctor could heal. [sidenote: iseult of brittany.] afraid to expose himself again to the fascinations of iseult of cornwall, tristan went to brittany, where another iseult,--with the white hands,--equally well skilled in medicine, tenderly nursed him back to health. this maiden, as good and gentle as she was beautiful, soon fell in love with the handsome knight, and hearing him sing a passionate lay in honor of iseult, she fancied that her affections were returned, and that it was intended for her ear. "i know her by her mildness rare, her snow-white hands, her golden hair; i know her by her rich silk dress, and her fragile loveliness,-- the sweetest christian soul alive, iseult of brittany." matthew arnold, _tristram and iseult_. the brother of this fair iseult saw her love for tristan, and offered him her hand, which he accepted more out of gratitude than love, and in the hope that he might at last overcome the effects of the fatal draught. but, in spite of all his good resolutions, he could not forget iseult of cornwall, and treated his wife with such polite coolness that her brother's suspicions were finally roused. tristan, having conquered a neighboring giant and magician by the name of beliagog, had granted him his life only upon condition that he would build a marvelous palace in the forest, and adorn it with paintings and sculptures, true to life, and representing all the different stages of his passion for iseult of cornwall. when his brother-in-law, therefore, asked why he seemed to find no pleasure in the society of his young wife, tristan led him to the palace, showed him the works of art, and told him all. ganhardin, the brother-in-law, must evidently have considered the excuse a good one, for he not only forgave tristan, but implored him to take him to cornwall, for he had fallen in love with the picture of brangwaine, and hoped to win her for wife. on the way thither the young knights met with sundry adventures, delivered arthur from the power of the lady of the lake, and carried off iseult, whom the cowardly mark was ill treating, to lancelot's castle of joyeuse garde. there she became acquainted with guinevere, and remained with her until arthur brought about a general reconciliation. then tristan once more returned to brittany, resumed his wonted knightly existence, and fought until he was wounded so sorely that iseult of brittany could not cure him. his faithful steward kurvenal, hoping yet to save him, sailed for cornwall to bring the other iseult to the rescue; and as he left he promised his master to change the black sails of the vessel for white in case his quest were successful. tristan now watched impatiently for the returning sail, but just as it came into view he breathed his last. some ill-advised writers have ventured to state that iseult of brittany, whose jealousy had been aroused, was guilty of tristan's death by falsely averring, in answer to his feverish inquiry, that the long-expected vessel was wafted along by black sails; but, according to other authorities, she remained gentle and lovable to the end. [sidenote: miracle of the plants.] iseult of cornwall, speeding to the rescue of her lover, whom nothing could make her forget, and finding him dead, breathed her last upon his corpse. both bodies were then carried to cornwall, where they were interred in separate graves by order of king mark. but from the tomb of the dead minstrel there soon sprang a creeper, which, finding its way along the walls, descended into iseult's grave. thrice cut down by mark's orders, the plant persisted in growing, thus emphasizing by a miracle the passionate love which made this couple proverbial in the middle ages. there are in subsequent literature many parallels of the miracle of the plant which sprang from tristan's tomb, as is seen by the ballad of lord thomas and fair annet, and of lord lovel, where, as in later versions of the tristan legend, a rose and a vine grew out of the respective graves and twined tenderly around each other. "and out of her breast there grew a red rose, and out of his breast a brier." _ballad of lord lovel_. chapter xv. the story of frithiof. [sidenote: northern sagas.] norse, danish, and swedish writers have frequently called public attention to the vast literary treasures which are contained in the old sagas or tales of their forefathers. the work of northern scalds whose names in most cases are unknown to us, these stories relate the lives and adventures of the gods and heroes of the north. many of these old sagas have been translated into various other european languages; but tegnér, a swedish writer of this century, has done most to revive a taste for them by making one of them the basis of a poem which is generally considered a masterpiece. tegnér's "frithiof saga" has been translated once at least into every european tongue, and more than eighteen times into english and german. goethe spoke of the work with the greatest enthusiasm, and the tale, which gives a matchless picture of the life of our heathen ancestors in the north, has been the source of inspiration for important works of art. although tegnér has chosen for his theme the frithiof saga only, we find that that tale is the sequel to the older but less interesting thorsten saga, of which we give here a very brief outline, merely to enable the reader to understand clearly every allusion in the more modern poem. as is so frequently the case with these ancient tales, the story begins with haloge (loki), who came north with odin, and began to reign over north norway, which from him was called halogaland. according to northern mythology, this god had two lovely daughters. they were carried off by bold suitors, who, banished from the mainland by haloge's curses and magic spells, took refuge with their newly won wives upon neighboring islands. [sidenote: birth of viking.] thus it happened that haloge's grandson, viking, was born upon the island of bornholm, in the balitic sea, where he dwelt until he was fifteen, and where he became the largest and strongest man of his time. rumors of his valor finally reached hunvor, a swedish princess; and, as she was oppressed by the attentions of a gigantic suitor whom none dared drive away, she quickly sent for viking to deliver her. thus summoned, the youth departed, after having received from his father a magic sword named angurvadel, whose blows would prove fatal even to the giant suitor of hunvor. a "holmgang," the northern name for a duel, ensued, and viking, having slain his antagonist, could have married the princess had it not been considered disgraceful for a northman to marry before he was twenty. to beguile the time of waiting, viking set out in a well-manned dragon ship; and, cruising about the northern and southern seas, he met with countless adventures. during this time he was particularly persecuted by the slain giant's kin, who were adepts in magic, and caused him to encounter innumerable perils by land and by sea. aided and abetted by his bosom friend, halfdan, viking escaped every danger, slew many of his foes, and, after recovering his promised bride, hunvor, whom the enemy had carried off to india, he settled down in sweden. his friend, faithful in peace as well as in war, settled near him, and married also, choosing for his wife ingeborg, hunvor's attendant. the saga now describes the long, peaceful winters, when the warriors feasted and listened to the tales of the scalds, rousing themselves to energetic efforts only when returning spring again permitted them to launch their dragon ships and set out once more upon their favorite piratical expeditions. in the olden story the bards relate with great gusto every phase of attack and defense during cruise and raid, describe every blow given and received, and spare us none of carnage, or lurid flames which envelop both enemies and ships in common ruin. a fierce fight is often an earnest of future friendship, however, for we are told that halfdan and viking, having failed to conquer njorfe, even after a most obstinate struggle, sheathed their swords and accepted him as a third in their close bond of friendship. on returning home after one of these customary raids, viking lost his beloved wife; and, after intrusting her child, ring, to the care of a foster father, and undergoing a short period of mourning, the brave warrior married again. this time his marital bliss was more lasting, for the saga reports that his second wife bore him nine stalwart sons. njorfe, king of uplands, in norway, had, in the mean while, followed viking's example, and he too rejoiced in a large family, numbering also nine brave sons. now, although their fathers were united in bonds of the closest friendship, having sworn blood brotherhood according to the true northern rites, the young men were jealous of one another, and greatly inclined to quarrel. [sidenote: early ball games.] notwithstanding this smoldering animosity, these youths often met; and the saga relates that they used to play ball together, and gives a description of the earliest ball game on record in the northern annals. viking's sons, as tall and strong as he, were inclined to be rather reckless of their opponents' welfare, and, judging from the following account, translated from the old saga, the players were often left in as sorry a condition as after a modern game. "the next morning the brothers went to the games, and generally had the ball during the day; they pushed men and let them fall roughly, and beat others. at night three men had their arms broken, and many were bruised or maimed." the game between njorfe's and viking's sons culminated in a disagreement, and one of the former nine struck one of the latter a dangerous and treacherous blow. prevented from taking his revenge then and there by the interference of the spectators, the injured man made a trivial excuse to return to the ball ground alone; and, meeting his assailant there, he killed him. when viking heard that one of his sons had slain one of his friend's children, he was very indignant, and, mindful of his oath to avenge all njorfe's wrongs, he banished the young murderer. the other brothers, on hearing this sentence, all vowed that they would accompany the exile, and so viking sorrowfully bade them farewell, giving his sword angurvadel to thorsten, the eldest, and cautioning him to remain quietly on an island in lake wener until all danger of retaliation on the part of njorfe's remaining sons was over. the young men obeyed; but njorfe's sons, who had no boats to take them across the lake, soon made use of a conjuror's art to bring about a great frost, and, accompanied by many armed men, stole noiselessly over the ice to attack thorsten and his brothers. a terrible carnage ensued, and only two of the attacking party managed to escape, leaving, as they fancied, all their foes among the dead. but when viking came to bury his sons, he found that two of them, thorsten and thorer, were still alive, and he secretly conveyed them to a cellar beneath his dwelling, where they recovered from their wounds. by magic arts njorfe's two sons discovered that their opponents were not dead, and soon made a second desperate but vain attempt to kill them. viking saw that the quarrel would be incessantly renewed if his sons remained at home; so he now sent them to halfdan, whose court they reached after a series of adventures which in many points resemble those of theseus on his way to athens. when spring came thorsten embarked on a piratical excursion, and encountered jokul, njorfe's eldest son, who, in the mean while, had taken forcible possession of the kingdom of sogn, after killing the king, banishing his heir, belé, and changing his beautiful daughter, ingeborg, into the form of an old witch. throughout the story jokul is represented as somewhat of a coward, for he resorted by preference to magic when he wished to injure viking's sons. thus he stirred up great tempests, and thorsten, after twice suffering shipwreck, was saved from the waves by the witch ingeborg, whom he promised to marry in gratitude for her good services. thorsten, advised by her, went in search of belé, replaced him on his hereditary throne, swore eternal friendship with him, and, the baleful spell being removed, married the beautiful ingeborg, who dwelt with him at framnäs. [sidenote: thorsten and belé.] every spring thorsten and belé now set out together in their ships; and, joining forces with angantyr, a foe whose mettle they had duly tested, they proceeded to recover possession of a priceless treasure, a magic dragon ship named ellida, which aegir, god of the sea, had once given to viking in reward for hospitable treatment, and which had been stolen from him. "a royal gift to behold, for the swelling planks of its framework were not fastened with nails, as is wont, but _grown_ in together. its shape was that of a dragon when swimming, but forward its head rose proudly on high, the throat with yellow gold flaming; its belly was spotted with red and yellow, but back by the rudder coiled out its mighty tail in circles, all scaly with silver; black wings with edges of red; when all were expanded ellida raced with the whistling storm, but outstript the eagle. when filled to the edge with warriors, it sailed o'er the waters, you'd deem it a floating fortress, or warlike abode of a monarch. the ship was famed far and wide, and of ships was first in the north." tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (spalding's tr.). the next season, thorsten, belé, and angantyr conquered the orkney islands, which were given as kingdom to the latter, he voluntarily pledging himself to pay a yearly tribute to belé. next thorsten and belé went in quest of a magic ring, or armlet, once forged by völund, the smith, and stolen by soté, a famous pirate. this bold robber was so afraid lest some one should gain possession of the magic ring, that he had buried himself alive with it in a mound in bretland. here his ghost was said to keep constant watch over it, and when thorsten entered his tomb, belé heard the frightful blows given and received, and saw lurid gleams of supernatural fire. when thorsten finally staggered out of the mound, pale and bloody, but triumphant, he refused to speak of the horrors he had encountered to win the coveted treasure, nor would he ever vouchsafe further information than this: "'dearly bought is the prize,' said he often, 'for i trembled but once in my life, and 'twas when i seized it!'" tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (spalding's tr.). [sidenote: birth of frithiof and ingeborg.] thus owner of the three greatest treasures in the north, thorsten returned home to framnäs, where ingeborg bore him a fine boy, frithiof, the playmate of halfdan and helgé, belé's sons. the three youths were already well grown when ingeborg, belé's little daughter, was born, and as she was intrusted to the care of hilding, frithiof's foster father, the children grew up in perfect amity. "jocund they grew, in guileless glee; young frithiof was the sapling tree; in budding beauty by his side, sweet ingeborg, the garden's pride." tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (longfellow's tr.). frithiof soon became hardy and fearless under his foster father's training, and ingeborg rapidly developed all the sweetest traits of female loveliness. both, however, were happiest when together; and as they grew older their childish affection daily became deeper and more intense, until hilding, perceiving this state of affairs, bade the youth remember that he was only a subject, and therefore no mate for the king's only daughter. "but hilding said, 'o foster son, set not thy heart her love upon, for destiny thy wish gainsaid; king belé's daughter is the maid! "'from odin's self, in starry sky, descends her ancestry so high; but thou art thorsten's son, so yield, and leave to mightier names the field.'" tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (spalding's tr.) [sidenote: frithiof's love for ingeborg.] these wise admonitions came too late, however, and frithiof vehemently declared that he would win the fair ingeborg for his bride in spite of all obstacles and his comparatively humble origin. shortly after this belé and thorsten met for the last time, near the magnificent shrine of balder, where the king, feeling that his end was near, had convened a solemn assembly, or thing, of all his principal subjects, in order to present his sons helgé and halfdan to the people as his chosen successors. the young heirs were very coldly received on this occasion, for helgé was of a somber and taciturn disposition, and inclined to the life of a priest, and halfdan was of a weak, effeminate nature, and noted for his cowardice. frithiof, who was present, and stood beside them, cast them both in the shade, and won many admiring glances from the throng. "but after them came frithiof, in mantle blue-- he by a head was taller than th' other two. he stood between the brethren, as day should light between the rosy morning and darksome night." tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (spalding's tr.) after giving his last instructions to his sons, and speaking kindly to frithiof, who was his favorite, the old king turned to his lifelong companion, thorsten, to take leave of him, but the old warrior declared that they would not long be parted. belé then spoke again to his sons, and bade them erect his howe, or funeral mound, within sight of that of thorsten, that their spirits might commune, and not be sundered even in death. "'but lay us gently, children, where the blue wave, beating harmonious cadence, the shore doth lave; its murmuring song is pleasant unto the soul, and like a lamentation its ceaseless roll. "'and when the moon's pale luster around us streams, and midnight dim grows radiant with silver beams, there will we sit, o thorsten, upon our graves, and talk of bygone battles by the dark waves. "'and now, farewell, my children! come here no more; our road lies to allfather's far-distant shore, e'en as the troubled river sweeps to the sea: by frey and thor and odin blessed may ye be.'" tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (spalding's tr.). [sidenote: helgé and halfdan.] these instructions were all piously obeyed when the aged companions had breathed their last. then the brothers, helgé and halfdan, began to rule their kingdom, while frithiof, their former playmate, withdrew to his own place at framnäs, a very fertile homestead, lying in a snug valley closed in by the towering mountains and the ever-changing ocean. "three miles extended around the fields of the homestead; on three sides valleys and mountains and hills, but on the fourth side was the ocean. birch-woods crowned the summits, but over the down-sloping hillsides flourished the golden corn, and man-high was waving the rye- field." tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (longfellow's tr.). but although surrounded by faithful retainers, and blessed with much wealth and the possession of the famous sword angurvadel, the völund ring, and the matchless dragon ship ellida, frithiof was unhappy, because he could no longer see the fair ingeborg daily. with the returning spring, however, all his former spirits returned, for both kings came to visit him, accompanied by their fair sister, with whom he lived over the happy childish years, and spent long hours in cheerful companionship. as they were thus constantly thrown together, frithiof soon made known to ingeborg his deep affection, and received in return an avowal of her love. "he sat by her side, and he pressed her soft hand, and he felt a soft pressure responsive and bland; whilst his love-beaming gaze was returned as the sun's in the moon's placid rays." tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (longfellow's tr.). [sidenote: frithiof's suit.] when the visit was over and the guests had departed, frithiof informed his confidant and chief companion, björn, of his determination to follow them and openly ask for ingeborg's hand. his ship was prepared, and after a swift sail touched the shore near balder's shrine. discerning the royal brothers seated in state on belé's tomb to listen to the petitions of their subjects, frithiof immediately presented himself before them, and manfully made his request, adding that the old king had always loved him and would surely have granted his prayer. "they were seated on belè's tomb, and o'er the common folk administered law. but frithiof speaks, and his voice re-echoes round valleys and peaks. "'ye kings, my love is ingborg fair; to ask her in marriage i here repair; and what i require i here maintain was king belè's desire. "'he let us grow in hilding's care, like two young saplings, year by year; and therefore, kings, unite the full-grown trees with golden rings.'" tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (spalding's tr.). but although he promised lifelong fealty and the service of his strong right arm in exchange for the boon he craved, helgé contemptuously dismissed him. enraged at the insult thus publicly received, frithiof raised his invincible sword; but, remembering that he stood on a consecrated spot, he spared the king, only cutting the royal shield in two to show the strength of his blade, and striding back to his ship, he embarked and sailed away in sullen silence. "and lo! cloven in twain at a stroke fell king helgé's gold shield from its pillar of oak: at the clang of the blow, the live started above, the dead started below." tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (longfellow's tr.). [sidenote: sigurd ring a suitor.] just after his departure came messengers from sigurd ring, the aged king of ringric, in norway, who, having lost his wife, sent to helgé and halfdan to ask ingeborg's hand in marriage. before answering this royal suitor, helgé consulted the vala, or prophetess, and the priests, and as they all declared that the omens were not in favor of this marriage, he gave an insolent refusal to the messengers. this impolitic conduct so offended the would-be suitor that he immediately collected an army and prepared to march against the kings of sogn to avenge the insult with his sword. when the rumor of his approach reached the cowardly brothers they were terrified, and fearing to encounter the foe alone, they sent hilding to frithiof to implore his aid. hilding gladly undertook the mission, although he had not much hope of its success. he found frithiof playing chess with a friend, björn, and immediately made known his errand. "'from belé's high heirs i come with courteous words and prayers: disastrous tidings rouse the brave; on thee a nation's hope relies. * * * * * in balder's fane, grief's loveliest prey, sweet ing'borg weeps the livelong day: say, can her tears unheeded fall, nor call her champion to her side?'" tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (longfellow's tr.). but frithiof was so deeply offended that even this appeal in the name of his beloved could not move him. quietly he continued his game of chess, and, when it was ended, told hilding that he had no answer to give. rightly concluding that frithiof would lend the kings no aid, hilding returned to helgé and halfdan, who, forced to fight without their bravest leader, preferred to make a treaty with sigurd ring, promising to give him not only their sister ingeborg, but also a yearly tribute. [sidenote: at balder's shrine.] while they were thus engaged at sogn sound, frithiof hastened to balder's temple, where, as hilding had declared, he found ingeborg a prey to grief. now although it was considered a sacrilege for man and woman to exchange a word in the sacred building, frithiof could not see his beloved in tears without attempting to console her; and, forgetting all else, he spoke to her and comforted her. he repeated how dearly he loved her, quieted all her apprehensions of the gods' anger by assuring her that balder, the good, must view their innocent passion with approving eyes, said that love as pure as theirs could defile no sanctuary, and plighted his troth to her before the shrine. [illustration: the lovers at balder's shrine.--kepler.] "'what whisper you of balder's ire? the pious god--he is not wrath. he loves himself, and doth inspire our love--the purest he calls forth. the god with true and steadfast heart, the sun upon his glittering form, is not his love for nanna part of his own nature, pure and warm? "'there is his image; he is near. how mild he looks on me--how kind! a sacrifice to him i'll bear, the offer of a loving mind. kneel down with me; no better gift, no fairer sure for balder is, than two young hearts, whose love doth lift above the world almost like his.'" tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (spalding's tr.). reassured by this reasoning, ingeborg no longer refused to see and converse with frithiof; and during the kings' absence the young lovers met every day, and plighted their troth with volund's ring, which ingeborg solemnly promised to send back to her lover should she break her promise to live for him alone. frithiof lingered there until the kings' return, when, for love of ingeborg the fair, he again appeared before them, and pledged himself to free them from their thraldom to sigurd ring if they would only reconsider their decision and promise him their sister's hand. "'war is abroad, and strikes his echoing shield within our borders; thy crown and land, king helgé, are in danger; give me thy sister's hand, and i will use henceforth my warlike force in thy defense. let then the wrath between us be forgotten, unwillingly i strive 'gainst ingborg's brother. secure, o king, by one fraternal act thy golden crown and save thy sister's heart. here is my hand. by thor, i ne'er again present it here for reconciliation.'" tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (spalding's tr.). [sidenote: frithiof in disgrace.] but although this offer was hailed with rapture by the assembled warriors, it was again scornfully rejected by helgé, who declared that he would have granted it had not frithiof proved himself unworthy of all confidence by defiling the temple of the gods. frithiof tried to defend himself; but as he had to plead guilty to the accusation of having conversed with ingeborg at balder's shrine, he was convicted of having broken the law, and, in punishment therefor, condemned to sail off to the orkney islands to claim tribute from the king, angantyr. before he sailed, however, he once more sought ingeborg, and vainly tried to induce her to elope with him by promising her a home in the sunny south, where her happiness should be his law, and where she should rule over his subjects as his honored wife. ingeborg sorrowfully refused to accompany him, saying that, since her father was no more, she was in duty bound to obey her brothers implicitly, and could not marry without their consent. "'but helgé is my father, stands in my father's place; on his consent depends my hand, and belé's daughter steals not her earthly happiness, how near it be.'" tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (spalding's tr.). after a heartrending parting scene, frithiof embarked upon ellida, and sorrowfully sailed out of the harbor, while ingeborg wept at his departure. when the vessel was barely out of sight, helgé sent for two witches named heid and ham, bidding them begin their incantations, and stir up such a tempest at sea that it would be impossible for even the god-given vessel ellida to withstand its fury, and all on board would perish. the witches immediately complied; and with helgé's aid they soon stirred up a storm unparalleled in history. "helgé on the strand chants his wizard-spell, potent to command fiends of earth or hell. gathering darkness shrouds the sky; hark, the thunder's distant roll! lurid lightnings, as they fly, streak with blood the sable pole. ocean, boiling to its base, scatters wide its wave of foam; screaming, as in fleetest chase, sea-birds seek their island home." tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (longfellow's tr.). [sidenote: the tempest.] in spite of tossing waves and whistling blasts, frithiof sang a cheery song to reassure his frightened crew; but when the peril grew so great that his exhausted men gave themselves up for lost, he bade björn hold the rudder, and himself climbed up to the mast top to view the horizon. while perched up there he descried a whale, upon which the two witches were riding at ease. speaking to his good ship, which was gifted with the power of understanding and obeying his words, he now ran down both witches and whale, and the sea was reddened with their blood. no sooner had they sunk than the wind fell, the waves ceased to heave and toss as before, and soon fair weather again smiled over the seas. "now the storm has flown, the sea is calm awhile; a gentle swell is blown against the neighboring isle. "then at once the sun arose, like a king who mounts his throne, vivifies the world and throws his light on billow, field, and stone. his new-born beams adorn awhile a dark green grove on rocky top, all recognize a sea-girt isle, amongst the distant orkney's group." tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (spalding's tr.). exhausted by their previous superhuman efforts and by the bailing of their water-logged vessel, the men were too weak to land when they at last reached the orkney islands, and had to be carried ashore by björn and frithiof, who gently laid them down on the sand, bidding them rest and refresh themselves after all the hardships they had endured. "tired indeed are all on board, all the crew of frithiofs men, scarce supported by a sword, can they raise themselves again. björn takes four of them ashore, on his mighty shoulders wide, frithiof singly takes twice four, places them the fire beside. 'blush not, ye pale ones, the sea's a valiant viking; 'tis hard indeed to fight against the rough sea waves. lo! there comes the mead horn on golden feet descending, to warm our frozen limbs. hail to ingeborg!'" tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (spalding's tr.). the arrival of frithiof and his men had been seen by the watchman of angantyr's castle, who immediately informed his master of all he had seen. the jarl exclaimed that the ship which had weathered such a gale could be none but ellida, and that its captain was doubtless frithiof, thorsten's gallant son. at these words one of his berserkers, atlé, caught up his weapons and strode out of the hall, vowing that he would challenge frithiof, and thus satisfy himself concerning the veracity of the tales he had heard of the young hero's courage. [sidenote: atlé's challenge.] although still greatly exhausted, frithiof immediately accepted atlé's challenge, and, after a sharp encounter, threw his antagonist, whom he would have slain then and there had his sword been within reach. atlé saw his intention, and bade him go in search of a weapon, promising to remain motionless during his absence. frithiof, knowing that such a warrior's promise was inviolable, immediately obeyed; but when he returned with his sword, and found his antagonist calmly awaiting death, he relented, and bade atlé rise and live. "with patience long not gifted, frithiof the foe would kill, and angurvadel lifted, but atlé yet lay still. this touched the hero's soul; he stayed the sweeping brand before it reached its goal, and took the fall'n one's hand." tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_(spalding's tr.). together these doughty warriors then wended their way to angantyr's halls, where they found a festal board awaiting them, and there they ate and drank, sang songs, and recounted stories of thrilling adventure by land and by sea. at last, however, frithiof made known his errand. angantyr said that he owed no tribute to helgé, and would pay him none; but that he would give the required sum as a free gift to his old friend thorsten's son, leaving him at liberty to dispose of it as he pleased. then, since the season was unpropitious, and storms continually swept over the sea, the king invited frithiof to tarry with him; and it was only when the gentle spring breezes were blowing once more that he at last allowed him to depart. after sailing over summer seas, wafted along by favorable winds for six days, frithiof came in sight of his home, framnäs, which had been reduced to a shapeless heap of ashes by helgé's orders. sadly steering past the ruins, he arrived at baldershage, where hilding met him and informed him that ingeborg was now the wife of sigurd ring. when frithiof heard these tidings he flew into a berserker rage, and bade his men destroy all the vessels in the harbor, while he strode up to the temple alone in search of helgé. he found him there before the god's image, roughly flung angantyr's heavy purse of gold in his face, and when, as he was about to leave the temple, he saw the ring he had given ingeborg on the arm of helgé's wife, he snatched it away from her. in trying to recover it she dropped the god's image, which she had just been anointing, into the fire, where it was rapidly consumed, and the rising flames soon set the temple roof in a blaze. frithiof, horror-stricken at the sacrilege which he had involuntarily occasioned, after vainly trying to extinguish the flames and save the costly sanctuary, escaped to his ship and waiting companions, to begin the weary life of an outcast and exile. "the temple soon in ashes lay, ashes the temple's bower; wofully frithiof goes his way, weeps in the morning hour." tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (spalding's tr.). [sidenote: frithiof an exile.] helgé's men started in pursuit, hoping to overtake and punish him; but when they reached the harbor they could not find a single seaworthy craft, and were forced to stand on the shore in helpless inactivity while ellida's great sails slowly sank beneath the horizon. it was thus that frithiof sadly saw his native land vanish from sight; and as it disappeared he breathed a tender farewell to the beloved country which he never expected to see again. "'world-circle's brow, thou mighty north! i may not go upon thine earth; but in no other i love to dwell; now, hero-mother, farewell, farewell! "'farewell, thou high and heavenly one, night's sleeping eye, midsummer sun. thou clear blue sky, like hero's soul, ye stars on high, farewell, farewell! "'farewell, ye mounts where honour thrives, and thor recounts good warriors' lives. ye azure lakes, i know so well, ye woods and brakes, farewell, farewell! "'farewell, ye tombs, by billows blue, the lime tree blooms its snow on you. the saga sets in judgment-veil what earth forgets; farewell, farewell! "'farewell the heath, the forest hoar i played beneath, by streamlet's roar. to childhood's friends who loved me well, remembrance sends a fond farewell! "'my love is foiled, my rooftree rent, mine honour soiled, in exile sent! we turn from earth, on ocean dwell, but, joy and mirth, farewell, farewell!'" tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (spalding's tr.). after thus parting from his native land, frithiof took up the life of a pirate, rover, or viking, whose code was never to settle anywhere, to sleep on his shield, to fight and neither give nor take quarter, to protect the ships which paid him tribute and sack the others, and to distribute all the booty to his men, reserving for himself nothing but the glory of the enterprise. sailing and fighting thus, frithiof visited many lands, and came to the sunny isles of greece, whither he would fain have carried ingeborg as his bride; but wherever he went and whatever he did, he was always haunted by the recollection of his beloved and of his native land. [sidenote: at the court of sigurd ring.] overcome at last by homesickness, frithiof returned northward, determined to visit sigurd ring's court and ascertain whether ingeborg was really well and happy. steering his vessel up the vik (the main part of the christiania-fiord), he intrusted it to björn's care, and alone, on foot, and enveloped in a tattered mantle, which he used as disguise, he went to the court of sigurd ring, arriving there just as the yuletide festivities were being held. as if in reality nothing more than the aged beggar he appeared, frithiof sat down upon the bench near the door, where he became the butt of the courtiers' rough jokes; but when one of his tormentors approached too closely he caught him in his powerful grasp and swung him high above his head. terrified by this proof of great strength, the courtiers silently withdrew, while sigurd ring invited the old man to remove his mantle, take a seat beside him, and share his good cheer. frithiof accepted the invitation thus cordially given, and when he had laid aside his squalid outward apparel all started with surprise to see a handsome warrior, richly clad, and adorned with a beautiful ring. "now from the old man's stooping head is loosed the sable hood, when lo! a young man smiling stands, where erst the old one stood. see! from his lofty forehead, round shoulders broad and strong, the golden locks flow glistening, like sunlight waves along. "he stood before them glorious in velvet mantle blue, his baldrics broad, with silver worked, the artist's skill did shew; for round about the hero's breast and round about his waist, the beasts and birds of forest wild, embossed, each other chased. "the armlet's yellow luster shone rich upon his arm; his war sword by his side--in strife a thunderbolt alarm. serene the hero cast his glance around the men of war; bright stood he there as balder, as tall as asa thor." tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (spalding's tr.). [illustration: frithiof at the court of king ring.--kepler.] but although his appearance was so unusual, none of the people present recognized him save ingeborg only; and when the king asked him who he was he evasively replied that he was thiolf (a thief), that he came from ulf's (the wolf's), and had been brought up in anger (sorrow or grief). notwithstanding this unenticing account of himself, sigurd ring invited him to remain; and frithiof, accepting the proffered hospitality, became the constant companion of the king and queen, whom he accompanied wherever they went. one day, when the royal couple were seated in a sleigh and skimming along a frozen stream, frithiof sped on his skates before them, performing graceful evolutions, and cutting ingeborg's name deep in the ice. all at once the ice broke and the sleigh disappeared; but frithiof, springing forward, caught the horse by the bridle, and by main force dragged them all out of their perilous position. when spring came, sigurd ring invited frithiof to accompany him on a hunting expedition. the king became separated from all the rest of his suite, and saying that he was too weary to continue the chase, he lay down to rest upon the cloak which frithiof spread out for him, resting his head upon his young guest's knee. "then threw frithiof down his mantle, and upon the greensward spread, and the ancient king so trustful laid on frithiof's knee his head; slept, as calmly as the hero sleepeth after war's alarms on his shield, calm as an infant sleepeth in its mother's arms." tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (longfellow's tr.). [sidenote: frithiof's loyalty.]while the aged king was thus reposing, the birds and beasts of the forest softly drew near, bidding frithiof take advantage of his host's unconsciousness to slay him and recover the bride of whom he had been unfairly deprived. but although frithiof understood the language of birds and beasts, and his hot young heart clamored for his beloved, he utterly refused to listen to them; and, fearing lest he should involuntarily harm his trusting host, he impulsively flung his sword far from him into a neighboring thicket. a few moments later sigurd ring awoke from his feigned sleep, and after telling frithiof that he had recognized him from the first, had tested him in many ways, and had always found his honor fully equal to his vaunted courage, he bade him be patient a little longer, for his end was very near, and said that he would die happy if he could leave ingeborg, his infant heir, and his kingdom in such good hands. then, taking the astonished frithiof's arm, sigurd ring returned home, where, feeling death draw near, he dedicated himself anew to odin by carving the geirs-odd, or sacrificial runes, deeply in his aged chest. "bravely he slashes odin's red letters, blood-runes of heroes, on arm and on breast. brightly the splashes of life's flowing fetters drip from the silver of hair-covered chest." tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (spalding's tr.). when this ceremony was finished, sigurd ring laid ingeborg's hand in frithiof's, and, once more commending her to the young hero's loving care, closed his eyes and breathed his last. [sidenote: betrothal of frithiof and ingeborg.] all the nation assembled to raise a mound for sigurd ring; and by his own request the funeral feast was closed by a banquet to celebrate the betrothal of ingeborg and frithiof. the latter had won the people's enthusiastic admiration; but when they would fain have elected him king, frithiof raised sigurd ring's little son up on his shield and presented him to the assembled nobles as their future king, publicly swearing to uphold him until he was of age to defend himself. the child, weary of his cramped position on the shield, boldly sprang to the ground as soon as frithiof's speech was ended, and alighted upon his feet. this act of daring in so small a child was enough to win the affection and admiration of all his rude subjects. according to some accounts, frithiof now made war against ingeborg's brothers, and after conquering them, allowed them to retain their kingdom only upon condition of their paying him a yearly tribute. then he and ingeborg remained in ringric until the young king was able to assume the government, when they repaired to hordaland, a kingdom frithiof had obtained by conquest, and which he left to his sons gungthiof and hunthiof. [sidenote: frithiofs vision.] but according to tegnér's poem, frithiof, soon after his second betrothal to ingeborg, made a pious pilgrimage to his father's resting place, and while seated on the latter's funeral mound, plunged in melancholy and remorse at the sight of the desolation about him, he was favored by a vision of a new temple, more beautiful than the first, within whose portals he beheld the three norns. "and lo! reclining on their runic shields the mighty nornas now the portal fill; three rosebuds fair which the same garden yields, with aspect serious, but charming still. whilst urda points upon the blackened fields, the fairy temple skulda doth reveal. when frithiof first his dazzled senses cleared, rejoiced, admired, the vision disappeared." tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (spalding's tr.). the hero immediately understood that the gods had thus pointed out to him a means of atonement, and spared neither wealth nor pains to restore balder's temple and grove, which soon rose out of the ashes in more than their former splendor. when the temple was all finished, and duly consecrated to balder's service, frithiof received ingeborg at the altar from her brothers' hands, and ever after lived on amicable terms with them. "now stepped halfdan in over the brazen threshold, and with wistful look stood silent, at a distance from the dreaded one. then frithiof loosed the harness-hater from his thigh, against the altar placed the golden buckler round, and forward came unarmed to meet his enemy: 'in such a strife,' thus he commenced, with friendly voice, 'the noblest he who first extends the hand of peace.' then blushed king halfdan deep, and drew his gauntlet off, and long-divided hands now firmly clasped each other, a mighty pressure, steadfast as the mountain's base. the old man then absolved him from the curse which lay upon the varg i veum,[ ] on the outlawed man. and as he spake the words, fair ingeborg came in, arrayed in bridal dress, and followed by fair maids, e'en as the stars escort the moon in heaven's vault. whilst tears suffused her soft and lovely eyes, she fell into her brother's arms, but deeply moved he led his cherished sister unto frithiof's faithful breast, and o'er the altar of the god she gave her hand unto her childhood's friend, the darling of her heart." tegnÉr, _frithiof saga_ (spalding's tr.). [footnote : wolf in the sanctuaries.] chapter xvi. ragnar lodbrok. "last from among the heroes one came near, no god, but of the hero troop the chief-- regner, who swept the northern sea with fleets, and ruled o'er denmark and the heathy isles, living; but ella captured him and slew;-- a king whose fame then fill'd the vast of heaven, now time obscures it, and men's later deeds." matthew arnold, _balder dead_. [sidenote: ragnar lodbrok saga.] ragnar lodbrok, who figures in history as the contemporary of charlemagne, is one of the great northern heroes, to whom many mythical deeds of valor are ascribed. his story has given rise not only to the celebrated ragnar lodbrok saga, so popular in the thirteenth century, but also to many poems and songs by ancient scalds and modern poets. the material of the ragnar lodbrok saga was probably largely borrowed from the volsunga saga and from the saga of dietrich von bern, the chief aim of the ancient composers being to connect the danish dynasty of kings with the great hero sigurd, the slayer of fafnir, and thereby to prove that their ancestor was no less a person than odin. the hero of this saga was ragnar, the son of sigurd ring and his first wife, alfild. according to one version of the story, as we have seen, sigurd ring married ingeborg, and died, leaving frithiof to protect his young son. according to another, sigurd ring appointed ragnar as his successor, and had him recognized as future ruler by the thing before he set out upon his last military expedition. this was a quest for a new wife named alfsol, a princess of jutland, with whom, in spite of his advanced years, he had fallen passionately in love. her family, however, rudely refused sigurd ring's request. when he came to win his bride by the force of arms, and they saw themselves defeated, they poisoned alfsol rather than have her fall alive into the viking's hands. sigurd ring, finding a corpse where he had hoped to clasp a living and loving woman, was so overcome with grief that he now resolved to die too. by his orders alfsol's body was laid in state on a funeral pyre on his best ship. then, when the fire had been kindled, and the ship cut adrift from its moorings, sigurd ring sprang on board, and, stabbing himself, was burned with the fair maiden he loved. ragnar was but fifteen years old when he found himself called upon to reign; but just as he outshone all his companions in beauty and intelligence, so he could match the bravest heroes in courage and daring, and generally escaped uninjured from every battle, owing to a magic shirt which his mother had woven for him. "'i give thee the long shirt, nowhere sewn, woven with a loving mind, of hair----[obscure word]. wounds will not bleed nor will edges bite thee in the holy garment; it was consecrated to the gods.'" _ragnar lodbrok saga_. of course the young hero led out his men every summer upon some exciting viking expedition, to test their courage and supply them with plunder; for all the northern heroes proudly boasted that the sword was their god and gold was their goddess. [sidenote: lodgerda.] on one occasion ragnar landed in a remote part of norway, and having climbed one of the neighboring mountains, he looked down upon a fruitful valley inhabited by lodgerda, a warrior maiden who delighted in the chase and all athletic exercises, and ruled over all that part of the country. ragnar immediately resolved to visit this fair maiden; and, seeing her manifold attractions, he soon fell in love with her and married her. she joined him in all his active pursuits; but in spite of all his entreaties, she would not consent to leave her native land and accompany him home. after spending three years in norway with lodgerda, the young viking became restless and unhappy; and learning that his kingdom had been raided during his prolonged absence, he parted from his wife in hot haste. he pursued his enemies to whitaby and to lym-fiord, winning a signal victory over them in both places, and then reentered his capital of hledra in triumph, amid the acclamations of his joyful people. he had not been resting long upon his newly won laurels when a northern seer came to his court, and showed him in a magic mirror the image of thora, the beautiful daughter of jarl herrand in east gothland. ragnar, who evidently considered himself freed from all matrimonial bonds by his wife's refusal to accompany him home, eagerly questioned the seer concerning the radiant vision. this man then revealed to him that thora, having at her father's request carefully brought up a dragon from an egg hatched by a swan, had at last seen it assume such colossal proportions that it coiled itself all around the house where she dwelt. here it watched over her with jealous care, allowing none to approach except the servant who brought the princess her meals and who provided an ox daily for the monster's sustenance. jarl herrand had offered thora's hand in marriage, and immense sums of gold, to any hero brave enough to slay this dragon; but none dared venture within reach of its powerful jaws, whence came fire, venom, and noxious vapors. ragnar, who as usual thirsted for adventure, immediately made up his mind to go and fight this dragon; and, after donning a peculiar leather and woolen garment, all smeared over with pitch, he attacked and successfully slew the monster. "'nor long before in arms i reached the gothic shore, to work the loathly serpent's death. i slew the reptile of the heath.'" _death song of regner lodbrock_ (herbert's tr.). [sidenote: origin of name lodbrok.] in commemoration of this victory, ragnar ever after bore also the name of lodbrok (leather hose), although he laid aside this garment as soon as possible, and appeared in royal garb, to receive his prize, the beautiful maiden thora, whom he had delivered, and whom he now took to be his wife. "'my prize was thora; from that fight, 'mongst warriors am i lodbrock hight. i pierced the monster's scaly side with steel, the soldier's wealth and pride.'" _death song of regner lodbrock_ (herbert's tr.). thora gladly accompanied ragnar back to hledra, lived happily with him for several years, and bore him two sturdy sons, agnar and erik, who soon gave proof of uncommon courage. such was ragnar's devotion to his new wife that he even forbore to take part in the usual viking expeditions, to linger by her side. all his love could not long avail to keep her with him, however, for she soon sickened and died, leaving him an inconsolable widower. to divert him from his great sorrow, his subjects finally proposed that he should resume his former adventurous career, and prevailed upon him to launch his dragon ship once more and to set sail for foreign shores. some time during the cruise their bread supply failed, and ragnar steered his vessel into the port of spangarhede, where he bade his men carry their flour ashore and ask the people in a hut which he descried there to help them knead and bake their bread. the sailors obeyed; but when they entered the lowly hut and saw the filthy old woman who appeared to be its sole occupant, they hesitated to bespeak her aid. while they were deliberating what they should do, a beautiful girl, poorly clad, but immaculately clean, entered the hut; and the old woman, addressing her as krake (crow), bade her see what the strangers wanted. they told her, and admiringly watched her as she deftly fashioned the dough into loaves and slipped them into the hot oven. she bade the sailors watch them closely, lest they should burn; but these men forgot all about their loaves to gaze upon her as she flitted about the house, and the result was that their bread was badly burned. when they returned to the vessel, ragnar lodbrok reproved them severely for their carelessness, until the men, to justify themselves, began describing the maiden krake in such glowing terms that the chief finally expressed a desire to see her. with the view of testing her wit and intelligence, as well as her beauty, ragnar sent a message bidding her appear before him neither naked nor clad, neither alone nor unaccompanied, neither fasting nor yet having partaken of any food. this singular message was punctually delivered, and krake, who was as clever as beautiful, soon presented herself, with a fish net wound several times around her graceful form, her sheep dog beside her, and the odor of the leek she had bitten into still hovering over her ruby lips. ragnar, charmed by her ingenuity no less than by her extreme beauty, then and there proposed to marry her. but krake, who was not to be so lightly won, declared that he must first prove the depth of his affection by remaining constant to her for one whole year, at the end of which time she would marry him if he still cared to claim her hand. [sidenote: marriage of ragnar and krake.] the year passed by; ragnar returned to renew his suit, and krake, satisfied that she had inspired no momentary passion, forsook the aged couple and accompanied the great viking to hledra, where she became queen of denmark. she bore ragnar four sons--ivar, björn, hvitserk, and rogenwald,--who from earliest infancy longed to emulate the prowess of their father, ragnar, and of their step-brothers, erik and agnar, who even in their youth were already great vikings. the danes, however, had never fully approved of ragnar's last marriage, and murmured frequently because they were obliged to obey a lowborn queen, and one who bore the vulgar name of krake. little by little these murmurs grew louder, and finally they came to ragnar's ears while he was visiting eystein, king of svithiod (sweden). craftily his courtiers went to work, and finally prevailed upon him to sue for the princess's hand. he did so, and left sweden promising to divorce krake when he reached home, and to return as soon as possible to claim his bride. as ragnar entered the palace at hledra, krake came, as usual, to meet him. his conscience smote him, and he answered all her tender inquiries so roughly that she suddenly turned and asked him why he had made arrangements to divorce her and take a new wife. surprised at her knowledge, for he fancied the matter still a secret, ragnar lodbrok asked who had told her. thereupon krake explained that, feeling anxious about him, she had sent her pet magpies after him, and that the birds had come home and revealed all. [sidenote: aslaug.] this answer, which perhaps gave rise to the common expression, "a little bird told me," greatly astonished ragnar. he was about to try to excuse himself when krake, drawing herself up proudly, declared that while she was perfectly ready to depart, it was but just that he should now learn that her extraction was far less humble than he thought. she then proceeded to tell him that her real name was aslaug, and that she was the daughter of sigurd fafnisbane (the slayer of fafnir) and the beautiful valkyr brunhild. her grandfather, or her foster father, heimir, to protect her from the foes who would fain have taken her life, had hidden her in his hollow harp when she was but a babe. he had tenderly cared for her until he was treacherously murdered by peasants, who had found her in the hollow harp instead of the treasure they sought there. "let be--as ancient stories tell-- full knowledge upon ragnar fell in lapse of time, that this was she begot in the felicity swift-fleeting of the wondrous twain, who afterwards through change and pain must live apart to meet in death." william morris, _the fostering of aslaug_. in proof of her assertion, aslaug then produced a ring and a letter which had belonged to her illustrious mother, and foretold that her next child, a son, would bear the image of a dragon in his right eye, as a sign that he was a grandson of the dragon slayer, whose memory was honored by all. convinced of the truth of these statements, ragnar no longer showed any desire to repudiate his wife; but, on the contrary, he besought her to remain with him, and bade his subjects call her aslaug. [sidenote: sigurd the snake-eyed.] shortly after this reconciliation the queen gave birth to a fifth son, who, as she had predicted, came into the world with a peculiar birthmark, to which he owed his name--sigurd the snake-eyed. as it was customary for kings to intrust their sons to some noted warrior to foster, this child was given to the celebrated norman pirate, hastings, who, as soon as his charge had attained a suitable age, taught him the art of viking warfare, and took him, with his four elder brothers, to raid the coasts of all the southern countries. ivar, the eldest of ragnar and aslaug's sons, although crippled from birth, and unable to walk a step, was always ready to join in the fray, into the midst of which he was borne on a shield. from this point of vantage he shot arrow after arrow, with fatal accuracy of aim. as he had employed much of his leisure time in learning runes[ ] and all kinds of magic arts, he was often of great assistance to his brothers, who generally chose him leader of their expeditions. [footnote : see guerber's myths of northern lands, p. .] while ragnar's five sons were engaged in fighting the english at whitaby to punish them for plundering and setting fire to some danish ships, rogenwald fell to rise no more. [sidenote: the enchanted cow.] eystein, the swedish king, now assembled a large army and declared war against the danes, because their monarch had failed to return at the appointed time and claim the bride for whom he had sued. ragnar would fain have gone forth to meet the enemy in person, but agnar and erik, his two eldest sons, craved permission to go in his stead. they met the swedish king, but in spite of their valor they soon succumbed to an attack made by an enchanted cow. "'we smote with swords; at dawn of day hundred spearmen gasping lay, bent beneath the arrowy strife. egill reft my son of life; too soon my agnar's youth was spent, the scabbard thorn his bosom rent.'" _death song of regner lodbrock_ (herbert's tr.). ragnar was about to sally forth to avenge them, when hastings and the other sons returned. then aslaug prevailed upon her husband to linger by her side and delegate the duty of revenge to his sons. in this battle ivar made use of his magic to slay eystein's cow, which could make more havoc than an army of warriors. his brothers, having slain eystein and raided the country, then sailed off to renew their depredations elsewhere. this band of vikings visited the coasts of england, ireland, france, italy, greece, and the greek isles, plundering, murdering, and burning wherever they went. assisted by hastings, the brothers took wiflisburg (probably the roman aventicum), and even besieged luna in etruria. [illustration: strategy of hastings--keller.] as this city was too strongly fortified and too well garrisoned to yield to an assault, the normans (as all the northern pirates were indiscriminately called in the south) resolved to secure it by stratagem. they therefore pretended that hastings, their leader, was desperately ill, and induced a bishop to come out of the town to baptize him, so that he might die in the christian faith. three days later they again sent a herald to say that hastings had died, and that his last wish had been to be buried in a christian church. they therefore asked permission to enter the city unarmed, and bear their leader to his last resting place, promising not only to receive baptism, but also to endow with great wealth the church where hastings was buried. [sidenote: hastings's stratagem.] the inhabitants of luna, won by these specious promises, immediately opened their gates, and the funeral procession filed solemnly into the city. but, in the midst of the mass, the coffin lid flew open, and hastings sprang out, sword in hand, and killed the officiating bishop and priests. this example was followed by his soldiers, who produced the weapons they had concealed upon their persons, and slew all the inhabitants of the town. these lawless invaders were about to proceed to romaburg (rome), and sack that city also, but were deterred by a pilgrim whom they met. he told them that the city was so far away that he had worn out two pairs of iron-soled shoes in coming from thence. the normans, believing this tale, which was only a stratagem devised by the quick-witted pilgrim, spared the eternal city, and, reembarking in their vessels, sailed home. ragnar lodbrok, in the mean while, had not been inactive, but had continued his adventurous career, winning numerous battles, and bringing home much plunder to enrich his kingdom and subjects. "'i have fought battles fifty and one which were famous; i have wounded many men.'" _ragnar's sons' saga_. the hero's last expedition was against ella, king of northumberland. from the very outset the gods seemed to have decided that ragnar should not prove as successful as usual. the poets tell us that they even sent the valkyrs (battle maidens of northern mythology) to warn him of his coming defeat, and to tell him of the bliss awaiting him in valhalla. "'regner! tell thy fair-hair'd bride she must slumber at thy side! tell the brother of thy breast even for him thy grave hath rest! tell the raven steed which bore thee when the wild wolf fled before thee, he too with his lord must fall,-- there is room in odin's hall!'" mrs. hemans, _valkyriur song_. [sidenote: death of ragnar lodbrok.] in spite of this warning, ragnar went on. owing to the magic shirt he wore, he stood unharmed in the midst of the slain long after all his brave followers had perished; and it was only after a whole day's fighting that the enemy finally succeeded in making him a prisoner. then the followers of ella vainly besought ragnar to speak and tell his name. as he remained obstinately silent they finally flung him into a den of snakes, where the reptiles crawled all over him, vainly trying to pierce the magic shirt with their venomous fangs. ella perceived at last that it was this garment which preserved his captive from death, and had it forcibly removed. ragnar was then thrust back amid the writhing, hissing snakes, which bit him many times. now that death was near, the hero's tongue was loosened, not to give vent to weak complaints, but to chant a triumphant death song, in which he recounted his manifold battles, and foretold that his brave sons would avenge his cruel death. "'grim stings the adder's forked dart; the vipers nestle in my heart. but soon, i wot, shall vider's wand, fixed in ella's bosom stand. my youthful sons with rage will swell, listening how their father fell; those gallant boys in peace unbroken will never rest, till i be wroken [avenged].'" _death song of regner lodbrock_ (herbert's tr.). this heroic strain has been immortalized by ancient scalds and modern poets. they have all felt the same admiration for the dauntless old viking, who, even amid the pangs of death, gloried in his past achievements, and looked ardently forward to his sojourn in valhalla. there, he fancied, he would still be able to indulge in warfare, his favorite pastime, and would lead the einheriar (spirits of dead warriors) to their daily battles. "'cease, my strain! i hear a voice from realms where martial souls rejoice; i hear the maids of slaughter call, who bid me hence to odin's hall: high seated in their blest abodes i soon shall quaff the drink of gods. the hours of life have glided by; i fall, but smiling shall i die.'" _death song of regner lodbrock_ (herbert's tr.). [sidenote: founding of london.] ragnar lodbrok's sons had reached home, and were peacefully occupied in playing chess, when a messenger came to announce their father's sad end. in their impatience to avenge him they started out without waiting to collect a large force, and in spite of many inauspicious omens. ella, who expected them, met them with a great host, composed not only of all his own subjects but also of many allies, among whom was king alfred. in spite of their valor the normans were completely defeated by the superior forces of the enemy, and only a few of them survived. ivar and his remaining followers consented to surrender at last, provided that ella would atone for their losses by giving them as much land as an oxhide would inclose. this seemingly trifling request was granted without demur, nor could the king retract his promise when he saw that the oxhide, cut into tiny strips, inclosed a vast space of land, upon which the normans now proceeded to construct an almost impregnable fortress, called lunduna burg (london). here ivar took up his permanent abode, while his brothers returned to hledra. little by little he alienated the affections of ella's subjects, and won them over to him by rich gifts and artful flattery. when sure of their allegiance, he incited them to revolt against the king; and as he had solemnly sworn never to bear arms against ella, he kept the letter of his promise by sending for his brothers to act as their leaders. [sidenote: death of ella.] as a result of this revolution ella was made prisoner. then the fierce vikings stretched him out upon one of those rude stone altars which can still be seen in england, and ruthlessly avenged their father's cruel death by cutting the bloody eagle upon him.[ ] after ella's death, ivar became even more powerful than before, while his younger brothers continued their viking expeditions, took an active part in all the piratical incursions of the time, and even, we are told, besieged paris in the reign of louis the fat. [footnote : see guerber's myths of northern lands, p. .] other danish and scandinavian vikings were equally venturesome and successful, and many eventually settled in the lands which they had conquered. among these was the famous rollo (rolf ganger), who, too gigantic in stature to ride horseback, always went on foot. he settled with his followers in a fertile province in northern france, which owes to them its name of normandy. the rude independence of the northmen is well illustrated by their behavior when called to court to do homage for this new fief. rollo was directed to place both his hands between those of the king, and take his vow of allegiance; so he submitted with indifferent grace. but when he was told that he must conclude the ceremony by kissing the monarch's foot, he obstinately refused to do so. a proxy was finally suggested, and rollo, calling one of his berserkers, bade him take his place. the stalwart giant strode forward, but instead of kneeling, he grasped the king's foot and raised it to his lips. as the king did not expect such a jerk, he lost his balance and fell heavily backward. all the frenchmen present were, of course, scandalized; but the barbarian refused to make any apology, and strode haughtily out of the place, vowing he would never come to court again. all the northern pirates were, as we have seen, called normans. they did not all settle in the north, however, for many of them found their way into italy, and even to constantinople. there they formed the celebrated varangian guard, and faithfully watched over the safety of the emperor. it was probably one of these soldiers who traced the runes upon the stone lion which was subsequently transferred to venice, where it now adorns the piazza of st. mark's. "rose the norseman chief hardrada, like a lion from his lair; his the fearless soul to conquer, his the willing soul to dare. gathered skald and wild varingar, where the raven banner shone, and the dread steeds of the ocean, left the northland's frozen zone." vail, _marri's vision_. chapter xvii. the cid. [sidenote: ballads of the cid.] the ballads of the cid, which number about two hundred, and some of which are of undoubted antiquity, were not committed to writing until the twelfth century, when a poem of about three thousand lines was composed. this poem, descriptive of a national hero's exploits, was probably written about half a century after his death. the earliest manuscript of it now extant bears the date either or . the cid was a real personage, named rodrigo diaz, or ruy diaz. he was born in burgos, in the eleventh century, and won the name of "cid" (conqueror) by defeating five moorish kings, when spain had been in the hands of the arabs for more than three centuries. "mighty victor, never vanquish'd, bulwark of our native land, shield of spain, her boast and glory, knight of the far-dreaded brand, venging scourge of moors and traitors, mighty thunderbolt of war, mirror bright of chivalry, ruy, my cid campeador!" _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). rodrigo was still a young and untried warrior when his aged father, diego laynez, was grossly and publicly insulted by don gomez, who gave him a blow in the face. diego was far too feeble to seek the usual redress, arms in hand; but the insult rankled deep in his heart, preventing him from either sleeping or eating, and imbittering every moment of his life. "sleep was banish'd from his eyelids; not a mouthful could he taste; there he sat with downcast visage,-- direly had he been disgrac'd. "never stirr'd he from his chamber; with no friends would he converse, lest the breath of his dishonor should pollute them with its curse." _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). [sidenote: don gomez slain by rodrigo.] at last, however, diego confessed his shame to his son rodrigo, who impetuously vowed to avenge him. armed with his father's cross-hilted sword, and encouraged by his solemn blessing, rodrigo marched into the hall of don gomez, and challenged him to fight. in spite of his youth, rodrigo conducted himself so bravely in this his first encounter that he slew his opponent, and by shedding his blood washed out the stain upon his father's honor, according to the chivalric creed of the time. then, to convince diego that he had been duly avenged, the young hero cut off the head of don gomez, and triumphantly laid it before him. "'ne'er again thy foe can harm thee; all his pride is now laid low; vain his hand is now to smite thee, and this tongue is silent now.'" _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). [sidenote: defeat of the moors.] happy once more, old diego again left home, and went to king ferdinand's court, where he bade rodrigo do homage to the king. the proud youth obeyed this command with indifferent grace, and his bearing was so defiant that the frightened monarch banished him from his presence. rodrigo therefore departed with three hundred kindred spirits. he soon encountered the moors, who were invading castile, defeated them in battle, took five of their kings prisoners, and released them only after they had promised to pay tribute and to refrain from further warfare. they were so grateful for their liberty that they pledged themselves to do his will, and departed, calling him "cid," the name by which he was thenceforth known. as rodrigo had delivered the land from a great danger, king ferdinand now restored him to favor and gave him an honorable place among his courtiers, who, however, were all somewhat inclined to be jealous of the fame the young man had won. shortly after his triumphant return, doña ximena, daughter of don gomez, also appeared in burgos, and, falling at the king's feet, demanded justice. then, seeing the cid among the courtiers, she vehemently denounced him for having slain her father, and bade him take her life also, as she had no wish to survive a parent whom she adored. "'thou hast slain the best and bravest that e'er set a lance in rest; of our holy faith the bulwark,-- terror of each paynim breast. "'traitorous murderer, slay me also! though a woman, slaughter me! spare not--i'm ximena gomez, thine eternal enemy! "'here's my throat--smite, i beseech thee! smite, and fatal be thy blow! death is all i ask, thou caitiff,-- grant this boon unto thy foe.'" _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). as this denunciation and appeal remained without effect (for the king had been too well served by the cid to listen to any accusation against him), the distressed damsel departed, only to return to court three times upon the same fruitless errand. during this time the valor and services of the cid had been so frequently discussed in her presence that on her fifth visit to ferdinand she consented to forego all further thoughts of vengeance, if the king would but order the young hero to marry her instead. "'i am daughter of don gomez, count of gormaz was he hight, him rodrigo by his valor did o'erthrow in mortal fight. "'king, i come to crave a favor-- this the boon for which i pray, that thou give me this rodrigo for my wedded lord this day.'" _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). [sidenote: marriage of the cid.] the king, who had suspected for some time past that the cid had fallen in love with his fair foe, immediately sent for him. rodrigo entered the city with his suite of three hundred men, proposed marriage to ximena, and was accepted on the spot. his men then proceeded to array him richly for his wedding, and bound on him his famous sword tizona, which he had won from the moors. the marriage was celebrated with much pomp and rejoicing, the king giving rodrigo the cities of valduerna, soldañia, belforado, and san pedro de cardeña as a marriage portion. when the marriage ceremony was finished, rodrigo, wishing to show his wife all honor, declared that he would not rest until he had won five battles, and would only then really consider himself entitled, to claim her love. "'a man i slew--a man i give thee-- here i stand thy will to bide! thou, in place of a dead father, hast a husband at thy side.'" _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). [sidenote: the cid's piety.] before beginning this war, however, the cid remembered a vow he had made; and, accompanied by twenty brave young hidalgos, he set out for a pious pilgrimage to santiago de compostela, the shrine of the patron saint of spain. on his way thither he frequently distributed alms, paused to recite a prayer at every church and wayside shrine, and, meeting a leper, ate, drank, and even slept with him in a village inn. when rodrigo awoke in the middle of the night, he found his bedfellow gone, but was favored by a vision of st. lazarus, who praised his charity, and promised him great temporal prosperity and eternal life. "'life shall bring thee no dishonor-- thou shalt ever conqueror be; death shall find thee still victorious, for god's blessing rests on thee.'" _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). when his pilgrimage was ended, rodrigo further showed his piety by setting aside a large sum of money for the establishment of a leper house, which, in honor of the saint who visited him, was called "st. lazarus." he then hastened off to calahorra, a frontier town of castile and aragon, which was a bone of contention between two monarchs. just before the cid's arrival, don ramiro of aragon had arranged with ferdinand of castile that their quarrel should be decided by a duel between two knights. don ramiro therefore selected as his champion martin gonzalez, while ferdinand intrusted his cause to the cid. the duel took place; and when the two champions found themselves face to face, martin gonzalez began to taunt rodrigo, telling him that he would never again be able to mount his favorite steed babieça, or see his wife, as he was doomed to die. "'sore, rodrigo, must thou tremble now to meet me in the fight, since thy head will soon be sever'd for a trophy of my might. "'never more to thine own castle wilt thou turn babieça's rein; never will thy lov'd ximena see thee at her side again.'" _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). this boasting did not in the least dismay the cid, who fought so bravely that he defeated martin gonzalez, and won such plaudits that the jealousy of the castilian knights was further excited. in their envy they even plotted with the moors to slay rodrigo by treachery. this plan did not succeed, however, because the moorish kings whom he had captured and released gave him a timely warning of the threatening danger. the king, angry at this treachery, banished the jealous courtiers, and, aided by rodrigo, defeated the hostile moors in estremadura. there the christian army besieged coimbra in vain for seven whole months, and were about to give up in despair of securing the city, when st. james appeared to a pilgrim, promising his help on the morrow. [sidenote: battle cry of the spaniards.] when the battle began, the christian knights were fired by the example of a radiant warrior, mounted on a snow-white steed, who led them into the thickest of the fray and helped them win a signal victory. this knight, whom no one recognized as one of their own warriors, was immediately hailed as st. james, and it was his name which the spaniards then and there adopted as their favorite battle cry. the city of coimbra having been taken, don rodrigo was duly knighted by the king; while the queen and princesses vied with one another in helping him don the different pieces of his armor, for they too were anxious to show how highly they valued his services. after a few more victories over his country's enemies, the triumphant cid returned to zamora, where ximena, his wife, was waiting for him, and where the five moorish kings sent not only the promised tribute, but rich gifts to their generous conqueror. although the cid rejoiced in these tokens, he gave all the tribute and the main part of the spoil to ferdinand, his liege lord, for he considered the glory of success a sufficient reward for himself. while the cid was thus resting upon his laurels, a great council had been held at florence, where the emperor (henry iii.) of germany complained to the pope that king ferdinand had not done him homage for his crown, and that he refused to acknowledge his superiority. the pope immediately sent a message to king ferdinand asking for homage and tribute, and threatening a crusade in case of disobedience. this unwelcome message greatly displeased the spanish ruler, and roused the indignation of the cid, who declared that his king was the vassal of no monarch, and offered to fight any one who dared maintain a contrary opinion. "'never yet have we done homage-- shall we to a stranger bow? great the honor god hath given us-- shall we lose that honor now? "'send then to the holy father, proudly thus to him reply-- thou, the king, and i, rodrigo, him and all his power defy.'" _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). this challenge was sent to the pope, who, not averse to having the question settled by the judgment of god, bade the emperor send a champion to meet rodrigo. this imperial champion was of course defeated, and all king ferdinand's enemies were so grievously routed by the ever-victorious cid that no further demands of homage or tribute were ever made. old age had now come on, and king ferdinand, after receiving divine warning of his speedy demise, died. he left castile to his eldest son, don sancho, leon to don alfonso, galicia to don garcia, and gave his daughters, doña urraca and doña elvira, the wealthy cities of zamora and toro. of course this disposal of property did not prove satisfactory to all his heirs, and don sancho was especially displeased, because he coveted the whole realm. he, however, had the cid to serve him, and selected this doughty champion to accompany him on a visit to rome, knowing that he would brook no insult to his lord. these previsions were fully justified, for the cid, on noticing that a less exalted seat had been prepared for don sancho than for the king of france, became so violent that the pope excommunicated him. but when the seats had been made of even height, the cid, who was a good catholic, humbled himself before the pope, and the latter, knowing the hero's value as a bulwark against the heathen moors, immediately granted him full absolution. "'i absolve thee, don ruy diaz, i absolve thee cheerfully, if, while at my court, thou showest due respect and courtesy.'" _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). [sidenote: the cid campeador.] on his return to castile, don sancho found himself threatened by his namesake, the king of navarre, and by don ramiro of aragon. they both invaded castile, but were ignominously repulsed by the cid. as some of the moors had helped the invaders, the cid next proceeded to punish them, and gave up the siege of saragossa only when the inhabitants made terms with him. this campaign won for the cid the title of "campeador" (champion), which he well deserved, as he was always ready to do battle for his king. while don sancho and his invaluable ally were thus engaged, don garcia, king of galicia, who was also anxious to increase his kingdom, deprived his sister doña urraca of her city of zamora. in her distress the infanta came to don sancho and made her lament, thereby affording him the long-sought pretext to wage war against his brother, and rob him of his kingdom. this war, in which the cid reluctantly joined, threatened at one time to have serious consequences for sancho. he even once found himself a prisoner of garcia's army, shortly after garcia had been captured by his. the cid, occupied in another part of the field, no sooner heard of this occurrence than he hastened to the galician nobles to offer an exchange of prisoners; but, as they rejected his offer with contempt, he soon left them in anger. "'hie thee hence, rodrigo diaz, an thou love thy liberty; lest, with this thy king, we take thee into dire captivity.'" _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). the wrath which the cid campeador experienced at this discourteous treatment so increased his usual strength that he soon put the enemy to flight, recovered possession of his king, and not only made don garcia a prisoner, but also secured don alfonso who had joined in the revolt. don garcia was sent in chains to the castle of luna, where he eventually died, entreating that he might be buried, with his fetters, in the city of leon. [sidenote: alfonso at toledo.] as for don alfonso, doña urraca pleaded his cause so successfully that he was allowed to retire into a monastery, whence he soon effected his escape and joined the moors at toledo. there he became the companion and ally of alimaymon, learned all his secrets, and once, during a pretended nap, overheard the moor state that even toledo could be taken by the christians, provided they had the patience to begin a seven-years' siege, and to destroy all the harvests so as to reduce the people to starvation. the information thus accidentally obtained proved invaluable to alfonso, as will be seen, and enabled him subsequently to drive the moors out of the city toledo. in the mean while sancho, not satisfied with his triple kingdom, robbed doña elvira of toro, and began to besiege doña urraca in zamora, which he hoped to take also in spite of it almost impregnable position. "'see! where on yon cliff zamora lifteth up her haughty brow; walls of strength on high begird her, duero swift and deep below.'" _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). the king, utterly regardless of the cid's openly expressed opinion that it was unworthy of a knight to attempt to deprive a woman of her inheritance, now bade him carry a message to doña urraca, summoning her to surrender at once. the hero went reluctantly, but only to be bitterly reproached by urraca. she dismissed him after consulting her assembled people, who vowed to die ere they would surrender. "then did swear all her brave vassals in zamora's walls to die, ere unto the king they'd yield it, and disgrace their chivalry." _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). [sidenote: siege of zamora.] this message so enraged don sancho that he banished the cid. the latter departed for toledo, whence he was soon recalled, however, for his monarch could do nothing without him. thus restored to favor, the cid began the siege of zamora, which lasted so long that the inhabitants began to suffer all the pangs of famine. at last a zamoran by the name of vellido (bellido) dolfos came out of the town in secret, and, under pretense of betraying the city into don sancho's hands, obtained a private interview with him. dolfos availed himself of this opportunity to murder the king, and rushed back to the city before the crime was discovered. he entered the gates just in time to escape from the cid, who had mounted hastily, without spurs, and thus could not urge babieça on to his utmost speed and overtake the murderer. "'cursed be the wretch! and cursed he who mounteth without spur! had i arm'd my heels with rowels, i had slain the treacherous cur.'" _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). the grief in the camp at the violent death of the king was very great. don diego ordoñez immediately sent a challenge to don arìas gonzalo, who, while accepting the combat for his son, swore that none of the zamorans knew of the dastardly deed, which dolfos alone had planned. "'fire consume us, count gonzalo, if in this we guilty be! none of us within zamora of this deed had privity. "'dolfos only is the traitor; none but he the king did slay. thou canst safely go to battle, god will be thy shield and stay.'" _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). this oath was confirmed by the outcome of the duel, and none of the besiegers ever again ventured to doubt the honor of the zamorans. [sidenote: alfonso king.] as don sancho had left no children to inherit his kingdom, it came by right of inheritance to don alfonso, who was still at toledo, a nominal guest, but in reality a prisoner. doña urraca, who was deeply attached to her brother, now managed to convey to him secret information of don sancho's death, and don alfonso cleverly effected his escape, turning his pursuers off his track by reversing his horse's shoes. when he arrived at zamora, all were ready to do him homage except the cid, who proudly held aloof until don alfonso had publicly sworn that he had not bribed dolfos to commit the dastardly crime which had called him to the throne. "'wherefore, if thou be but guiltless, straight i pray of thee to swear,-- thou and twelve of these thy liegemen, who with thee in exile were,-- that in thy late brother's death thou hadst neither part nor share that none of ye to his murder privy or consenting were.'" _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). the king, angry at being thus called upon to answer for his conduct to a mere subject, viewed the cid with great dislike, and only awaited a suitable occasion to take his revenge. during a war with the moors he made use of a trifling pretext to banish him, allowing him only nine days to prepare for departure. the cid accepted this cruel decree with dignity, hoping that the time would never come when the king would regret his absence, and his country need his right arm. "'i obey, o king alfonso, guilty though in naught i be, for it doth behoove a vassal to obey his lord's decree; prompter far am i to serve thee than thou art to guerdon me. "'i do pray our holy lady her protection to afford, that thou never mayst in battle need the cid's right arm and sword.'" _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). amid the weeping people of burgos, who dared not offer him help and shelter lest they should incur the king's wrath, lose all their property, and even forfeit their eyesight, the cid slowly rode away, and camped without the city to make his final arrangements. here a devoted follower supplied him with the necessary food, remarking that he cared "not a fig" for alfonso's prohibitions, which is probably the first written record of the use of this now popular expression. [sidenote: the cid in exile.] to obtain the necessary money the cid pledged two locked coffers full of sand to the jews. they, thinking that the boxes contained vast treasures, or relying upon the cid's promise to release them for a stipulated sum, advanced him six hundred marks of gold. the cid then took leave of his beloved wife ximena, and of his two infant daughters, whom he intrusted to the care of a worthy ecclesiastic, and, followed by three hundred men, he rode slowly away from his native land, vowing that he would yet return, covered with glory, and bringing great spoil. "'comrades, should it please high heaven that we see castile once more,-- though we now go forth as outcasts, sad, dishonor'd, homeless, poor,-- we'll return with glory laden and the spellings of the moor.'" _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). such success attended the little band of exiles that within the next three weeks they won two strongholds from the moors, and much spoil, among which was the sword colada, which was second only to tizona. from the spoil the cid selected a truly regal present, which he sent to alfonso, who in return granted a general pardon to the cid's followers, and published an edict allowing all who wished to fight against the moors to join him. a few more victories and another present so entirely dispelled alfonso's displeasure that he restored the cid to favor, and, moreover, promised that thereafter thirty days should be allowed to every exile to prepare for his departure. when alimaymon, king of toledo, died, leaving toledo in the hands of his grandson yahia, who was generally disliked, alfonso thought the time propitious for carrying out his long-cherished scheme of taking the city. thanks to the valor of the cid and the destruction of all the crops, the siege of the city progressed favorably, and it finally fell into the hands of the christian king. a second misunderstanding, occasioned principally by the jealous courtiers, caused alfonso to insult the cid, who in anger left the army and made a sudden raid in castile. during his absence, the moors resumed courage, and became masters of valencia. hearing of this disaster, the cid promptly returned, recaptured the city, and, establishing his headquarters there, asked alfonso to send him his wife and daughters. at the same time he sent more than the promised sum of money to the jews to redeem the chests which, as they now first learned, were filled with nothing but sand. "'say, albeit within the coffers naught but sand they can espy, that the pure gold of my truth deep beneath that sand doth lie."' _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). [sidenote: the counts of carrion.] as the cid was now master of valencia and of untold wealth, his daughters were soon sought in marriage by many suitors. among them were the counts of carrion, whose proposals were warmly encouraged by alfonso. to please his royal master, the cid consented to an alliance with them, and the marriage of both his daughters was celebrated with much pomp. in the "chronicle of the cid," compiled from all the ancient ballads, these festivities are recorded thus: "who can tell the great nobleness which the cid displayed at that wedding! the feasts and the bullfights, and the throwing at the target, and the throwing canes, and how many joculars were there, and all the sports which are proper at such weddings!" pleased with their sumptuous entertainment, the infantes of carrion lingered at valencia two years, during which time the cid had ample opportunity to convince himself that they were not the brave and upright husbands he would fain have secured for his daughters. in fact, all soon became aware of the young men's cowardice, for when a lion broke loose from the cid's private menagerie and entered the hall where he was sleeping, while his guests were playing chess, the princes fled, one falling into an empty vat in his haste, and the other taking refuge behind the cid's couch. awakened by the noise, the cid seized his sword, twisted his cloak around his arm, and, grasping the lion by its mane, thrust it back into its cage, and calmly returned to his place. "till the good cid awoke; he rose without alarm; he went to meet the lion, with his mantle on his arm. the lion was abash'd the noble cid to meet, he bow'd his mane to earth, his muzzle at his feet. the cid by the neck and mane drew him to his den, he thrust him in at the hatch, and came to the hall again; he found his knights, his vassals, and all his valiant men. he ask'd for his sons-in-law, they were neither of them there." _chronicles of the cid_ (southey's tr.). this cowardly conduct of the infantes of carrion could not fail to call forth some gibes from the cid's followers. the young men, however, concealed their anger, biding their time to take their revenge. during the siege of valencia, which took place shortly after this adventure, the infantes did not manage to show much courage either; and it was only through the kindness of felez muñoz, a nephew of the cid, that one of them could exhibit a war horse which he falsely claimed to have taken from the enemy. thanks to the valor of the cid, the moors were driven away from valencia with great loss, and peace was restored. the infantes of carrion then asked permission to return home with their brides, and the spoil and presents the cid had given them, among which were the swords colada and tizona. the cid escorted them part way on their journey, bade farewell to his daughters with much sorrow, and returned alone to valencia, which appeared deserted without the presence of the children he loved. "the cid he parted from his daughters, naught could he his grief disguise; as he clasped them to his bosom, tears did stream from out his eyes." _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). [sidenote: cruelty of infantes of carrion.] after journeying on for some time with their brides and felez muñoz, who was acting as escort, the infantes of carrion camped near the douro. early the next day they sent all their suite ahead, and, being left alone with their wives, stripped them of their garments, lashed them with thorns, kicked them with their spurs, and finally left them for dead on the blood-stained ground, and rode on to join their escort. suspecting foul play, and fearing the worst, felez muñoz cleverly managed to separate himself from the party, and, riding swiftly back to the banks of the douro, found his unhappy cousins in a sorry plight. he tenderly cared for their wounds, placed them upon his horse, and took them to the house of a poor man, whose wife and daughters undertook to nurse them, while felez muñoz hastened back to valencia to tell the cid what had occurred. the cid campeador then swore that he would be avenged; and as alfonso was responsible for the marriage, he applied to him for redress. "'lo! my daughters have been outrag'd! for thine own, thy kingdom's sake, look, alfonso, to mine honor! vengeance thou or i must take.'" _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). the king, who had by this time learned to value the cid's services, was very angry when he heard how the infantes of carrion had insulted their wives, and immediately summoned them to appear before the cortes, the spanish assembly, at toledo, and justify themselves, if it were possible. the cid was also summoned to the same assembly, where he began by claiming the two precious blades tizona and colada, and the large dowry he had given with his daughters. then he challenged the young cowards to fight. when questioned, they tried to excuse themselves by declaring that the cid's daughters, being of inferior birth, were not fit to mate with them. [sidenote: embassy from navarre.] the falseness of this excuse was shown, however, by an embassy from navarre, asking the hands of the cid's daughters for the infantes of that kingdom, who were far superior in rank to the infantes of carrion. the cid consented to this new alliance, and after a combat had been appointed between three champions of his selection and the infantes of carrion and their uncle, he prepared to return home. as proof of his loyalty, however, he offered to give to alfonso his favorite steed babieça, an offer which the king wisely refused, telling him that the best of warriors alone deserved that peerless war horse. "''tis the noble babieça that is fam'd for speed and force, among the christians nor the moors there is not such another one, my sovereign, lord, and sire, he is fit for you alone; give orders to your people, and take him for your own.' the king replied, 'it cannot be; cid, you shall keep your horse; he must not leave his master, nor change him for a worse; our kingdom has been honor'd by you and by your steed-- the man that would take him from you, evil may he speed. a courser such as he is fit for such a knight, to beat down moors in battle, and follow them in flight.'" _chronicles of the cid_ (southey's tr.). shortly after, in the presence of the king, the cid, and the assembled cortes, the appointed battle took place. the infantes of carrion and their uncle were defeated and banished, and the cid returned in triumph to valencia. here his daughters' second marriage took place, and here he received an embassy bringing him rich gifts from the sultan of persia, who had heard of his fame. five years later the moors returned, under the leadership of bucar, king of morocco, to besiege valencia. the cid was about to prepare to do battle against this overwhelming force when he was favored by a vision of st. peter. the saint predicted his death within thirty days, but assured him that, even though he were dead, he would still triumph over the enemy whom he had fought against for so many years. "'dear art thou to god, rodrigo, and this grace he granteth thee: when thy soul hath fled, thy body still shall cause the moors to flee; and, by aid of santiago, gain a glorious victory.'" _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). the pious and simple-hearted warrior immediately began to prepare for the other world. he appointed a successor, gave instructions that none should bewail his death lest the news should encourage the moors, and directed that his embalmed body should be set upon babieça, and that, with tizona in his hand, he should be led against the enemy on a certain day, when he promised a signal victory. [illustration: the cid's last victory.--rochegrosse.] "'saddle next my babieça, arm him well as for the fight; on his back then tie my body, in my well-known armor dight. "'in my right hand place tizona; lead me forth unto the war; bear my standard fast behind me, as it was my wont of yore.'" _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). [sidenote: the cid's last battle.] when these instructions had all been given, the hero died at the appointed time, and his successor and the brave ximena strove to carry out his every wish. a sortie was planned, and the cid, fastened upon his war horse, rode in the van. such was the terror which his mere presence inspired that the moors fled before him. most of them were slain, and bucar beat a hasty retreat, thinking that seventy thousand christians were about to fall upon him, led by the patron saint of spain. "seventy thousand christian warriors, all in snowy garments dight, led by one of giant stature, mounted on a charger white; "on his breast a cross of crimson, in his hand a sword of fire, with it hew'd he down the paynims, as they fled, with slaughter dire." _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). the christians, having routed the enemy, yet knowing, as the cid had told them, that they would never be able to hold valencia when he was gone, now marched on into castile, the dead hero still riding babieça in their midst. then ximena sent word to her daughters of their father's demise, and they came to meet him, but could scarcely believe that he was dead when they saw him so unchanged. by alfonso's order the cid's body was placed in the church of san pedro de cardeña, where for ten years it remained seated in a chair of state, and in plain view of all. such was the respect which the dead hero inspired that none dared lay a finger upon him, except a sacrilegious jew, who, remembering the cid's proud boast that no man had ever dared lay a hand upon his beard, once attempted to do so. before he could touch it, however, the hero's lifeless hand clasped the sword hilt and drew tizona a few inches out of its scabbard. "ere the beard his fingers touched, lo! the silent man of death grasp'd the hilt, and drew tizona full a span from out the sheath!" _ancient spanish ballads_ (lockhart's tr.). of course, in the face of such a miracle, the jew desisted, and the cid campeador was reverently laid in the grave only when his body began to show signs of decay. his steed babieça continued to be held in great honor, but no one was ever again allowed to bestride him. [sidenote: evacuation of valencia.] as for the moors, they rallied around valencia. after hovering near for several days, wondering at the strange silence, they entered the open gates of the city, which they had not dared to cross for fear of an ambuscade, and penetrated into the court of the palace. here they found a notice, left by the order of the cid, announcing his death and the complete evacuation of the city by the christian army. the cid's sword tizona became an heirloom in the family of the marquis of falies, and is said to bear the following inscriptions, one on either side of the blade: "i am tizona, made in era ," and "hail maria, full of grace." chapter xviii. general survey of romance literature. [sidenote: cycles of romance.] in the preceding chapters we have given an outline of the principal epics which formed the staple of romance literature in the middle ages. as has been seen, this style of composition was used to extol the merits and describe the great deeds of certain famous heroes, and by being gradually extended it was made to include the prowess of the friends and contemporaries of these more or less fabulous personages. all these writings, clustering thus about some great character, eventually formed the so-called "cycles of romance." there were current in those days not only classical romances, but stories of love, adventure, and chivalry, all bearing a marked resemblance to one another, and prevailing in all the european states during the four centuries when knighthood flourished everywhere. some of these tales, such as those of the holy grail, were intended, besides, to glorify the most celebrated orders of knighthood,--the templars and knights of st. john. other styles of imaginative writing were known at the same time also, yet the main feature of the literature of the age is first the metrical, and later the prose, romance, the direct outcome of the great national epics. we have outlined very briefly, as a work of this character requires, the principal features of the arthurian, carolingian, and teutonic cycles. we have also touched somewhat upon the anglo-danish and scandinavian contributions to our literature. of the extensive spanish cycle we have given only a short sketch of the romance, or rather the chronicle, of the cid, leaving out entirely the vast and deservedly popular cycles of amadis of gaul and of the palmerins. this omission has been intentional, however, because these romances have left but few traces in our literature. as they are seldom even alluded to, they are not of so great importance to the english student of letters as the franco-german, celto-briton, and scandinavian tales. the stories of amadis of gaul and of the palmerins are, moreover, very evident imitations of the principal romances of chivalry which we have already considered. they are formed of an intricate series of adventures and enchantments, are, if anything, more extravagant than the other mediaeval romances, and are further distinguished by a tinge of oriental mysticism and imagery, the result of the crusades. the italian cycle, which we have not treated separately because it relates principally to charlemagne and roland, is particularly noted for its felicity of expression and richness of description. like the spanish writers, the italians love to revel in magic, as is best seen in the greatest gems of that age, the poems of "orlando innamorato" and "orlando furioso," by boiardo and ariosto. mediaeval literature includes also a very large and so-called "unaffiliated cycle" of romances. this is composed of many stories, the precursors of the novel and "short story" of the present age. we are indebted to this cycle for several well-known works of fiction, such as the tale of patient griseldis, the gentle and meek-spirited heroine who has become the personification of long-suffering and charity. after the mediaeval writers had made much use of this tale, it was taken up in turn by boccaccio and chaucer, who have made it immortal. the norman tale of king robert of sicily, so beautifully rendered in verse by longfellow in his "tales of a wayside inn," also belongs to this cycle, and some authorities claim that it includes the famous animal epic "reynard the fox," of which we have given an outline. the story of reynard the fox is one of the most important mediaeval contributions to the literature of the world, and is the source from which many subsequent writers have drawn the themes for their fables. [sidenote: classical cycle.] a very large class of romances, common to all european nations during the middle ages, has also been purposely omitted from the foregoing pages. this is the so-called "classical cycle," or the romances based on the greek and latin epics, which were very popular during the age of chivalry. they occupy so prominent a place in mediaeval literature, however, that we must bespeak a few moments' attention to their subjects. in these classical romances the heroes of antiquity have lost many of their native characteristics, and are generally represented as knight-errants, and made to talk and act as such knights would. christianity and mythology are jumbled up together in a most peculiar way, and history, chronology, and geography are set at defiance and treated with the same scorn of probabilities. the classical romances forming this great general cycle are subdivided into several classes or cycles. the interest of the first is mainly centered upon the heroes of homer and hesiod. the best-known and most popular of these mediaeval works was the "roman de troie," relating the siege and downfall of troy. based upon post-classical greek and latin writings rather than upon the great homeric epic itself, the story, which had already undergone many changes to suit the ever-varying public taste, was further transformed by the anglo-norman trouvère, benoît de sainte-more, about . he composed a poem of thirty thousand lines, in which he related not only the siege and downfall of troy, but also the argonautic expedition, the wanderings of ulysses, the story of aeneas, and many other mythological tales. this poet, following the custom of the age, naïvely reproduced the manners, customs, and, in general, the beliefs of the twelfth century. there is plenty of local color in his work, only the color belongs to his own locality, and not to that of the heroes whose adventures he purports to relate. in his work the old classical heroes are transformed into typical mediaeval knights, and heroines such as helen and medea, for instance, are portrayed as damsels in distress. this prevalent custom of viewing the ancients solely from the mediaeval point of view gave rise not only to grotesque pen pictures, but also to a number of paintings, such as gozzoli's kidnapping of helen. in this composition, paris, in trunk hose, is carrying off the fair helen pickaback, notwithstanding the evident clamor raised by the assembled court ladies, who are attired in very full skirts and mediaeval headdresses. on account of these peculiarities, and because the customs, dress, festivities, weapons, manners, landscapes, etc., of the middle ages are so minutely described, these romances have, with much justice, been considered as really original works. [sidenote: the roman de troie.] the "roman de troie" was quite as popular in mediaeval europe as the "iliad" had been in hellenic countries during the palmy days of greece, and was translated into every dialect. there are still extant many versions of the romance in every european tongue, for it penetrated even into the frozen regions of scandinavia and iceland. it was therefore recited in every castle and town by the wandering minstrels, trouvères, troubadours, minnesingers, and scalds, who thus individually and collectively continued the work begun so many years before by the greek rhapsodists. thus for more than two thousand years the story which still delights us has been familiar among high and low, and has served to beguile the hours for old and young. this cycle further includes a revised and much-transformed edition of the adventures of aeneas and of the early history of rome. but although all these tales were first embodied in metrical romances, these soon gave way to prose versions of equally interminable length, which each relator varied and embellished according to his taste and skill. the extreme popularity of benoît de sainte-more's work induced many imitations, and the numerous _chansons de gestes_, constructed on the same general plan, soon became current everywhere. sundry episodes of these tales, having been particularly liked, were worked over, added to, and elaborated, until they assumed the proportions of romances in themselves. such was, for example, the case with the story of troilus and cressida, which was treated by countless mediaeval poets, and finally given the form in which we know it best, first by chaucer in his "canterbury tales," and lastly by shakespeare in his well-known play. [sidenote: alexandre le grant.] another great romance of the classical cycle is the one known as "alexandre le grant." first written in verse by lambert le cort, in a meter which is now exclusively known as alexandrine, because it was first used to set forth the charms and describe the deeds of this hero, it was recast by many poets, and finally turned into a prose romance also. the first poetical version was probably composed in the eleventh century, and is said to have been twenty-two thousand six hundred lines long. drawn from many sources,--for the greek and latin writers had been all more or less occupied with describing the career of the youthful conqueror and the marvels he discovered in the far east,--the mediaeval writers still further added to this heterogeneous material. the romance of "alexandre le grant," therefore, purports to relate the life and adventures of the king of macedon; but as lambert le cort and his numerous predecessors and successors were rather inclined to draw on imagination, the result is a very extravagant tale. in the romance, as we know it, alexander is described as a mediaeval rather than an ancient hero. after giving the early history of macedon, the poet tells of the birth of alexander,--which is ascribed to divine intervention,--and dwells eloquently upon the hero's youthful prowess. philip's death and the consequent reign of alexander next claim our attention. the conquest of the world is, in this romance, introduced by the siege and submission of rome, after which the young monarch starts upon his expedition into asia minor, and the conquest of persia. the war with porus and the fighting in india are dwelt upon at great length, as are the riches and magnificence of the east. alexander visits amazons and cannibals, views all the possible and impossible wonders, and in his fabulous history we find the first mention, in european literature, of the marvelous "fountain of youth," the object of ponce de leon's search in florida many years later. when, in the course of this lengthy romance, alexander has triumphantly reached the ends of the earth, he sighs for new worlds to conquer, and even aspires to the dominion of the realm of the air. to wish is to obtain. a magic glass cage, rapidly borne aloft by eight griffins, conveys the conqueror through the aërial kingdom, where all the birds in turn do homage to him, and where he is enabled to understand their language, thanks to the kind intervention of a magician. but alexander's ambition is still insatiable; and, earth and air having both submitted to his sway, and all the living creatures therein having recognized him as master and promised their allegiance, he next proposes to annex the empire of the sea. magic is again employed to gratify this wish, and alexander sinks to the bottom of the sea in a peculiarly fashioned diving bell. here all the finny tribe press around to do him homage; and after receiving their oaths of fealty, and viewing all the marvels of the deep, as conceived by the mediaeval writer's fancy, alexander returns to babylon. earth, air, and sea having all been subdued, the writer, unable to follow the course of alexander's conquests any further, now minutely describes a grand coronation scene at babylon, where, with the usual disregard for chronology which characterizes all the productions of this age, he makes the hero participate in a solemn mass! the story ends with a highly sensational description of the death of alexander by poisoning, and an elaborate enumeration of the pomps of his obsequies. [sidenote: rome la grant.] a third order of romances, also belonging to this cycle, includes a lengthy poem known as "rome la grant." here virgil appears as a common enchanter. with the exception of a few well-known names, all trace of antiquity is lost. the heroes are now exposed to hairbreadth escapes; wonderful adventures succeed one another without any pause; and there is a constant series of enchantments, such as the italian poets loved to revel in, as is shown in the works by boiardo and ariosto already mentioned. these tales, and those on the same theme which had preceded them, gave rise to a generally accepted theory of european colonization subsequent to the trojan war; and every man of note and royal family claimed to descend from the line of priam. [sidenote: story of brutus.] as the romans insisted that their city owed its existence to the descendants of aeneas, so the french kings dagobert and charles the bald claimed to belong to the illustrious trojan race. the same tradition appeared in england about the third century, and from gildas and nennius was adopted by geoffrey of monmouth. it is from this historian that wace drew the materials for the metrical tale of brutus (brute), the supposed founder of the british race and kingdom. this poem is twenty thousand lines long, and relates the adventures and life of brutus, the great-grandson of aeneas. at the time of brutus' birth his parents were frightened by an oracle predicting that he would be the cause of the death of both parents, and only after long wanderings would attain the highest pitch of glory. this prophecy was duly fulfilled. brutus' mother, a niece of lavinia, died at his birth. fifteen years later, while hunting, he accidentally slew his father; and, expelled from italy on account of this involuntary crime, he began his wanderings. in the course of time brutus went to greece, where he found the descendants of helenus, one of priam's sons, languishing in captivity. brutus headed the revolted trojans, and after helping them to defeat pandrasus, king of greece, obtained their freedom, and invited them to accompany him to some distant land, where they could found a new kingdom. led by brutus, who in the mean while had married the daughter of pandrasus, the trojans sailed away, and, landing on the deserted island of leogecia, visited the temple of diana, and questioned her statue, which gave the following oracle: "'brutus! there lies beyond the gallic bounds an island which the western sea surrounds, by giants once possessed; now few remain to bar thy entrance, or obstruct thy reign. to reach that happy shore thy sails employ; there fate decrees to raise a second troy, and found an empire in thy royal line, which time shall ne'er destroy, nor bounds confine.'" geoffrey of monmouth (giles's tr.). thus directed by miracle, brutus sailed on, meeting with many adventures, and landed twice on the coast of africa. the pillars of hercules once passed, the travelers beheld the sirens, and, landing once more, were joined by corineus, who proposed to accompany them. brutus then coasted along the shores of the kingdom of aquitaine and up the loire, where his men quarreled with the inhabitants. he found himself involved in a fierce conflict, in which, owing to his personal valor and to the marvelous strength of corineus, he came off victor in spite of the odds against him. in this battle brutus' nephew, turonus, fell, and was buried on the spot where the city of tours was subsequently built and named after the dead hero. after having subdued his foes, brutus embarked again and landed on an island called albion. here he forced the giants to make way for him, and in the encounters with them corineus again covered himself with glory. we are told that the first germ of the nursery tale of jack the giant killer is found in this poem, for corineus, having chosen corinea (cornwall) as his own province, defeated there the giant goëmagot, who was twelve cubits high and pulled up an oak as if it were but a weed. corineus, after a famous wrestling bout, flung this goëmagot into the sea, at a place long known as lam goëmagot, but now called plymouth. [sidenote: the founding of london.] brutus pursued his way, and finally came to the thames, on whose banks he founded new troy, a city whose name was changed in honor of lud, one of his descendants, to london. brutus called the newly won kingdom britain, and his eldest sons, locrine and camber, gave their names to the provinces of locria and cambria when they became joint rulers of their father's kingdom, while albanact, his third son, took possession of the northern part, which he called albania (scotland). albanact was not allowed to reign in peace, however, but was soon called upon to war against humber, king of the huns. the latter was defeated, and drowned in the stream which still bears his name. locrine's daughter, sabrina, also met with a watery death, and gave her name to the severn. [sidenote: king leir.] the posterity of brutus now underwent many other vicissitudes. there was fighting at home and abroad; and after attributing the founding of all the principal cities to some ruler of this line, the historian relates the story of king leir, the founder of leicester. as this monarch's life has been used by shakespeare for one of his dramas,--the tragedy of "king lear,"--and is familiar to all students of english literature, there is no need to outline geoffrey of monmouth's version of the tale. the chronicler then resumes the account of brutus' illustrious descendants, enumerating them all, and relating their adventures, till we come to the reign of cassivellaunus and the invasion of britain by the romans. shortly after, under the reign of cymbelinus, he mentions the birth of christ, and then resumes the thread of his fabulous history, and brings it down to the reign of uther pendragon, where it has been taken up in the arthurian cycle. this chronicle, which gave rise to many romances, was still considered reliable even in shakespeare's time, and many poets have drawn freely from it. the mediaeval poets long used it as a mental quarry, and it has been further utilized by some more recent poets, among whom we must count drayton, who makes frequent mention of these ancient names in his poem "polyolbion," and spenser, who immortalizes many of the old legends in his "faerie queene." there are, of course, many other mediaeval tales and romances; but our aim has been to enable the reader to gain some general idea of the principal examples, leaving him to pursue the study in its many branches if he wishes a more complete idea of the literature of the past and of the influence it has exerted and still exerts upon the writers of our own day. index to poetical quotations. ariosto, , . arnold, matthew, , , . beowulf, (translations by conybeare, keary, longfellow, metcalfe), , , , , , , , , , , , . buchanan, , . bulwer lytton, . burney, dr. (translation), . byron, . chanson de roland (translations by rabillon), , , , . conybeare (translations), , , , , , , , , , . cursor mundi, . death song of regner lodbrock (translations by herbert), , , . dippold, g. t., (translations, great epics of mediaeval germany, roberts bros., boston,), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . dragon of wantley, . drayton, , , , . ellis, , , , , . ettin langshanks, the, , . geoffrey of monmouth, . giles (translation), . goethe, , , , , , , , , , , , , . gottfried von strassburg, , , . gudrun, (translations by dippold, great epics of mediaeval germany, roberts bros., boston), , , , , , , , , , , . hartmann von aue, . head, sir edmund, (ticknor's spanish literature, messrs. harper bros., new york), . heldenbuch (translations by weber), , , , , , , , , . hemans, mrs., . herbert (translations), , , . hildebrand, song of, (translation by bayard taylor, studies in german literature, g.p. putnam's sons, new york), . ingemann, . jamieson (translations), , . jones, j.c., . keary (translation), . king arthur's death, . lady alda's dream (translation by head), . layamon, . legend of king arthur, . lettsom (translations), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . lockhart, (ancient spanish ballads, g.p. putnam's sons, new york), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . longfellow, (poets and poetry of europe, and poetical works, houghton, mifflin & co., boston), , , , , , , , , , . lord lovel, ballad of, . mcdowall (translation), . metcalfe (translations), , . morris, william, . nibelungenlied (translations by lettsom), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . niendorf, . rabillon (translations), , , , . ragnar lodbrok saga, (the viking age, by paul du chaillu, charles scribner's sons, new york), . ragnar's sons' saga, (the viking age, by paul du chaillu, charles scribner's sons, new york), . robert of gloucester, . rogers (translations), , , , , , , , , , , , , , . roland and ferragus, , , . rose (translation), . scott, sir walter, . sir lancelot du lake, . sir otuel, . sotheby (translations), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . southey, , , , . spalding (translations), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . spenser, . swinburne, , , . taylor, bayard, (studies in german literature, g.p. putnam's sons, new york,), , , , , . tegnér, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . tennyson, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . vail, . weber (translations), , , , , , , , , . wieland, , , , , , , , , , , , , , . wolfram von eschenbach, , , , , . glossary and index. aa'chen. see _aix-la-chapelle_. ab-ra-ca-dab'ra. malagigi's charm, . a'cre. ogier besieges, . adenet (ä-de-na') author of an epic on ogier, . ae'gir. northern god of the sea, . ae-ne'as. in mediaeval literature, ; adventures of, ; romans claim, . aes'che-re. seized by grendel's mother, ; beowulf offers to avenge, . af'ri-ca. brutus lands in, . ag'nar. son of ragnar and thora, ; a great viking, ; fights eystein, . ag'ra-vaine. doubts arthur's title to throne, . ai-go-lan'dus. revolts against charlemagne, . aix-la-cha-pelle'. founding of, ; ganelon executed at, ; renaud's body to be taken to, . a'lard. son of aymon, ; renaud's affection for, ; plays chess with chariot, ; prisoner of charlemagne, ; freed by malagigi, . al'ba-nact. son of brutus, ; wars against humber, . al-ba'ni-a. name for scotland, . al'ber-ich. dwarf guardian of treasure, ; delivers hoard, ; meets ortnit under tree, ; the father of ortnit, ; helps ortnit, ; warns ortnit against dragons, ; receives magic ring, ; wolfdietrich warned by, ; meets dietrich, . see _laurin_ and _elbegast_. al'bi-on. brutus lands in, . al'boin. sent in quest of armor, ; and rosamund, ; cruelty of, ; death of, . al'dri-an. i. father of hagen, . al'dri-an. ii. son of hagen, ; betrays etzel, . al'e-brand. see _hadubrand_. al-ex-an'der. hero of metrical romance, ; conquests of, ; death of, . al-ex-an'dre le grant. synopsis of, . al-ex-an'drine meter. origin of, . a-lex'is. angela restored to, . al'fer-ich. see _alberich_. al'fild. first wife of sigurd ring, . al-fon'so, don. king of leon, ; made prisoner, ; escapes to toledo, ; hears of don sancho's death, ; escapes from toledo, ; king of castile, ; banishes cid, ; restores cid to favor, ; makes edict in favor of exiles, ; takes toledo, ; defeated by cid, ; encourages suit of counts of carrion, ; responsible for marriage of cid's daughters, ; cid seeks redress from, ; refuses babieça, ; gives orders for burial of cid, . al'fred. an ally of ella, . alf'sol. sigurd ring wooes, ; death of, . al-i-may'mon. reveals how toledo can be taken, ; death of, . almes'bur-y. guinevere at, ; lancelot visits, ; guinevere dies at, . al'pris. see _alberich_. al'te-cler. sword of oliver, . am'a-dis of gaul. cycle of, . am'a-ling land. italy called, ; dietrich king of, ; invaded by imperial army, ; dietrich returns to, . am'a-lung. son of hornbogi, . a-man'da. rezia called, ; marriage of, ; in titania's valley, ; mother of huonet, ; loses her child, and is captured by pirates, ; shipwreck of, ; slave of the sultan, ; visits fairyland, ; journeys to paris, . am'a-zons. alexander visits, . am-bro'si-us au-re-li-a'nus. british chief, . am'e-lings. the, - . am'el-rich. ferryman's signal, . am-for'tas. son of frimontel, ; king of montsalvatch, ; wound of, ; agony of, ; brother of, ; cured, ; death of, ; armor of, . an-gan'tyr. helps to recover ship ellida, ; ruler of orkney islands, ; frithiof sent to claim tribute from, ; frithiof's landing seen by watchman of, ; frithiof's visit to, ; purse of, . angel. visits charlemagne, ; visits ogier, ; visits oliver, . an'ge-la. huon advised by, ; huon delivers, . an-glo-sax'ons. "beowulf" probably composed by, . an-gou-laf'fre. castle of, ; huon's encounter with, ; ring of, . an-gur-va'del. magic sword, ; thorsten receives, ; frithiof inherits, . an'ton. see _hector_. ant'werp. marriage of else and lohengrin at, . an'zi-us. emperor of constantinople, . a-pol'lo. marsile worships, . a-pu'li-a. part of rother's kingdom, . a-qui-taine'. walther son of duke of, ; brutus coasts along, . ar'abs. huon defeats a band of, ; spain under the, . ar'a-gon. calahorra cause of quarrel in, ; don ramiro of, . ardennes (är-den'). quest for robber knight of the, ; aymon's sons take refuge in, . ar-go-nau'tic expedition. in mediaeval literature, . a'ri-as gon-za'lo, don. receives challenge, . a-rib'a-dale. bearer of holy grail, . a-ri-os'to. version of roland by, ; merlin's fountain mentioned by, ; works of, , . ar'nold, matthew. treats of arthurian legend, ; version of tristan and iseult, . ar'thur. dietrich wooes daughter of, ; ogier joins, ; in avalon, ; parzival sets out for court of, ; at nantes, ; parzival's request to, ; parzival sends conquered knights to, ; knights parzival, ; gawain a knight of, ; hears of gawain's prowess, ; parzival visits, ; vain quest for holy grail, ; legend of king, , - ; merlin serves, , ; birth of, ; merlin makes palace and armor for, ; adventures of, ; brought up by sir hector, ; comes to london, ; adventure with sword, ; overcomes gawain, ; secures sword excalibur, ; victories of, ; marriage of with guinevere, ; receives round table, ; welcomes lancelot, ; repudiates and reinstates guinevere, ; questions knights, ; cannot defend guinevere in judicial duel, ; yearly tournaments of, ; and elaine, ; quarrels with lancelot, ; leaves guinevere with mordred, ; wars against mordred. ; mortal wound of. ; disposes of excalibur, ; departs in barge. ; philip ii.'s oath in favor of. ; buried at glastonbury. ; lancelot buried at feet of. ; tristan a contemporary of, ; tristan goes to court of. ; tristan delivers, ; reconciles mark and iseult, . as'ca-lon. huon at, . a'si-a. monarch of, ; alexander sets out for, . ask'her. see _aeschere_. as'laug. same as krake; story of birth and childhood of, ; prediction of, ; sons of, ; begs that her sons may avenge agnar and erik, . as'pri-an. king of northern giants, ; and the lion, ; carries off imelot, . as'to-lat. lancelot at, ; lancelot comes to, ; elaine the lily-maid of, ; gawain comes to, . at'lÉ. challenges frithiof, . at'li. same as etzel, . at'ti-la. same as etzel, , ; theodoric born after death of, . auch-in-leck' manuscript. sir otuel in the, . aude. (od) beloved by roland, . au'doin. king of langobards, . au-re'li-us am-bro'si-us. son of constans, . av'a-lon. ogier to dwell in, ; morgana takes ogier to, ; arthur in, . a'vars. aymon wars against the, . a-ven'ti-cum. see _wiflisburg_. a'ya. aymon marries, ; aymon sends for, ; goes to find her husband, ; intercedes for her sons, ; and renaud, . ay'mon. _chansons de gestes_ relating to, ; a peer of charlemagne, ; wages war against charlemagne, ; helped by bayard and malagigi, ; besieged by charlemagne, ; flight and victories of, ; charlemagne makes peace with, ; marriage of, ; adventures of, ; distributes his property, ; recovery of, ; flees from court, ; a captive, ; turpin's promise to, ; oath of, ; tries to seize his sons, ; malagigi frees sons of, ; adventures of sons of, - . bar'i-can. king of hyrcania, ; rezia dreams of, . ba-bie'Ça. steed of the cid, ; cid's ride to zamora on, ; offered to alfonso, ; cid's last ride on, , ; end of, . bab'y-lon. ogier besieges, ; same as bagdad in mediaeval literature, ; alexander crowned at, . bag-dad'. huon to go to, , ; same as babylon, ; sherasmin indicates road to, ; huon resumes journey to, ; huon's adventures in, . bal'der. shrine of, , , ; temple of, . ba'li-an. seaport in hagen's kingdom, . bal'tic sea. bornholm, island in the, . ban. father of lancelot, . ba'ri. capital of rother, ; arrival of magician's vessel at, . bau'ta. a memorial stone for beowulf, . ba-va'ri-a. rüdiger rides through, . bay'ard. aymon's marvelous steed, ; satan steals, ; malagigi recovers, ; aymon saved by, ; given to renaud, ; renaud and his brothers escape on, ; renaud's adventures in paris with, ; renaud's escape on, ; timely kick of, ; charlemagne demands death of, . bech-lar'en. rüdiger of, , ; kriemhild at, ; burgundians at, . bed'i-vere, sir. finds arthur dying, ; bids arthur farewell, . bee hunter. see _beowulf_. belÉ (be-la'). heir of sogn, ; replaced on throne, ; conquers orkney islands, ; helps thorsten secure völund ring, ; sons of, ; last instructions of, ; kings seated on tomb of, . bel-fo-ra'do. given to rodrigo, . bel-i-a'gog. tristan conquers, . bel'li-gan. city of, . bel-lis-san'de. wife of ogier, . bel'lyn. escort of reynard, ; death of, ; deceived by reynard, ; accused of treachery, . bel'ri-par. capital of conduiramour, ; kardeiss king of, . be-noÎt' de sainte-more. poem of, ; popularity of work of, . be'o-wulf, - ; epic of, ; resolves to visit denmark, ; honors won by, ; arrival in denmark, ; guards heorot and wounds grendel, , ; receives brisingamen, ; hears of aeschere's death, ; and grendel's mother, , ; regency of, ; reign of, ; adventure with dragon, , ; death and burial of, . berch'ther of me'ran. adviser of rother, ; sons of, ; accompanies rother, ; guardian of hugdietrich, ; journey to thessalonica, ; finds wolfdietrich. ; foster father of wolfdietrich, ; warns wolfdietrich against rauch-else, ; wolfdietrich remembers, ; sons of delivered from captivity, ; rewards given to sons of, . berch'tung. see _berchther of meran_. be-ril'lus. goes to rome, . bern. same as verona, , ; hero of, , , ; heime in, ; wittich in, ; dietrich returns to, , ; wildeber comes to. ; laurin a prisoner in, ; wittich's return to, ; dietrich surrenders, ; dietrich's triumphant entry into, . ber'ners, lord. translates "huon of bordeaux," . ber'serk-er. rage, , ; atlé a, . ber-tan'ga land. same as britain, . ber'tha. i. mother of charlemagne, . ber'tha. ii. sister of charlemagne and mother of roland, . berthe'lot. same as charlot, . ber'wick. see _joyeuse garde_. bi'bung. dwarf protector of virginal, . bjÖrn. i. confidant of frithiof, ; plays chess with frithiof, ; steers ellida, ; carries men ashore, ; takes charge of ellida, . bjÖrn. ii. son of ragnar, . blaise. a holy man who baptizes merlin, . blaive. roland buried at, ; lady aude buried at, . blanche'fleur. wife of meliadus and mother of tristan, . blÖ'de-lin. kriemhild bribes, . boc-cac'cio. makes use of story of griseldis, . bo'gen. son of hildburg. . bo'hort. cousin of lancelot, . bo-iar'do. writer of a version of the adventures of roland, , ; love of the marvelous shown in works of, . bol-fri-an'a. captivity of, ; dietrich rescues, ; wittich marries, . book of heroes. same as "heldenbuch," ; dietrich principal character in, . bor-deaux'. huon in captivity in, . born'holm. viking born in, . bouillon (boo-yon'). godfrey of, . bra-bant'. else, duchess of, . brang'waine. attendant of iseult, ; confidante of iseult, ; ganhardin falls in love with image of, . brei'sach. harlungs dwell at, . bre'ka. enters into swimming match with beowulf, . bret'land. soté buried in, . bri-sin'ga-men. necklace given to beowulf, . brit'ain. same as bertanga land, ; uther and pendragon's wars in, ; holy grail vanishes from, ; named by brutus, ; invaded by romans, . british museum. manuscripts in, . brit'ons. war of, . brit'ta-ny. soltane, forest in, ; broceliande in, ; arthur's campaign in, ; ban king of, ; lancelot retires to, ; arthur's second campaign in, ; tristan goes to, ; tristan returns to, . bro-ce-li-an'de. forest in brittany, . brons. brother-in-law of joseph of arimathea, . brown. sent to summon reynard, ; arrives at malepartus, ; caught in tree trunk, ; returns to court, ; injuries of, ; imprisonment of, ; release of, . brun'hild. gunther wishes to marry, ; test of strength of, ; defeat of, ; leaves her own country, ; objects to kriemhild's marriage, ; binds gunther, ; is conquered by siegfried, and loses fabulous strength, ; invites siegfried and kriemhild to worms, ; quarrels with kriemhild, ; in care of rumolt, ; son of made king of burgundy, ; aslaug daughter of, . bru'te. see _brutus_. bru'tus. metrical romance of, ; descendant of aeneas, ; adventures of, - ; descendants of, . bu'car. besieges valencia, ; retreat of, . buch-an'an. poem of on roland, . bur'gos. cid born at, ; ximena at, ; inhabitants weep at cid's departure from, . bur-gun'di-ans. siegfried challenges, ; nibelungs support king of, ; nibelungs angry with, ; nobles escort kriemhild, ; often called nibelungs, ; warnings conveyed to, ; see hostility of huns, ; kindly treated by etzel, ; murder of squires of, ; bloody fight of, ; bravery of, ; slaughter of, ; name gunther's son king, ; hagen a hostage for, . bur'gun-dy. king and queen of, ; siegfried goes to, ; threatened invasion of, ; brunhild receives king of, ; kriemhild remains in, ; kriemhild wishes to leave, ; kriemhild's brothers return to, ; chaplain returns to, ; etzel promises to send his son to, ; etzel makes peace with, ; hagen returns to, ; gunther, king of, . ca-la-hor'ra. on frontier between castile and aragon, . cam'ber. son of brutus, names cambria, . cam'bri-a. named after camber, . cam'e-lot. palace at, , ; feast at, ; twelve kings buried at, ; lancelot at, , ; knights assemble at, ; appearance of holy grail at, ; knights return to, ; guinevere's feast at, ; funeral barge arrives at, ; lancelot leaves and returns to, . cam-pe-a-dor'. title given to cid, , . can'ter-bur-y tales. troilus and cressida in, . ca-pe'tian kings. ogier reaches france during reign of one of, ; origin of race of, . cap-pa-do'cia. berillus from, . car'du-el. same as carlisle, ; knights assemble at, . car-lisle'. see _carduel_. ca-ro-lin'gian legends, - ; naismes the nestor of, . car'ri-on, counts or infantes of. marry cid's daughters, ; cowardice of, ; cid's followers gibe at, ; illtreat their wives, ; alfonso's anger with, ; before the cortes, ; challenged, ; defeat of, . cas-si-vel-lau'nus. tristan may be a contemporary of, ; a descendant of brutus, . cas-tile'. invasion of, , ; calahorra near, ; don sancho king of, ; cid and don sancho return to, ; cid's raid in, . champ de mars. the frank assembly, . chan'son de ro'land. sung at hastings, ; most famous version of roland's death, . char'le-magne. conquers lombardy, , , ; and his paladins, - ; favorite hero of mediaeval literature, ; champion of christianity, ; fabulous adventures of, ; einhard son-in-law of, ; _chansons de gestes_ referring to, ; receives angel's visit, ; conspirators punished by, ; and frastrada, ; affection of for turpin, ; founds aix-la-chapelle, ; and the boy roland, ; asks for jewel of knight of the ardennes, ; knights roland, ; makes war against denmark, ; releases ogier, ; insulted by ogier, ; appearance of, , , ; and ogier, ; quarrels with duke of genoa, ; roland champion of, ; vow and pilgrimage of, ; peers of, ; vision of, ; besieges pamplona, ; pilgrimage of to compostela, ; aigolandus revolts against, ; challenged by ferracute, ; sends ogier to fight ferracute, ; dove alights on, ; wars in spain, ; sends embassy to marsiglio, ; retreat of, ; hears roland's horn, ; turpin celebrates mass before, ; returns to roncesvalles, ; orders trial of ganelon, ; aymon a peer of, ; character of, ; wars against aymon, ; treats with aymon, ; coronation of at rome, ; hostility toward sons of aymon, ; captures sons of aymon, ; bribes iwo, ; richard carried captive to, ; besieges montauban, ; and malagigi, ; aya intercedes with, ; and bayard, ; huon does homage to, ; gives orders to huon, , ; tournament of ; pardons huon, ; contemporary of ragnar lodbrok, ; italian cycle treats of, . charles the bald. struggles of, ; claims descent from trojan race, . charles mar-tel'. deeds of attributed to charlemagne, . char'lot. kills ogier's son, ; ogier demands death of, ; renaud defeats, ; quarrels with alard, ; death of, . chau'cer. uses tale of griseldis, ; uses troilus and cressida, . chrestien de troyes (kr[=a]-t[=e]-an' deh trwä'). poems of, , , , . christ. jews angry against joseph for burying, ; vespasian hears story of, ; born during reign of cymbelinus, . christian. faith taught to rezia ; legends, ; fierefiss becomes a, ; faith, ; army besieges coimbra, ; king takes toledo, ; army evacuates valencia, . chris-ti-a'ni-a-fiord. frithiof in the, . christianity. charlemagne champion of, ; roland argues about, ; sadly mixed with mythology, . christians. triumph in spain, ; massacre of, ; enmity between moors and, ; can take toledo, ; bucar retreats before, ; moors routed by, . chronicle of turpin, . cid, the, - ; birth of, ; ximena accuses, ; ximena marries, ; pilgrimage of to santiago de compostela, ; adventure with leper, ; duel of with martin gonzalez, ; saved by moorish kings, ; at zamora with ximena, ; defeats champion of henry iii., ; vassal of don sancho, ; victories of, ; conducts siege of zamora, ; banished by alfonso, ; at valencia, ; cowardly sons-in-law of, ; daughters of illtreated, ; at the cortes, ; offers babieça to alfonso, ; returns to valencia, ; warned of coming death, ; last instructions of, ; death of, : last victory of, ; body of in state, ; sword of, ; chronicle of, . ci-saire', pass of. roland's ghost at, . claretie (kla-re-tee'). ancestress of capetian race, . clar'ice. ogier marries, . cla-ris'sa. wife of renaud, ; treachery of father of, ; intercedes for her father, ; death of, . cleves. henry the fowler at, . co-im'bra. siege of, . co-la'da. sword won by cid, ; given to infante of carrion, ; recovery of, . co-logne'. death and burial of renaud at, . con-duir'a-mour. parzival rescues and marries, ; parzival reminded of, ; at montsalvatch, ; children of, . con'stans. king of england, ; sons of, , . con'stan-tine. i. father of oda, ; and rother, - ; ii. son of constans, . con-stan-ti-no'ple. embassy arrives at, ; rother's visit to, - , ; anzius emperor of, ; hildburg goes to, ; wolfdietrich king of, , ; the normans in, . co-ri-ne'a. same as cornwall, . co-ri-ne'us. companion of brutus, ; the original jack the giant killer, ; kills goëmagot. ; corn'wall. tintagel in, ; gorlois duke of, ; mark king of, , ; tristan in, , , ; iseult embarks for, ; iseult lands in, ; tristan's passion for iseult of, , ; kurvenal's journey to, ; arrival in brittany of iseult of, ; tristan and iseult buried in, , ; corineus settles in, . cor'tes. infantes of carrion at the, , . cru-sades'. influence of on literature, . cym-be-li'nus. christ born during reign of, . dag'o-bert. claims descent from trojan, race, . dane. hawart the, ; dietlieb the, ; ogier the, , . danes. beowulf escorted by, ; gratitude of, ; disapprove of ragnar's marriage, ; eystein declares war against, . dan'ish. writers, ; dynasty connected with sigurd, ; ships burned by english, ; kings make raids, ; settlements, . dank'rat. king of burgundy, . dank'wart. under siegfried's orders, ; accompanies gunther to issland, ; suspicion of, , ; goes to hungary, ; helps hagen, ; warns hagen, . dan'ube. journey of kriemhild down the, ; burgundians reach the, . den'mark. hrothgar king of, ; beowulf sails for, ; wealtheow queen of, ; ludegast king of, ; charlemagne defeats king of, ; ogier king of, ; krake queen of, . des'ert bab-y-lo'ni-a. kingdom of imelot, ; constantine takes possession of, . des-i-de'ri-us. see _didier_. di-a'na. brutus in temple of, . did'i-er. ogier flees to, . diego laynez (dee-ay'go ly'nez). insulted by don gomez, ; avenged by rodrigo, ; takes rodrigo to court, . di-e'go or-do'Ñez, don. sends challenge to don arias gonzalo, . die-te-lin'de. daughter of rüdiger, ; giselher betrothed to, . die'ther. brought up by hildebrand, ; helche cares for, ; death of, . diet'lieb. merry-making and athletic feats of, ; lord of steiermark, ; and laurin, , ; victory and reward of, . diet'mar. grandson of wolfdietrich, ; ruler of bern, ; death of, . die'trich von bern. warns burgundians, ; defies kriemhild, ; abstains from tournament, ; kriemhild tries to bribe, ; a safe-conduct for, ; saves etzel and kriemhild, ; hears of rüdiger's death, ; fights and captures gunther and hagen, ; lament of, ; ancestors of, ; story of, - ; birth of, ; fiery breath of, , ; hildebrand friend and teacher of, ; adventure of with hilde and grim, ; wins sword nagelring, ; fights with sigenot, ; sees and rescues virginal, ; marries virginal, ; gains possession of heime and falke, ; wittich's adventure with, ; adventures of with ecke and fasolt, ; delivers sintram, ; visits rome, ; and laurin, - ; visits etzel, ; becomes king of amaling land, ; victories in wilkina land, ; wars against rimstein, ; eckhardt joins, ; ermenrich wars against, ; wooes hilde, ; exile of in hungary, ; victories and wounds of, ; returns to bern, ; fights against ermenrich, ; marriage of, ; kills sibich, ; made emperor of west, ; old age of, ; wild hunt led by, ; ragnar saga like saga of, . dol'fos, vel'li-do or bel'li-do. murders don sancho, . dor-dogne'. aymon of, ; lord hug of, . dort'mund. renaud's body at, . dou'ro. river in spain, . do'ver. arthur encounters mordred near, . dra'chen-fels. dietrich saves lady of, ; wittich marries lady of, ; roland wooes maid of, ; roland's return to, . dragon slayer. surname of siegfried, . dragons. see _beowulf, siegfried, ortnit, wolfdietrich, tristan, ragnar._ dray'ton. author of "polyolbion," . dru'si-an. kidnaps sigeminne, ; wolfdietrich captive of, ; death of, . dub'lin. morold's corpse carried to, ; tristan's visit to, . du'o-lin de may'ence. a _chanson de geste_, . du-ran-da'na. sword of roland, ; powerless upon ferracute, ; roland disposes of, . ead'gils. son of othere, . east. ogier goes to the, ; holy grail in the far, ; alexander's journey to the, ; wealth of the, . east goth'land. thora dwells in, . eck'e. giant killed by falke, ; dietrich takes sword of, . eck'en-lied. story of ecke, . eck'e-sax. sword of ecke, . eck'e-wart i. escorts kriemhild, ; remains with kriemhild, ; accompanies kriemhild to hungary, ; warns burgundians, . eck'e-wart ii. see _eckhardt_. eck'hardt. fidelity of, , ; flees to dietrich, . ec'tor de ma'ris, sir. lancelot eulogized by, . ed'da. hilde in the, ; hedin in the, . ein'hard. son-in-law of charlemagne, . ein-he'ri-ar. ragnar leader of the, . e-laine'. story of, - . el'be-gast. same as alberich, ; charlemagne's adventure with, , . e'li-as. see _ylyas_. el-ki'nar. isegrim bound to bell at, . el'la. king of northumberland, captures and kills ragnar, ; defeats ragnar's sons, ; gives land to normans, ; ivar kills, . el-li'da. the dragon ship given to viking by aegir, ; belongs to frithiof, ; in the storm, ; arrives at orkney islands, ; frithiof sails in, . el'se. story of lohengrin and, - . el-si-nore'. ogier sleeping in, . el-vi'ra, doÑa. receives toro, ; robbed of toro, . em'er-ald isle, . eng'land. invasion of, ; rhyme introduced in, ; clarice, princess of, ; ogier leaves, ; hengist driven from, ; merlin brings stones to, ; merlin's predictions concerning future of, ; arthur's name in, ; dissensions in, ; firm belief in concerning arthur's return, ; vikings' raids in, ; stone altars in, ; tradition of trojan descent in, . eng'lish. version of roland, ; more than eighteen versions of frithiof saga in, ; fight ragnar's sons at whitaby, . e'nid the fair. story of, - . enigÉe (ay' nee-zhay). sister of joseph of arimathea, . e'rec. name for geraint in french and german poems, . e'rik. son of ragnar, ; a great viking, ; attacked by enchanted cow, . er'me-lyn. wife of reynard, , , . er'men-rich. treasure of, ; emperor of the west, ; dietrich's visit to, ; dietlieb rewarded by, ; dietrich helps, ; and sibich, , ; wars against dietrich, ; death of, . er'mo-nie. meliadus lord of, . erp. son of helche, ; death of, . es-clar-mon'de. same as rezia, , ; early version of story of, . es-tre-ma-du'ra. moors defeated in, . e-tru'ri-a. luna in, . et'zel. same as atli, ; wooes kriemhild, ; kriemhild sets out for court of, ; kriemhild wife of, ; invites burgundians to hungary, ; welcomes burgundians, ; banquet of, ; promises to send son to burgundy, ; saved from massacre, ; burgundians wish to treat with, ; cannot save hagen, ; lament of, ; helche marries, ; dietlieb serves, ; dietrich visits, , ; walther escapes from, ; gold stolen from, ; cowardice of, ; helps dietrich, ; marries kriemhild, ; killed by aldrian, ; same as attila, . eu'rope. "beowulf" oldest relic of spoken language in, ; "reynard the fox" popular in, ; to be infested by dragons, ; charlemagne conquers nearly all, ; introduction of legend of holy grail in, ; popularity of arthurian legends in, ; popularity of "roman de troie" in, . eu-ro-pe'an. versions of legends, ; versions of tristan, ; languages, sagas translated into, ; states, romances current in, ; nations, classical romances in, ; versions of iliad, ; literature, mention of fountain of youth in, ; colonization, . ex-cal'i-bur. arthur's sword, ; arthur disposes of, . ey'stein. ragnar visits, ; wars against danes, ; magic cow of, . fa'e-rie queene. merlin's fountain mentioned in, ; contains mediaeval legends, . faf'nir. sigurd slayer of, , . faf'nis-bane. surname of sigurd, . fair an'net. loved by lord thomas, . fa'lies, marquis of. sword tizona in family of, . fal'ke. horse of dietrich, ; kills ecke, . fal'ster wood. heime in the, . fa'solt. dietrich defeats, . fa'ta mor-ga'na. mirage called, . fat'i-ma. attendant of rezia, ; in tunis, ; finds amanda, ; taken to fairyland, ; rescued by huon and sherasmin, . fe'lez mu-Ñoz.' nephew of cid, ; rescues his cousins, . fer'di-nand. rodrigo's first visit to, ; recalls rodrigo, ; ximena before, ; receives gifts from cid, ; henry iii. complains of to pope, ; threatened by pope, ; cid's victories for, ; death and legacies of, . fer'ra-cute. challenges charlemagne, ; defeats ogier and renaud, ; fights and argues with roland, , ; otuel, nephew of, . fer'ra-gus. see _ferracute_. fierefiss (fyâr-e-f[=e]s'). encounters parzival, ; conversion and marriage of, ; father of founder of knights templars, . fire'drake. ravages of the, ; slain by beowulf, . flam'berge. sword of aymon, ; renaud, owner of, ; renaud breaks, . flan'ders. "reynard the fox" in, . flor'ence. council at, . flor'i-da. ponce de leon in, . fountain of youth, . fram'nÄs. home of thorsten and frithiof, , , ; ruins of, . france. "reynard the fox" in, ; charlemagne principal hero of, ; ogier in, , ; charlemagne in, , , , ; huon embarks for, ; capetian kings of, ; legend of holy grail in, ; merlin brings armies from, ; viking raids in, ; king of, . franks. and "reynard the fox," ; assembly of, ; hostage from, ; at feud with lombardy, . fras-trad'a. wife of charlemagne, . fred'er-ick bar-bar-os'sa. ogier like, . fred'er-ick of tel'ra-mund. guardian and oppressor of else, ; defeated by lohengrin, . french. version of roland, ; army betrayed by ganelon, ; version of tristan, ; kings descended from priam, . frie'sian. invasion, ; sea, charlemagne's vision of, . fries'land. invasion of, . fri-mou-tel'. anointed king, ; death of, . frithiof (frit'yof). story of, - ; saga put into verse by tegnér, ; birth of, ; loves ingeborg, , ; home of, ; sues for hand of ingeborg, ; suit of rejected, ; ingeborg's brothers ask aid of, ; meets ingeborg in temple, ; tries to make terms with kings, ; journey to orkney islands, ; in tempest, ; fights atlé, ; visits angantyr, ; returns to framnäs, ; goes into exile, ; becomes a pirate, ; visits sigurd ring, ; ingeborg recognizes, ; loyalty of, ; guardian of infant king, ; rebuilds temple, ; marries ingeborg, . frute. follower of hettel, ; in quest of hilde, . ga'her-is. doubts arthur's title to throne, . ga-la'fre. huon and sherasmin at court of, . gala-had, sir. knighted by lancelot, ; occupies "siege perilous," ; sees holy grail, . ga-li'cia. charlemagne called to, ; don garcia king of, , . ga-li'cian. nobles refuse to exchange prisoners, . gal'y-en. son of oliver, and king of jerusalem, . gal'y-en rhet-or-e'. a _chanson de geste_, . ga'mu-ret. marries herzeloide, . ga'ne-lon. treachery of, , ; accused and sentenced, ; advises charlot, . ganhardin (gan-har-dan'). wishes to marry brangwaine, . garadie (ga-ra-d[=e]'), count. hagen in the hands of, . gar-ci'a, don. king of galicia, ; seizes zamora, ; dies in captivity, . gar'den. wolfdietrich at, ; herbrand receives, ; hildebrand inherits, ; ermenrich takes, ; dietrich master of, ; hildebrand's return to, . ga'reth, sir. knighted by lancelot, ; adventures with lynette, ; geraint brother of, . ga'ry. messenger sent by gunther to siegfried, ; goes to hungary, . ga'wain. rides after parzival, ; and duchess orgueilleuse, ; adventures with gramoflaus and klingsor, , ; marriage of, ; one of arthur's knights, ; doubts arthur's title to throne, ; strength of, ; comes to astolat, . geates. minstrel flees to the, ; beowulf escorted by the, ; wait for beowulf, ; return with hygelac's body, . geirs'-odd. sacrificial runes called, . gel'frat. fights hagen, . gen'o-a, duke of. charlemagne's quarrel with, . geof'frey de ligny (leen'yee). author of a lancelot romance, . geof'frey of mon'mouth. writings of, , , . gep'i-dae. settle in pannonia, ; quarrel with lombards, . ge-raint'. brother of gareth, ; story of enid and, - . ge-ras'mes. see _sherasmin_. ger'hart. claims liebgart's hand, . ger'ims-burg. siege of, . ger-lin'da. cruelty of, - ; death of, . ger'man. manuscript of "gudrun," , ; von otterdingen a, ; literature, ; language, eckewart's fidelity proverbial in, ; version of roland legend, ; wagner a, ; more than eighteen versions of frithiof saga in, . ger'ma-ny. maximilian emperor of, ; hettel king of, ; "reynard the fox" in, ; the greatest epic of, ; in charlemagne's vision, ; legend of holy grail in, ; henry the fowler emperor of, ; henry iii. emperor of, . ger'not. son of dankrat and ute, ; under siegfried's orders, ; advice of, ; hagen tries to rouse anger of, ; sympathy of, ; anger of, ; escorts kriemhild to vergen, ; sword of, ; death of, . gier'e-mund. reynard insults, ; wooed by reynard, . gil'das. . gi-rard'. i. brother of huon, killed by charlot, . gi-rard' ii. a knight, steals huon's casket, ; punished by oberon, . gis'el-her. son of dankrat and ute, ; under siegfried's orders, ; reproves hagen, ; sympathy of, ; angry with hagen, ; escorts kriemhild to vergen, ; betrothal of, . glas'ton-bur-y. holy grail at, ; arthur buried at, ; guinevere and lancelot buried at, . god'frey of bouil'lon. ancestor of, ; king of jerusalem, . goËmagot (go-ee-ma-got'). corineus kills, . goethe (go'teh) "reineke fuchs" of, ; admiration of for tegnér, . go'mez, don. insults don diego laynez, ; challenged and killed by rodrigo, ; ximena daughter of, . gor'lo-is. lord of tintagel, wars against uther pendragon, ; death of, ; arthur not a son of, . go-te-lin'de. wife of rüdiger, . goth'land, east. . goths. see _geates_. gott'fried von strass'burg. treats of holy grail; , ; version of "tristan" of, . gozzoli (got'so-lee). painting of, grail. see _holy grail_. gram'o-flaus. encounter of with gawain ; parzival champion of, ; marries itonie, . gran. capital of etzel, ; minstrels return tom . gra'vain. one of arthur's knights, greece. hertnit earl of, ; tristan known in, ; isles of, ; viking raid in, ; popularity of iliad in, ; brutus goes to, ; pandrasus king of, . greek. islands invaded by vikings, ; epics, ; post-classical writings, ; rhapsodists' work continued, ; writers busy with alexander, . gren'del. heorot visited by, ; warriors slain by, ; beowulf and, - ; mother of, ; beowulf visits retreat of, , . grif'fin. hagen carried off by a, . grim. depredations of, ; killed by dietrich, ; sigenot vows to avenge, . grim'bart. cousin of reynard, ; pleads for reynard, ; carries message to reynard, ; absolves reynard, ; reproves reynard, ; warns reynard, ; takes reynard to court, . grim'hild. see _kriemhild_. gri-sel'dis. tale of, . guar'da. see _garden_. gu'drun i. the poem, . gu'drun ii. daughter of hettel and hilde, ; suitors of, ; kidnaped by hartmut, ; slavery of, ; swan maiden visits, ; rebellion of, ; rescue of ; marries herwig, . gu'drun iii. same as kriemhild, . guÉr'in de mont'glave. _a chanson de geste_, . gui-enne'. huon and girard on the way from, ; huon's patrimony of, ; huon's journey to, . guild'ford. see _astolat_. guin'e-vere. marries arthur, ; and lancelot, , ; favors of, ; hears of lancelot and elaine, ; saved by lancelot, ; and mordred, ; at almesbury, ; death of, ; iseult like, ; iseult meets, . guis'card. son of aymon and aya, . gung'thiof. son of frithiof, . gun'nar. same as gunther, . gun'ther. same as gunnar, ; siegfried at court of, , ; goes to issland to woo brunhild, ; contest of with brunhild, ; marriage of, ; gives kriemhild to siegfried, ; bound by brunhild, ; invites siegfried to worms, ; influenced by hagen, ; race of, ; protector of kriemhild, ; reconciled to kriemhild, ; plans to secure hoard, ; receives hun embassy, ; goes to hungary, ; entertained by rüdiger, ; entertained by etzel, ; grants safe-conduct to dietrich, ; refuses to surrender to hagen, ; imprisonment and death of, ; son of, ; encounter with walther, ; wounds of, . gur'ne-manz. educates parzival, , . gu'trun. see _kriemhild_. ha'che. receives rhine land, . had'burg. prophesy of, . had'u-brand. son of hildebrand, ; makes himself known to his father, . ha'gen i. son of sigeband, carried off by a griffin, ; adventures and marriage of, ; daughter of, ; fights hettel, ; ha'gen ii. same as högni, ; describes siegfried's prowess, ; accompanies gunther to issland, ; promises to avenge brunhild, ; deceives kriemhild, ; kills siegfried, ; glories in his treachery, ; the touch of, ; hatred of kriemhild for, ; seizes hoard, ; welcomes rüdiger, ; warns burgundians, , ; kriemhild plans to have revenge upon, ; swan maidens and, ; adventure at the ferry, ; receives shield from rüdiger, ; etzel welcomes, ; alliance with volker, ; frightens huns, ; kills ortlieb, ; kriemhild offers reward for death of, ; kriemhild asks surrender of, ; dietrich asks surrender of, ; captivity and death of, ; a hostage of etzel, ; loses an eye, ; aldrian son of, . half'dan. i. friend of viking, ; makes friends with njorfe, ; viking's sons visit, . half'dan ii. son of belé, ; character of, ; king of sogn, ; guardian of ingeborg, ; sigurd ring wars against, ; frithiof wars against, . hal'o-ga-land. north norway called, . hal'o-ge. same as loki, rules halogaland, ; viking the grandson of, . ham. witch summoned by helgé, . har'dred. son of hygelac, reign of, . har'lungs. sibich betrays the, . hart'mann von aue, . hart'mut. prince of normandy, ; kidnaps gudrun, ; gudrun refuses to marry, ; rescues gudrun from drowning, ; prepares to marry gudrun, ; rescues gudrun, ; saved by gudrun, ; a captive, ; marries hergart, and is released, . has'san. name assumed by huon in tunis, . hast'ings i. battle of, . hast'ings ii. foster father of sigurd the snake-eyed, ; and ragnar's sons, ; strategy of, . ha'wart. death of, . hec'tor, sir. arthur fostered by, , ; visit of to london, ; hed'in. lover of hilde, ; same as hettel, . he'ge-ling legend, . he'ge-lings. family of the, ; hettel king of the, ; hilde flees with the, ; at the wülpensand, ; come to normandy, ; return home, . heid. witch summoned by helgé, . hei'me. challenges dietrich, ; becomes a brigand, ; steals mimung, ; forced to restore mimung, . hei'mir. protector of aslaug, . hein'rich von of'ter-ding-en, . helche. wife of etzel, , ; daughter of rother and oda, . hel'den-buch. the "book of heroes," , . hel'en i. mother of lancelot, . hel'en ii. in mediaeval literature, kidnaping of, . hel'e-nus. descendants of in greece, . hel'gÉ. son of belé, ; refuses to give ingeborg to frithiof, ; rejects sigurd ring, ; makes treaty with sigurd ring, ; accuses frithiof of sacrilege, ; stirs up tempest against frithiof, ; angantyr refuses to pay tribute to, ; frithiof snatches ring from wife of, ; pursues frithiof, . he'lie de bor'ron, . hel'i-go-land. rumor of dietrich's valor reaches, . hel'kap-pe. see _tarnkappe_. hel'mi-gis. rosamund and, . hen'gist. driven from england, ; saxons led by, . hen'ning. complaint of against reynard, . henry i., the fowler. hears accusation against else, . henry iii. emperor of germany, . henry viii. lord berners translates "huon of bordeaux" for, . he'o-rot. hrothgar builds, ; beowulf's experiences in, ; grendel's limb a trophy in, ; beowulf's triumphant return to, . he'rand. see _herrat_. her'bart. nephew of dietrich, elopes with hilde, . her'brand. son of berchther, ; father of hildebrand, ; the wide-traveled, . her'cu-les, pillars of. brutus passes, . her'ka. see _helche_. her'lind. maid of oda, ; brings gifts to oda, . her'rat. wife of dietrich, ; death of. . hert'nit. wittich a prisoner of, ; wildeber visits, ; death of, . her'wig. king of zealand, fights with hettel, ; betrothed to gudrun, ; wars of, ; comes to normandy to rescue gudrun, ; saves gudrun, ; marries gudrun, . her-ze-loi'de. sigune brought up by, ; wife of gamuret and mother of parzival, ; parts from parzival, ; parzival goes in search of, ; parzival hears of death of, . he'si-od. heroes of in mediaeval literature, . hesse. burgundian army passes through, . het'tel. wooes hilde, , ; marries hilde, ; dismisses gudrun's suitors, ; death of, . hild'burg i. hagen finds, . hild'burg ii. companion of gudrun, ; meets ortwine, ; wooed by ortwine, ; marries ortwine, . hild'burg iii. hugdietrich wooes, ; secret marriage of, ; the son of, , ; banished by sabene, . hil'de i. in the edda, ; an indian princess, ; hagen marries, ; daughter of, . hil'de ii. suitors of, ; educates gudrun, ; welcomes gudrun home, . hil'de iii. a giantess, dietrich's encounter with, . hil'de iv. daughter of arthur, elopes with herbart, . hil'de-brand i. claims body of rüdiger and fights burgundians, ; kills kriemhild, ; lament of, . hil'de-brand ii. inherits garden, ; tutor of dietrich, ; fights grim and hilde, ; marriage of, ; adventure of with sigenot, , ; adventure of with magicians, ; wittich meets, ; steals wittich's sword, ; ilsan brother of, ; dietlieb pawns steed of, ; first rose garden adventure of, ; second rose garden adventure of, ; campaign of in wilkina land, ; ransom of, ; returns to garden, ; rejoins his wife, . hil'de-garde. story of roland and, , . hil'de-grim. giant's helmet, . hil-de-gun'de. adventures of, , . hil'ding. foster father of frithiof and ingeborg, ; asks frithiof's aid for kings of sogn, ; failure of mission of, ; announces ingeborg's marriage to frithiof, . hintze. complains of reynard, ; accused of theft, ; adventures of at malepartus, ; imprisonment of, . hle'dra. capital of denmark, ; thora arrives at, ; krake at, ; ivar's brothers return to, . hÖg'ni i. pursues hilde, . hÖg'ni ii. same as hagen, . hol'ger dan'ske. see _ogier_. hol'land. ireland in, . holm'gang. northern duel, . holy grail, - ; origin of legend of, ; a sacred dish or cup, ; joseph of arimathea supported in prison by, ; at marseilles, ; at glastonbury, ; titurel appointed guardian of, ; temple of, ; descent of, ; commands that frimoutel be king, ; commands that amfortas be king, ; promise of, ; parzival sees, ; parzival's quest for, - ; kundrie a messenger of, ; gawain's quest for, ; trevrezent renounces, ; parzival finds, ; parzival uncovers, ; arthur's knights' quest for, , ; lohengrin servant of, , ; legend of, ; place at the round table for, , ; lancelot cured by, ; appearance of, ; parzival, lancelot, and galahad saw, ; tales of, . holy land. renaud goes to, ; knight returns from, . ho'mer. heroes of, . ho'rant. follower of hettel, ; his skill as minstrel, , . hor'da-land. frithiof in, . horn'bo-gi. wittich meets, ; father of amalung, . horses. see _rispa_, _falke_, _veillantif_, _bayard_, and _babieça_. hroth'gar. descent of, ; hall of, ; reward offered by, ; beowulf at court of, ; feast of, ; grief of, ; beowulf takes leave of, . hroud'lan-dus. same as roland, . hug. lord of dordogne, slain by charlemagne, ; avenged by aymon, . hug-die'trich i. son of anzius, ; wooes and marries hildburg, ; intrusts wife and child to care of sabene, ; suspicions of, ; death and will of, . hug-die'trich ii. son of wolfdietrich, ; father of dietmar, . hugues. king of jerusalem, ; oliver marries daughter of, . hum'ber. king of the huns, . hun'ga-ry. etzel king of, ; gunther starts out for, ; kriemhild's purpose in coming to, ; fatal ride to, ; part of pannonia, ; wildeber in, ; aymon's wars in, . huns. king of, , , , ; kriemhild queen of, ; power of, ; burgundians crowded by, ; kriemhild brings misery upon, ; gratitude of helche, queen of the, ; dietrich's sojourn with the, ; humber king of the, . hun'thiof. son of frithiof and ingeborg, . hun'vor. swedish princess, . hu'on of bor-deaux', - ; hero of poem, ; charlemagne's orders to, ; visits pope, ; meets sherasmin, ; in enchanted forest, ; oberon's gifts to, ; at tourmont, ; adventures with angoulaffre, , ; adventure with saracen, ; reaches bagdad, ; adventures at bagdad, - ; oberon's orders to, ; disobedience of, ; on desert island, , ; in tunis, ; carried to fairyland by oberon, , ; at the tournament, ; returns to guienne, ; other versions of story of, ; ancestor of capetian race, . hu'o-net. birth and disappearance of, ; restoration of, . hvit'serk. son of ragnar, . hygd. wife of hygelac, . hy'ge-lac. king of the geates, ; gives nägeling to beowulf, ; wars and death of, . hyr-ca'ni-a. babican king of, . ice'land. story of tristan popular in, ; the iliad in, . il'i-ad. popularity of the, . il'san. brother of hildebrand, , ; rudeness and cruelty of, , . im'e-lot. king of desert babylonia, ; a captive, ; rother hears of escape of, . in'di-a. hunvor carried off to, ; alexander's adventures in, . in-fan'tes. of carrion, - ; of navarre, . in'ge-borg i. attendant of hunvor, . in'ge-borg ii. transformed into a witch, ; thorsten saved by, ; mother of frithiof, . in'ge-borg iii. daughter of belé, and playmate of frithiof, ; frithiof vows to marry, ; frithiof sues for, ; sigurd ring sues for, ; meets frithiof in temple, , ; frithiof parts with, ; married to sigurd ring, , ; frithiof's longing for, ; frithiof visits, ; given to frithiof by sigurd ring, ; frithiof wars against brothers of, ; marriage of frithiof and, . ing'el-heim. palace at, . ire'land i. in holland, . ire'land ii. merlin brings stones from, ; ryance king of, ; morold comes from, ; tristan goes to, ; tristan's visits to, ; viking raids in, . i'ring. killed by hagen, . i'rish. king defeats mark, ; attendants carry morold's remains to ireland, ; tristan at court of the, ; king, butler of, . ir'min-sul. charlemagne destroys the, . irn'fried. attacks the burgundians, . is'e-grim. complaint of against reynard, ; and the fish, ; a victim of reynard's jokes, ; accused by reynard, ; imprisonment of, ; robbed by reynard, ; disloyalty of, ; duel with reynard, ; death of, . i'sen-land. hagen finds princess of, . i-seult'. i. sister of morold, cures of, ; tristan healed by, . ii. daughter of iseult i., tristan teaches, ; hand of promised to dragon slayer, ; finds and restores tristan, ; tries to kill tristan, ; journey of to cornwall, ; marries mark, ; love of for tristan, ; oath of, ; tristan cannot forget, ; carried to joyeuse garde, ; death and burial of, . iii. with the white hands, ; marries tristan, ; jealousy of, . i-solde'. see _iseult_. iss'land. brunhild princess of, ; gunther's arrival in, ; nibelungs accompany siegfried to, . i'sung. follows dietlieb, ; bear of, ; delivers wittich, . i-tal'ian. version of roland, ; cycle of romances, ; love of the marvelous, , . it'a-ly. alboin conquers, ; ortnit master of, ; amaling land same as, ; viking raids in, ; settlements in, ; brutus expelled from, . i-to'nie. sister of gawain, . i'var. son of ragnar, ; a cripple, ; kills eystein's magic cow, ; surrenders to ella, ; takes up abode in lunduna burg, ; power of, . i-wa-net'. arthur's squire, helps parzival, . i'wo. prince of tarasconia, ; renaud marries daughter of, ; treachery of, ; renaud saves, . jack the giant killer. origin of tale of, . jam'has. son of ortgis, . james, st. explains vision to charlemagne, ; promises help to christian army, . jarl her'rand. father of thora, . jer'as-punt. virginal's castle of, . jer'i-cho. walls of pamplona like those of, . je-ru'sa-lem. ogier besieges, ; godfrey of bouillon king of, ; hugues king of, ; charlemagne's pilgrimage to, ; galyen returns to, ; renaud offered crown of, ; vespasian's commission to, . jew. the sacrilegious, . jews. persecute joseph of arimathea, ; lend money to cid, , . john. son of fierefiss, and founder of knights templars, ; prester, . jo'kul. njorfe's eldest son, takes sogn, ; magic arts of, . jo'seph of ar-i-ma-the'a. and the holy grail, ; institutes the round table, ; carries holy grail to glastonbury, ; merlin's round table like that of, . jo'si-ane. daughter of frimoutel, and mother of sigune, . joyeuse (zhwaa-y[=e]z'). sword of charlemagne, . joyeuse garde. guinevere at, , ; lancelot buried at, ; iseult at, . ju'das. sin of, . judgment of god. reynard appeals to the, ; in favor of thiedric, ; cid appeals to the, . ju'li-us cae'sar. father of oberon, , . jutes. see _geates_. jut'land. alfsol princess of, . kan'tart. son of henning, . kar'deiss. son of parzival, and king of belripar, . kay, sir. foster brother of arthur, ; sends arthur for a sword, . kling'sor. castle of, ; captives of, ; gawain's adventures with, . knights of st. john, . kra'ke. beauty and wit of, ; wooed by ragnar, ; becomes queen of denmark, ; danes disapprove of, ; story of, . kriem'hild. same as gudrun, ; dream of, ; siegfried goes to woo, ; sees strength of siegfried, ; meets siegfried after victory, ; wooing of, ; marriage of, ; goes to the nibelungen land, ; goes to worms, ; quarrels with brunhild, ; anxiety of, ; parts from siegfried, ; grief of, ; mourning of, ; goes to lorch, ; wooed by etzel, ; rüdiger's promise to, , ; journey of to gran, ; lures burgundians into hungary, ; quarrels with hagen, ; dietrich defies, ; bribes blödelin, ; urges huns to slay hagen, ; sets fire to hall, ; gunther and hagen captives of, ; kills gunther and hagen, ; death of, ; rose garden of, ; swanhild daughter of, ; etzel marries, . kry'ant. son of henning, . kun'drie. curses parzival, ; death of, . kun'hild. sister of dietlieb, kidnaped by laurin, ; rescued by dietrich, ; delivers dietrich and knights, ; marriage and realm of, . kÜr'en-berg, von. supposed author of "nibelungenlied," . kur've-nal. retainer of blancheflem, ; joins tristan in cornwall, ; accompanies tristan to ireland, ; goes to brittany for iseult, . lady of the lake. vivian the, ; lays spell upon merlin, ; brings sword to arthur, ; lancelot fostered by, ; arthur a prisoner of, . lam'bert le cort. author of "alexandre le grant," . lam go-Ë-ma-got'. same as plymouth, . lam'pe. illtreated by reynard, ; psalm-singing of, ; slain at malepartus, ; head of, ; reynard confesses murder of, ; reynard's excuses for murder of, . lan'ce-lot du lac, sir. ogier joins, ; legend of, ; hero of several poems, ; youth of, ; love and insanity of, ; rescues guinevere, , , ; sees holy grail, , ; knights sir gareth, ; and sir galahad, ; vow of, ; and elaine, - ; arthur's anger against, ; visits guinevere, ; death and burial of, ; tristan like, ; iseult at castle of, . lan-go-bar'di-an. cycle of romances, - ; nobles reject helmigis, ; scepter given to rother, ; queen, oda becomes, . lan'go-bards. same as langobardians, settle in pannonia, ; quarrel between gepidae and, . last supper. holy grail used for the, . latin. version of reynard, ; poem of walther von wasgenstein, ; chronicle attributed to turpin, ; version of roland, ; version of tristan, ; epics, ; writers and alexander, . lau'rin. adventures of with dietrich and knights, - . la-vin'i-a. niece of, mother of brutus, . la'waine, sir. brother of elaine, . laz'a-rus, st. rodrigo's vision of, . lear, king. shakespeare's tragedy of, . leicester (l[)e]s't[e(]r). founded by king leir, . leir, king. founder of leicester, . le-o'de-graunce. king of scotland, arthur and, . le-o-ge'ci-a. brutus hears oracle at, . leon (l[=a]-[=o]n'). don alfonso king of, ; don garcia buried in, . le-pan'to. huon and rezia stop at, ; sherasmin parts from huon at, . lieb'gart. same as sidrat, ; magic eggs of, ; waits for return of ortnit, ; suitors of, ; wolfdietrich's compassion for, ; wolfdietrich saves and marries, ; mother of hugdietrich, ; dietrich marries, . lil-ien-por'te. siege of, . loch'heim. nibelungen hoard buried at, . lo'cri-a. named by locrine, . lo-crine'. son of brutus, . lod'brok. see _ragnar_. lode'stone rock. ogier wrecked on the, . lod-ger'da. ragnar marries and forsakes, . lo'hen-grin. story of else and, - . lo'ki. see _haloge_. lom'bards. same as langobards, ; rother complains of king of, ; ortnit king of, ; wolfdietrich rules, ; charlemagne subdues, , . lom'bar-dy. oda returns to, ; sidrat goes to, ; liebgart to select king of, ; ortnit's ancestors in, ; wolfdietrich starts for, ; wolfdietrich returns to, ; didier king of, . lon'don. st. stephen's church in, ; arthur comes to with sir hector, ; guinevere's journey to, ; founding of, , . long'fel-low. "tales of a wayside inn" of, , . lon-gi'nus. rosamund seeks, . lorch. kriemhild's sojourn at, . louis the fat, . lov'el, lord. story of, . luces de gast. version of tristan by, . lu'ci-fer. fall of, . lud. descendant of brutus, . lu'de-gast. king of denmark, threatens to invade burgundy, . lu'de-ger. king of saxons, gunther's wars with, , . lud'wig. king of normandy, suitor of gudrun, ; kills hettel, ; tries to drown gudrun, ; killed by herwig, . lu'na. vikings besiege, ; norman's stratagem to enter into, ; don garcia a prisoner in, . lun-du'na burg. same as london, . lym-fiord. ragnar's victory at, . lyn-ette'. story of gareth and, . ly'o-nel. cousin of lancelot, . ly-o-nesse'. arthur's boyhood spent in, ; meliadus lord of, ; tristan recovers, . ma-bri-an'. a _chanson de geste_, . mac'e-don. alexander king of, ; early history of, . ma-cho-reli,'. father of sidrat, ; alberich carries challenge to, ; sends dragon eggs to liebgart, . malagigi (m[)a]l-a-j[=e]'j[=e]). the necromancer, same as malagis, ; and bayard, ; rescues aymon, ; joins renaud, ; warns renaud of richard's peril, ; strategem and escape of, . mal'a-gis. see _malagigi_. mal'e-bron. servant of oberon, , . ma-le-par'tus. brown the bear reaches, ; hintze at, ; bellyn and lampe accompany reynard to, ; grimbart at, . mal'o-ry. old legends used by, , . man'tu-a. ermenrich takes, . map, walter. works of, , , . mark. king of cornwall, meliadus visits, ; tristan and kurvenal visit, ; tristan praises iseult to, ; tristan emissary of, ; iseult marries, ; indifference of, ; illtreats iseult, ; gives orders for burial of tristan and iseult, . mar-seilles'. joseph of arimathea at, . marsiglio (mar-s[=e]l'y[=o]). saracen king, ; killed by roland, . mar-sil'i-us. see _marsiglio_. mar'tin. i. parson's son, . ii. ape met by reynard, . mar'tin gon-za'lez. cid's fight with, . ma'ry. queen of england, marries philip of spain, . mat'e-lan. hilde goes to with hettel, ; herwig comes to, ; hartmut comes to, . mau'gis. a _chanson de geste_, . max-i-mil'i-an i. emperor of germany, . mayence (mä-yens'). charlemagne's wife buried at, . me-de'a. in mediaeval literature, . me-le'a-gans. guinevere a captive of, . me-li'a-dus. i. lord of lyonesse, wars against morgan, ; marries blanchefleur, . ii. squire of mark, . meran (m[=a]'ran). berchther duke of, ; wolfdietrich educated at, ; hildburg at, . mer'ki-nau. accuses reynard, . mer'lin. round table to be constructed by, ; legend of, ; real and mythical, ; birth and infancy of, ; the prophecies of, , , , , ; builds stonehenge and castle at carduel, ; changes uther into form of gorlois, ; arthur when an infant confided to, , ; magic arts of, ; and vivian, - ; reveals arthur's parentage, ; adviser of arthur, , ; frames laws for knights of round table, . mer-o-vin gi-an. rulers of the franks, . meur'vin. a _chanson de geste_, . midsummer-night's dream, . mil'an. invested by imperial army, . mil'dn. father of roland, , ; quest of for jewel, , . mim'ung. sword of wittich, ; wittich loses, and hildebrand restores, ; heime steals, ; wittich recovers, . mo-ham'med. ferracute calls upon, . mon-tau-ban'. renaud builds fortress at, ; siege of, ; renaud escapes to, ; charlemagne again besieges, ; charlemagne a captive in, ; aymon's sons escape from, ; renaud returns to, . montfaucon (mon-f[=o]-ko[n=]'). adventure of renaud and bayard at, . mont'glave, guÉr'in de. a _chanson de geste_, . mont-sal'vatch. holy grail on, ; frimoutel weary of life on, ; parzival's first visit to, ; gawain on the way to, ; parzival's second visit to, ; parzival king on, ; lohengrin's return to, ; else goes to, . moor. fierefiss a, . moor'ish. kings defeated by cid, ; kings send tribute to cid, ; kings warn cid of danger, . moor'land. kingdom of siegfried, . moors. enmity between christians and, ; saforet king of, ; and holy grail, ; rodrigo meets the, , , , , , ; tizona won from the, ; don alfonso joins, ; don alfonso wars against, ; at valencia, , , , ; flee at sight of cid, . mor'dred. related to arthur, ; treachery of, ; death of, . mor'gan. i. meliadus wars against ; kills meliadus, ; killed by tristan, . ii. same as fata morgana, . mor-ga'na. predictions of, ; ogier meets, ; mother of meurvin, ; mother of oberon, ; steals arthur's scabbard, ; conveys arthur to avalon, . mo-roc'co. bucar king of, . mo'rold. comes to cornwall to claim tribute, ; challenged and slain by tristan, ; iseult discovers murderer of, . morte d'arthur. by malory, . moses. a hypocrite, . mun-ta-bure'. in mirage, ; ortnit besieges, . nÄ'ge-ling. sword of beowulf, . na'gel-ring. sword of dietrich, , , . naismes de baviÈre (n[=a]m de bave-er'). "nestor of the carolingian legends," . nantes. arthur's court at, . na-varre'. charlemagne's wars in, , ; don sancho king of, ; infantes of, . nen'ni-us. writes romances, , . nes'tor. naismes de bavière like, . neth'er-lands. reynard in the, ; kingdom of the, . new troy. same as london, . ni'be-lung-en. hoard, , , , , ; land, , , . ni'be-lung-en-lied, - ; gudrun alluded to in, ; germany's greatest epic, ; end of, ; incidents in, , . ni'be-lungs. treasure of, ; followers of siegfried, ; brunhild escorted by, ; guard siegfried's son, ; mourning and wrath of, ; burgundians called, ; fall of, . nic-o-de'mus. slain by jews, . njor'fe. king of uplands, friend of viking and halfdan, ; sons of attack viking's sons, . no'bel. king of the animals, ; anger of against reynard, ; brown returns to, ; reynard before, ; hears of treasure, ; pardons reynard, ; discovers lampe's murder, . non'nen-worth. hildegarde retires to convent of, ; roland lingers near, . nor'man-dy. ludwig king of, ; gudrun taken to, ; ortwine comes to, ; rollo settles in, . nor'mans. conquer england, ; pursued by hegelings, ; and hegelings, ; invade paris, ; strategy of, ; defeated by ella, ; found lunduna burg, . norns. frithiof's vision of, . norse. origin of gudrun, ; literary treasures, . norse'men. tristan and the, , . north. literary treasures of, ; gods and heroes of, ; thorsten owner of great treasures of, . north cape. discovered by othere, . north-gal'lis. queen of, . north'men. kidnap tristan, . nor-thum'ber-land. ella king of, . nor'way. wilkina land is, ; ships from, ; halogaland in, ; uplands in, ; ringrie in, ; ragnar's sojourn in, . nu'dung. son of rüdiger, death of, . o'be-ron. i. poem by wieland, and opera by weber, . ii. king of fairies, ; huon sees, ; magic horn of, ; gives horn and goblet to huon, ; ring of, ; shelters huon, and sends malebron to his aid, ; rezia's vision of, ; promises aid to huon and rezia, ; comes to huon's aid, ; warns oberon, ; huon disobeys, ; titania and, , , ; huon rescued by, , ; brings huon to fairyland, , ; julius caesar father of, . o'da. daughter of constantine, ; rother wooes and wins, - ; kidnaped by magician, ; rother rescues, ; helche daughter of, . o'den-wald. death of siegfried in the, , . o-di'li-a. wife of dietmar, . o'din. hrothgar a descendant of, ; skeaf sent by, ; loki comes north with, ; sigurd ring dedicates himself to, ; ancestor of danish kings, . of'ter-ding-en, von. supposed author of "nibelungenlied," ; "heldenbuch" partly compiled from, . o'gier le dan'ois. a _chanson de geste_, . o'gier the dane. a paladin of charlemagne, ; a hostage, ; marries bellissande, ; admiration of danes for, ; quarrels with charlemagne, ; terror and escape of, ; made king of england, ; shipwreck of, ; magic crown and ring of, ; son of, ; boast of, ; defeated by ferracute, ; death of, . old troy. sigeminne queen of, ; wolfdietrich and sigeminne return to, . ol'ger. see _ogier_. ol'i-vant. horn of roland, ; blasts on, , . ol'i-ver. paladin of charlemagne, ; champion of duke of genoa, ; fights with roland, , ; boast of, ; son of, ; advises roland to blow his horn, ; death of, , ; sister of, ; and malagigi, . or-gueil-leuse', duchess. adventure of gawain and, ; gawain marries, . or'i-lus, lord. parzival's adventure with wife of, ; parzival defeats, . ork'ney islands. conquest of, ; frithiof sent to, ; frithiof and björn in, . or-lan'do fu-ri-o'so, , . or-lan'do in-na-mo-ra'to, . ort'gis. a magician, holds virginal a captive, ; jambas son of, . ort'lieb. son of kriemhild, ; killed by hagen, . ort'nit. i. poem of the ninth century, . ii. lombardian king, vision of, ; vow of, ; adventures of with alberich, ; adventures and marriage of, ; goes to kill dragons, ; death of, ; ancestors rule over lombardy, ; wolfdietrich wants aid of, ; wolfdietrich vows to avenge, ; ring of, ; widow of. . or'trune. sister of hartmut. ; saved by gudrun, ; marries siegfied. . ort'wine. i. son of hettel and hilde, ; comes to rescue gudrun, ; wooes hildburg, ; marries hildburg, . ii. vassal of gunther, ; goes to hungary, . iii. son of helche, . o-san'trix. etzel wars against, ; hertnit brother of, . os'born. see _asprian_. os'tro-goths. defeated by alboin, . o'there. discoverer of north cape, sons of, . ot'nit. see _ortnit_. ot'u-el, sir. story of, . ox'ford. walter map, archdeacon of, . pad'auwe. same as padua, dietrich takes, . pad'u-a. see _padauwe_. pal'mer-ins. cycle of. . pam-plo'na. siege of, , . pan-dra'sus. king of greece, defeated by brutus, . pan-no'ni-a. gepidae and lombards in, . papillon (p[)a]-p[=e]-yo[n=]'). the magic horse, . par'is. i. judgment of, ; picture of in act of kidnaping helen, . par'is. ii. invasion of, ; news of roland's death brought to, ; renaud's journey to, ; malagigi in, ; renaud's body to be brought to, ; huon in, , ; siege of, . par-me'ni-a. meliadus lord of, . par'zi-val. i. poem of, . par'zi-val. ii. birth of, ; youth of, ; starts out into the world, ; adventures of on the way to nantes, ; wins armor, ; visits gurnemanz and belripar, and marries conduiramour, ; visits montsalvatch, , ; seeks holy grail, ; knighted by arthur, ; gawain seeks, ; fights gawain, ; at the hermit's, ; meets fierefiss, ; made king of holy grail, ; children of, ; lohengrin son of, ; sees holy grail, . pas'sau. kriemhild's arrival at, ; burgundians at, ; funeral mass at, . pel'li-nore, sir. arthur and, . pen-drag'on. son of constans, ; war of britons under, . pen'te-cost. arthur's feast at, , . pep'in. charlemagne son of, . per-i-de'us. a giant, kills alboin, . per'si-a. sultan of. ; alexander's conquest of, . pe'ter, st. cid's vision of, . phil'ip. i. of spain, oath of in favor of arthur, . phil'ip. ii. of macedon, death of, . pi-az'za of st. mark's. stone lion on the, . pier-le-pont'. castle of aymon, ; aymon's sons leave, ; charlemagne comes to, . pil'grim. bishop of passau, welcomes kriemhild, ; burgundians visit, ; mass for the dead by, . pin'a-bel. champion of ganelon, . plym'outh. same as lam goëmagot, . po'land, . pol-y-ol'bi-on. by drayton, . pon'ce de le-on'. quest of, . pope. asks aid of charlemagne, ; huon and the, , , , ; reconciles arthur and lancelot, ; emperor of germany complains to, ; and ferdinand, ; and cid, , . por'tu-gal. hildburg a princess of, . po'rus. alexander's fight with, . pres'ter john. holy grail intrusted to, . pri'am. descendants of, . pyr'e-nees. defeat in the, , ; aymon in the, . ra'ben. same as ravenna, taken by imperial army, ; battle of, . rag'nar lod'brok. - ; saga of, ; successor of sigurd ring when only fifteen, ; marries lodgerda, ; marries thora, ; sons of, , , , , ; and krake, - ; battles of, ; and ella, ; death of, . ra-mi'ro, don. quarrel of with ferdinand, ; wars against don sancho, . rand'wer. son of ermenrich, death of, . ra-oul' de beau-vais'. metrical version of story of tristan attributed to, . rauch-el'se. the witch, wolfdierich meets, ; transformation of, . ra-ven'na. longinus intrenched in, ; same as raben, . re-deem'er. blood of the, . red knight. parzival and the, , . red sea. huon at the, , . rei'ne-ke fuchs. epic of, ; goethe's poem of, . rei'nold. see _renaud_. re-naud' de mon-tau-ban'. paladin of charlemagne, ; defeated by ferracute, ; body of, ; son of aymon, ; receives bayard and flamberge, ; prowess of, ; avenges alard and flees, ; marries clarissa, and builds montauban, ; goes to rescue his brothers, ; loses and recovers bayard, ; betrayed by iwo, ; saves iwo, ; and roland, ; on montfaucon, ; sacrifices bayard, ; sets out for holy land, ; death of, . re-panse' de joie. daughter of frimoutel, ; jeweled garment sent by, ; bears holy grail, , ; marriage of, , . reussen (rois'sen). vlyas prince of the, ; waldemar king of, . rey'nard the fox, - ; epic of, ; importance of story of, . re'zi-a. princess, dream of, ; bridal array of, ; escapes with huon, ; embarks at ascalon, ; conversion and marriage of, ; amanda same as, . rhine. franks cross, ; xanten on, , ; siegfried rides down along, ; gunther's journey on, , ; nibelungen hoard in, , ; worms on, ; charlemagne dwells near, , ; roland's name connected with, ; nonnenwörth in, ; renaud's body cast in, . rhon, von der. edited "heldenbuch," . rhym'er. thomas of ercildoune the, . rich'ard. son of aymon, ; prisoner of roland, . ri-chou'de. i. wife of titurel, . ii. daughter of titurel, . rim'stein. revolt and defeat of, . ri-nal'do de treb-i-zon'de. a _chanson de geste_, . ring. son of viking, . ring'ric. sigurd ring king of, ; frithiof in, . ris'pa. horse of helme, . ri-va-lin'. see _meliadus_. rob'ert de bor'ron. works of, , , , , . rob'ert of sic'i-ly, king. in longfellow's "tales of a wayside inn," . rod-ri'go di'az. see _cid_. ro'gen-wald. son of ragnar, ; death of, . rog'er. see _hrothgar_. rog'ers. translator of "reineke fuchs," . rohand (r[=o]'an). see _kurvenal_. ro'land. paladin of charlemagne, ; birth and childhood of, ; fights knight of the ardennes, ; knighted, ; duel with oliver, ; horn of, , , ; character of, ; combat with ferracute, ; combat with otuel, ; at battle of roncesvalles, ; kills veillantif, ; breaks durandana, ; death of, ; squire of, ; betrothed to aude, ; bethrothed to hildegarde, ; death and burial of, ; treats with aymon, ; and renaud, ; renaud intrusts his family to, ; italian cycle treats of, . ro'land, chan'son de, . ro'land rise. see _meliadus_. ro'lands-eck. retreat of roland, . rolf gang'er. same as rollo, . rol'lo. famous giant, independence of, . rom'a-burg. wolfdietrich goes to, ; dietrich visits, ; dietrich crowned at, ; threatened invasion of, . ro-mance' literature. general survey of, - . roman de troie (r[=o]-m[)o]n' de trwa). popularity of, . ro'mans. and jews, ; claim aeneas, ; britain invaded by, . rome. martin the ape on his way to, ; same as romaburg, , , , ; charlemagne crowned at, ; huon at, , , ; sherasmin at, ; merlin goes to, ; don sancho visits, ; early history of, ; alexander conquers, . roncesvalles (r[=o]n-ces-väl'yes). battle of, , , - , . ros'a-mund. wife of alboin, ; rebellion and death of, . rose garden. i. laurin's, . ii. kriemhild's, . ro'sen. sword of ortnit, , ; wolfdietrich finds, . rot'her. king of lombardy, ; wooing of, - ; captures imelot, ; kidnaps oda. ; second journey to constantinople, ; secures his wife, ; accompanied by berchther, . rou-me'li-a. wolfdietrich's ride through, . round table. knights tell parzival of, ; parzival admitted to the, , ; knights of, , , ; legend of, ; merlin establishes, ; arthur receives, ; at camelot, ; lancelot the principal knight of, , ; gareth admitted to, ; geraint one of knights of, ; feast at, ; sir bedivere a knight of, . ru'al. see _kurvenal_. rÜck'e-nau, frau, , . rÜ'di-ger. sues for kriemhild, , ; oath of, , ; castle of, ; warns burgundians, ; entertains burgundians, ; refrains from tournament, ; safe-conduct granted to. ; forced to fight, ; death of, ; at rose garden on rhine, ; saves dietrich, ; son of, . ru'molt. squire of gunther, . runes. magic letters of the north, . ru-ot'ze. giantess who hatches magic eggs, . rus'sia. a part of reussen. . rus-ti'ci-en de pise. . ruy di'az. see _cid_. ry'ance. king of ireland, last battle and death of, . sa-bene'. guardian of hildburg, ; machinations of, ; besieges lilienporte, ; defeated and slain, . sa-bri'na. drowned in severn. . sa-fo-ret'. aymon's sons serve and kill, . saint o-mer'. ogier a prisoner at, . saints'bur-y, . salisbury (s[a:]wlz'b[)e]r-[)i]). fortress on, , . sam'son. father of dietmar, . san'cho, don. king of castile, cid serves, ; a prisoner, ; freed by cid. ; robs his sisters, ; banishes and recalls cid, ; death of, . san'gre-al. same as holy grail, . san pe'dro de car-deÑ'a. given to cid, ; cid buried at, . san-ti-a'go de com-pos-te'la, , . sar'a-cen. huon's encounters with, . sar'a-cens. charlemagne defeats, , , , , , ; device of, ; roland and, ; sherasmin escapes from, ; titurel wars against, . sar-a-gos'sa. marsiglio in, ; cid besieges, . sav'ior. dish used by, . sax'ons. lüdeger king of, ; led by hengist, ; arthur wars against, . sax'o-ny. burgundian army enters, . scan-di-na'vi-a. iliad in. . scan-di-na'vi-an. raids and settlements, ; cycle, , . scot'land. arthur's name in, ; leodegraunce king of, ; same as albania, . scratch-foot. death and epitaph of, . seine. bayard drowned in, ; renaud casts flamberge in, . sen'lis, countess of, . sev'ern. named after sabrina, . shakes'peare, , , , . shar-fe-neb'be. killed by reynard, . sher-as-min'. same as gerasmes, huon finds, ; accompanies huon into forest, ; oberon displeased with, ; forgiven by oberon, ; journeys to bagdad, ; helps huon to elope with rezia, ; journeys to france, ; quest of, ; in fairyland, ; duel of, ; casket stolen from, . si'bich. wife of, ; kills ermenrich, ; death of, . sic'-ily. part of ortnit's realm, . sid'rat. vision of, ; elopes with ornit, . sie'ge-lind. i. mother of siegfried, ; death of, . ii. a swan maiden who prophesies to hagen, . siege per'il-ous. vacant place at round table called, ; parzival in the, ; merlin in the, ; the empty, ; galahad in the, . sieg'fried. i. king of moorland, suitor of gudrun, ; invades zealand, ; joins hettel and herwig, ; marriage of, . sieg'fried. ii. same as sigurd, ; parentage and birth of, ; goes to worms, ; prowess of, , ; wooes kriemhild, ; with gunther in issland, - ; nibelung warriors of, ; marriage of, ; conquers brunhild, ; in xanten, ; invited to worms, ; punishes kriemhild, ; hagen plots against, ; betrayal and death of, ; burial of, ; mourning for, ; body of removed to lorch, ; kriemhild mourns for, ; hagen confesses murder of, ; sword of, ; swanhild daughter of, ; kriemhild widow of, . sieg'mund. father of siegfried, ; welcomes kriemhild, ; visits worms, ; hears news of siegfried's death, . si'ge-bant. father of hagen, ; death of, . si-ge-min'ne. same as rauch-else, transformation of, ; marriage and kidnaping of, ; rescued by wolfdietrich, ; liebgart resembles, ; magic shirt given by, . si-ge-not'. dietrich's adventure with, ; hildebrand's encounter with, . si'gune. daughter of josiane, ; parzival finds, , . si'gurd. same as siegfried, ; danish dynasty traces origin to, ; fafnisbane, . si'gurd ring. sues for ingeborg's hand, ; kings of sogn make treaty with, ; frithiof offers to conquer, ; marries ingeborg, , ; frithiof visits, ; hunting expedition of, ; death of, , ; son of, ; marries alfild, ; wooes alfsol, . si'gurd the snake-eyed. son of ragnar, . si-mil'de. see _kunhild_. si-milt'. see _kunhild_. sin'dolt. helps siegfried, . sin'tram. dietrich delivers, . skeaf. son of odin, ; career of, . skiold. same as skeaf, , . skiol'dungs. dynasty of, . sod'om. huon and amanda deluded by apples of, . sogn. kingdom of taken by jokul, ; kings of, sigurd rings threaten war against, . sol-da[=n]'a. city given to cid. . sol-ta'ne. forest where parzival was brought up, . sol'way firth. battle of, . sons of ay'mon, - . so'te. a pirate, stole völund ring, . spain. charlemagne in, , , , ; roland in, , ; aymon in, ; montsalvatch in, ; arabs in, ; patron of, . span-gar-he'de. ragnar at, . sfan'iards. legend of holy grail christianized by, ; richoude belongs to, ; battle cry of, . span'ish. cortes, ; cycle, . spen'ser. "faerie queene" of. , . stei'er-mark. province of given to dietlieb, ; dietlieb of, . ste'phen, st. church of, . stone'henge. work of merlin, , . stu'das. father of heime, . styr'i-a. see _steiermark_. su'ders. ortnit sets sail for, . sul'tan. daughter of, ; amanda to be sold as slave to, ; gardens of, ; amanda refuses to marry, ; sends embassy to cid, . su'sat. dietrich goes to, ; waldemar's son a captive in, ; dietrich's mournful return to, . svith'i-od. eystein king of, . swan'hild. daughter of siegfried and kriemhild, death of, ; brothers of, . swan knight. lohengrin the, . swe'den. eadgils king of, ; part of wilkina land, ; viking in, ; svithiod same as, . swedes. beowulf conquers, . swe'dish. writers, ; princess, hunvor a, ; king, eystein the, . swem'mel. hungarian minstrel, . swin'burne, , . swords. see _nägeling_, _nagelring_, _mimung_, _eckesax_, _joyeuse_, _durandana_, _altecler_, _flamberge_, _excalibur_, _angurvadel_, _tizona_, _colada_. syr'i-a. ortnit's journey to, . tan'tris. same as tristan, . ta-ras-co'ni-a. iwo prince of, . tarn'kap-pe. siegfried and, , ; laurin and, . tchio-na-tu-lan'der. and sigune, ; parzival to avenge, ; shrine of, . teg-nÉr'. writings of, , . tem'plars guardians of holy grail called, ; divine guidance of, ; anticipation of, ; disappointment of, ; customs of, ; renown of, . ten'ny-son, . teu-ton'ic. cycle, . thames. brutus visits the, . the-od'o-ric. of verona, same as dietrich of bern, no, ; tomb of, . the-od-o-ri'cus. and roland at roncesvalles, , . the'seus. adventures of, . thes-sa-lo-ni'ca. walgundof, ; hugdietrich at, ioo; berchther at, . thie'dric. roland's squire, . thing. convoked by hygd, ; beowulf elected by, ; belé convokes, ; ragnar recognized by, . thom'as, lord, . thom'as of er'cil-doune, . tho'ra. daughter of jarl herrand, ; ragnar rescues and marries, ; sons and death of, . tho'rer. son of viking, . thor'sten. i. saga, . ii. son of viking, receives angurvadel, ; shipwrecks of, ; marriage and conquests of, ; at framnäs, ; father of frithiof, , , ; last interview with belé, ; death and burial of, . thu'ri-sind. king of gepidæ, : granddaughter of, . tin-ta'gel. in cornwall, gorlois lord of, ; uther's secret visit to, ; mark at, ; tristan at, ; iseult to go to, . ti-ta'ni-a. queen of the fairies, ; carries off huonet, ; restored to oberon's favor, . tit'u-rel. and the holy grail, - ; von eschenbach's poem of, ; birth of, ; vision of, ; sees holy grail, ; builds temple, ; guardian of holy grail, ; children of, ; intercedes for amfortas, ; crowns parzival, ; disappearance of, . ti-tu'ri-sone. pilgrimage of, . ti'tus. disease of, ; miraculous cure of, . ti-zo'na. sword of cid, won from moors, , ; given to infante of carrion, ; recovered by cid, ; dead cid draws, ; inscription on, . to-le'do. school of magic at, ; don alfonso at, ; cid at, ; don alfonso a prisoner at, ; yahia ruler of, ; cortes at, . to'ro. city given to doña elvira, ; taken by don sancho, . tour'mont. huon at, . tours. origin of name, . tran-syl-va'ni-a. herrat princess of, . trev're-zent. son of frimoutel, ; parzival visits, . tri-ent'. dwelling place of dragons, . tris'tan. ogier and, ; legend of, ; story of, - . tris'trem. see _tristan_. tro'i-lus. and cressida, story of, . tron'je. hagen of, . troy. sigeminne queen of, ; downfall of, . tu'nis. huon, amanda, fatima, and sherasmin in, ; galafre king of, . tu-rol'dus. probable author of "chanson de roland," . tu-ro'nus. nephew of brutus, . tur'pin. latin chronicle attributed to, , ; adviser of charlemagne, , , , . tyre. see _suders_. ty-ro'le-an, , . ul'fin. councilor of uther, . u-lys'ses. in mediaeval literature, . uote (w[=o]'te). see _ute ii_. up'lands. njorfe king of, . ur-ra'ca, doÑa. receives zamora, ; loses zamora, ; pleads for alfonso, ; besieged by don sancho, ; reviles cid, ; warns alfonso of sancho's death, . u'ta. see _ute ii_. u'te. i. queen of burgundy, ; interprets krieinhild's dream, ; at tournament, ; pilgrim, brother of, ; disapproves of journey to hungary, . u'te. ii. marries hildebrand, ; rejoined by hildebrand, . u'ther. son of constans, ; fights with vortigern and hengist, ; merlin builds palace for, ; changed into form of gorlois, ; marries yguerne, ; death of, ; father of arthur, , ; a descendant of brutus, . val-duer'na. given to rodrigo, . vale of thorns. see _roncesvalles_. va-len'ci-a. taken by moors, , ; recovered by cid, ; cid master of, ; moors besiege, , ; cid's return to, , ; christians cannot hold, ; evacuation of, . val-hal'la. ragnar summoned to, . val'kyrs. brunhild one of the, ; ragnar warned by, . va-ran'gi-an guard. the, . veillantif (v[=a]-[:a]n-t[=e]f). roland kills, . ven'ice. lion of, . ver'gen. place on danube, . ve-ro'na. same as bern, , ; theodoric of, ; tomb of theodoric near, . ve-ron'i-ca, st. story of, . ves-pa'si-an. sends commission to jerusalem, ; at jerusalem, ; at rome, . vi-a'ne. renaud meets aude at siege of, . vi-en'na. library at, ; wedding at, . vik. frithiof enters the, . vi'king. grandson of haloge, ; early adventures and marriage of, ; second marriage of, ; adventures of sons of, ; aegir gives ellida to, . vir'gil. in "rome la grant," . vir'gin-al. dietrich's adventure with, , ; dietrich forsaken by, . viv'i-an. and merlin, - ; lancelot stolen by, . vol'ker. follower of gunther, receives gifts, ; ally of hagen, ; kills hun, ; might of, . vol'sung. the race, . vol'sung-a sa'ga, , . vÖ'lund. the smith, , ; ring of, , . vor'ti-gern. made king and builds fortress, ; messengers of, ; death of, ; advised by merlin, . vos'ges. see _wasgenstein_. vul-ca'nus, mount. malagigi's adventure at, . wace. writer of metrical tale of brutus, . wa-chil'de. and wittich, , . wack'er-los. complaint of, , . wag'ner. used mediaeval legends, , , . wal'de-mar. king of reussen, dietrich wars against, . wa-leis'. battle at, . wales. arthur's name in, . wal'gund of thes-sa-lo-ni'ca. hugdietrich's visit to, ; finds grandson with wolf, . wal'ther von was'gen-stein. champion of ermenrich, ; at gerimsburg, ; a hostage in hungary, ; elopes with hildegunde, ; marries hildegunde, . was'gen-stein. walther and hildegunde flee to, . wat. follower of hettel, ; athletic skill of, ; wounds hagen, ; fosters ortwine, ; to be gudrun's deliverer, ; challenges normans, ; kills gerlinda, . wax'muth. son of hildburg, ; and hugdietrich, . way'land. see _wieland_. weal'theow. wife of hrothgar, . we'ber. "oberon" of, . welsh. poetry, ; version of tristan, . we'ner, lake. battle of, . wer'bel. hungarian minstrel, ; hagen strikes off hand of, . we'ser. see _wisara_. wes'ter-lands. queen of, . west-pha'li-a. dortmund in, . whit'a-by. ragnar at, ; second battle at, . wie'land. i. the smith, weapons of, , . ii. "oberon" of, . wif'lis-burg. hastings at, . wig'laf. avenges hardred, ; accompanies beowulf, ; saves beowulf's life, . wil-de'ber. joins dietrich, ; in hungary, ; escape of, . wil-ki'na land. dietrich invades, . win'ches-ter, see _camelot_. wi-sa'ra. falster wood on banks of, . wit'ig. see _wittich_. wit'tich. son of wieland, starts for bern, ; conquers dietrich, ; goes to rose garden, ; made prisoner, ; released, ; pursued by dietrich and saved by wachilde, . wolf-die'trich. rescue of, ; at meran, ; besieges constantinople, , ; adventures with rauch-else, ; marries sigeminne, ; kills drusian, ; adventure with belligan, ; kills dragon and marries liebgart, ; descendants of, . wolf'hart. nephew of hildebrand, ; in rose garden, , . wol'fram von esch'en-bach, , , . worms. capital of burgundy, ; siegfried at, , , ; kriemhild at, ; siegfried carried to, ; mourning at, ; rüdiger at, , ; minstrels at, ; chaplain returns to, ; tidings carried to, ; rose garden at, ; gunther and hagen do not return to, . wÜl'pen-sand. battle of, . xan'ten. tournament at, ; siegfried and kriemhild at, . xi-me'na, doÑa. seeks to avenge her father, ; marries cid, ; at zamora, ; cid parts from, ; executes last wishes of cid, . ya'hi-a. grandson of alimaymon, . y-guerne'. wife of gorlois, ; marries uther, ; mother of arthur, . y-solde'. see _iseult_. y'voir-in of mont'brand. uncle of esclarmonde, . y'wain. grandson of yguerne, . za-mo'ra. cid returns to, ; doña urraca at, , ; don sancho takes, ; siege of, , ; don alfonso's arrival at, . zea'land. herwig's kingdom, . advertisements new medieval and modern history from charlemagne to the present day by samuel bannister harding, ph.d., professor of european history, indiana university. based upon the author's "essentials in mediaeval and modern history," prepared in consultation with albert bushnell hart, ll.d., professor of history, harvard university. while based on the author's previous essentials in mediaeval and modern history, in the present volume the plan has been so reorganized, the scope so extended, and the matter so largely rewritten, that the result is practically a new book. the present volume reflects the suggestions of many teachers who have used the previous work in their classes. the aim of this book has been to increase the emphasis on social, industrial, and cultural topics and to enable the student to understand modern conditions and tendencies. the narrative is brought fully up-to-date, including such recent events as the british parliament act of , the italian-turkish war, and the balkan war, - . each topic is made definite and concrete, and such important subjects as the unification of italy and the unification of germany are treated in separate chapters. the teaching apparatus has been made as useful as possible by the arrangement and the typography of the text and by the addition of chronological tables, lists of important dates, suggestive topics and questions for the pupil to investigate, and brief directions for general reading. adequate illustrations and maps are inserted profusely throughout the text. variety and color are imparted to the narrative by frequent quotations from the sources, and by striking characterizations from modern works. american book company outlines for review in history by charles bertram newton, head of the department of history in lawrenceville school, and edward bryant treat, master in lawrenceville school. * * * * * greek history roman history english history american history * * * * * these little manuals help the teacher of history solve the problem of bringing out the subject as a whole, and of so focusing it as to make the picture clear-cut and vivid in the pupil's mind--in other words, they give the proper perspective to the prominent figures and the smaller details, the multitude of memories and impressions made by the text-book, note-book, and class room work. the books are intended primarily for review, and especially for students preparing for college. these outlines embody brief summaries in chronological order of the leading facts and events, and throughout ease of reference has been considered of prime importance. except in most unusual cases they should not be introduced into the class until after the work in the text-book is finished. however, if the time or facilities of the teacher are greatly limited, they may be used judiciously with the text-book as an aid to clearness. because they are not planned to follow or accompany any particular text-book on the subject, references to such books have purposely been omitted. in the index battles, laws, and wars are grouped chronologically under those headings, and also in regular alphabetical order. near the end of each volume are given fifty typical questions selected from the recent examinations set for admission to leading colleges, which are intended for practice in the art of formulating answers. american book company a source book of mediaeval history edited by frederic austin ogg, a.m., assistant in history, harvard university, and instructor in simmons college. in this book is provided a collection of documents illustrative of european life and institutions from the german invasions to the renaissance. great discrimination has been exercised in the selection and arrangement of these sources, which are intended to be used in connection with the study of mediaeval history, either in secondary schools, or in the earlier years of college. throughout the controlling thought has been to present only those selections which are of real value and of genuine interest--that is, those which subordinate the purely documentary and emphasize the strictly narrative, such as annals, chronicles, and biographies. in every case they contain important historical information or throw more or less indirect light upon mediaeval life or conditions. the extracts are of considerable length from fewer sources, rather than a greater number of more fragmentary ones from a wider range. the translations have all been made with care, but for the sake of younger pupils simplified and modernized as much as close adherence to the sense would permit. an introductory explanation, giving at some length the historical setting of the extract, with comments on its general significance, and also a brief sketch of the writer, accompany each selection or group of selections. the footnotes supply somewhat detailed aid to the understanding of obscure illusions, omitted passages, and especially names and technical terms. the index is very full. typographically the book is unusually well arranged with a view of aiding the pupil in its interpretation. american book company essentials in english history from the earliest records to the present day. by albert perry walker, a.m., master in history, english high school, boston. in consultation with albert bushnell hart, ll.d., professor of history, harvard university like the other volumes of the essentials in history series, this text-book is intended to form a year's work in secondary schools, following out the recommendation of the committee of seven, and meeting the requirements of the college entrance examination board, and of the new york state education department. it contains the same general features, the same pedagogic apparatus, and the same topical method of treatment. the text is continuous, the sectional headings being placed in the margin. the maps and illustrations are worthy of special mention. the book is a model of good historical exposition, unusually clear in expression, logical and coherent in arrangement, and accurate in statement. the essential facts in the development of the british empire are vividly described, and the relation of cause and effect is clearly brought out. the treatment begins with a brief survey of the whole course of english history, deducing therefrom three general movements: ( ) the fusing of several races into the english people; ( ) the solution by that people of two great problems: free and democratic home government, and practical, enlightened government of foreign dependencies; and ( ) the extreme development of two great fields of industry, commerce and manufacture. the narrative follows the chronological order, and is full of matter which is as interesting as it is significant, ending with a masterly summary of england's contribution to civilization. american book company webster's secondary school dictionary full cloth, vol., pages. containing over , words, with illustrations. this new dictionary is based on webster's new international dictionary, and therefore conforms to the best present usage. it presents the largest number of words and phrases ever included in a school dictionary--all those, however new, likely to be needed by any pupil. it is a reference book for the reader and a guide in the use of english, both oral and written. it fills every requirement that can reasonably be expected of a dictionary of moderate size. this new book gives the preference to forms of spelling now current in the united states, in cases of doubt leaning toward the simpler forms that may be coming into use. in the matter of pronunciation such alternatives are included as are in very common use, but the one that is preferred is clearly indicated. each definition is in the form of a specific statement accompanied by one or more synonyms, between which careful discrimination is made. in addition, this dictionary includes an unusual amount of supplementary information of value to students: the etymology, syllabication and capitalization of words; many proper names from folklore, mythology, and the bible; a list of prefixes and suffixes; all irregularly inflected forms; rules for spelling; lists of synonyms, in which words are carefully discriminated; answers to many questions on the use of correct english constantly asked by pupils; a guide to pronunciation; abbreviations used in writing and printing; a list of foreign words and phrases; a dictionary of proper names of persons and places, etc. american book company pupil's notebooks and study outlines in history oriental and greek history by l.b. lewis, teacher of ancient history, central high school, syracuse, n.y. roman history by edna m. mckinley, ph.b., teacher of ancient and european history, central high school, syracuse, n.y. these notebooks combine the topical and library methods of studying history. they give a correct historical perspective; they show the relation of important events to each other; and they drive home in the pupil's mind certain vital facts by requiring him to perform various kinds of interesting work, which in each case is definitely laid out. a skeleton outline of topics is included with indications of subdivisions and blank spaces in which the student is to write the more important sub-topics and other brief notes to complete the outline. special topics for collateral reading are inserted to supplement the text in the proper places. these special topics are to be reported on in class in connection with the regular text lesson, and the reports are to be written by the student on the blank pages left for this purpose at the end of the book. a very full list of books, with pages specified, is given in connection with each topic. the large number of these special topics affords ample choice, and emphasis has been placed on those which show the life and character of the people. these topics may be used as themes in english, and as subjects for debate, in order to stimulate reading and discussion on the part of the class. there are outline maps to be filled in, and numerous spaces for drawings and plans which can easily be made by the pupil after consulting the specific references in the books mentioned. american book company essentials of biology by george william hunter, a.m., head of department of biology, de witt clinton high school, new york city. this new first-year course treats the subject of biology as a whole, and meets the requirements of the leading colleges and associations of science teachers. instead of discussing plants, animals, and man as separate forms of living organisms, it treats of life in a comprehensive manner, and particularly in its relations to the progress of humanity. each main topic is introduced by a problem, which the pupil is to solve by actual laboratory work. the text that follows explains and illustrates the meaning of each problem. the work throughout aims to have a human interest and a practical value, and to provide the simplest and most easily comprehended method of demonstration. at the end of each chapter are lists of references to both elementary and advanced books for collateral reading. sharpe's laboratory manual in biology in this manual the important problems of hunter's essentials of biology are solved; that is, the principles of biology are developed from the laboratory standpoint. it is a teacher's detailed directions put into print. it states the problems, and then tells what materials and apparatus are necessary and how they are to be used, how to avoid mistakes, and how to get at the facts when they are found. following each problem and its solution is a full list of references to other books. american book company garner's government in the united states by james w. garner, professor of political science, university of illinois with special state editions merits the special consideration of teachers in secondary schools because in the first place it includes the most recent governmental problems of interest and importance, and in the second it devotes an unusual amount of space to a practical account of the workings of our government. the treatment, which is simple and interesting, proceeds from the simple to the most complex, presenting in turn the local, state, and national forms of government. the book shows how our governmental system has been affected by the direct primary movements, the initiative and referendum, the commission form of municipal government, and new legislation regarding publicity of campaign expenditure and corrupt practices at elections. it is, however, the spirit and actual workings of our government that are emphasized, rather than its mere mechanism, thus adding to the interest of the student as well as to the value of the study. the book is up to date in every respect. statistics used are from the latest census. it describes the most recent changes in the organization and activities of the national, state, and municipal governments. for example it deals with the recent reorganization of the federal courts, the establishment of postal savings banks, the parcels post question, the question of second class postal rates, primary elections, the new federal corporation tax, and the income tax amendment. unusual attention is devoted to the important subject or citizenship, and to state and local governments. wider reading among students is encouraged by the frequent lists of references to collateral reading, the documentary or source materials, the numerous search questions, etc. american book company american poems edited by augustus white long, preceptor in english, princeton university. this book is intended to serve as an introduction to the systematic study of american poetry, and, therefore, does not pretend to exhaustiveness. all the poets from to who are worthy of recognition are here treated simply, yet suggestively, and in such a manner as to illustrate the growth and spirit of american life, as expressed in its verse. each writer is represented by an appropriate number of poems, which are preceded by brief biographical sketches, designed to entertain and awaken interest. the explanatory notes and the brief critical comments give much useful and interesting information. english poems edited by edward chauncey baldwin, ph.d., and harry g. paul, a.m., assistant professors of english literature in the university of illinois. this volume combines measurable completeness with an amount of editing sufficient for supplying needed help to the college student, and for furnishing material for class room work. in the selection of poems the primary aim has been to include the most representative work of the chief british poets, from chaucer to tennyson, with a view to presenting material which should also be representative of the successive periods of english literary history, and, within certain limitations, of the chief types of poetry. the notes are suggestive rather than informational, and, with the questions, are designed to stimulate thought. bibliographies are included. american book company descriptive catalogue of high school and college textbooks published complete and in sections we issue a catalogue of high school and college textbooks, which we have tried to make as valuable and as useful to teachers as possible. in this catalogue are set forth briefly and clearly the scope and leading characteristics of each of 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addressed to the nearest of the following offices of the company: new york, cincinnati, chicago, boston, atlanta. american book company [transcriber's notes: to improve readability, dashes between entries in the table of contents and in chapter subheadings have been converted to periods. the anglo-saxon yogh symbol is here represented by [y].] periods of european literature edited by professor saintsbury ii. the twelfth and thirteenth centuries periods of european literature. edited by professor saintsbury. "_the criticism which alone can much help us for the future is a criticism which regards europe as being, for intellectual and spiritual purposes, one great confederation, bound to a joint action and working to a common result._" --matthew arnold. in crown vo volumes. price s. net each. the dark ages professor w.p. ker. the flourishing of romance and the rise of allegory the editor. the fourteenth century f.j. snell. the transition period the earlier renaissance the later renaissance david hannay. the first half of th century the augustan ages oliver elton. the mid-eighteenth century the romantic revolt edmund gosse. the romantic triumph walter h. pollock. the later nineteenth century the editor. william blackwood & sons, edinburgh and london. the flourishing of romance and the rise of allegory by george saintsbury, m.a. professor of rhetoric and english literature in the university of edinburgh william blackwood and sons edinburgh and london mdcccxcvii preface. as this volume, although not the first in chronological order, is likely to be the first to appear in the series of which it forms part, and of which the author has the honour to be editor, it may be well to say a few words here as to the scheme of this series generally. when that scheme was first sketched, it was necessarily objected that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to obtain contributors who could boast intimate and equal knowledge of all the branches of european literature at any given time. to meet this by a simple denial was, of course, not to be thought of. even universal linguists, though not unknown, are not very common; and universal linguists have not usually been good critics of any, much less of all, literature. but it could be answered that if the main principle of the scheme was sound--that is to say, if it was really desirable not to supplant but to supplement the histories of separate literatures, such as now exist in great numbers, by something like a new "hallam," which should take account of all the simultaneous and contemporary developments and their interaction--some sacrifice in point of specialist knowledge of individual literatures not only must be made, but might be made with little damage. and it could be further urged that this sacrifice might be reduced to a minimum by selecting in each case writers thoroughly acquainted with the literature which happened to be of greatest prominence in the special period, provided always that their general literary knowledge and critical habits were such as to render them capable of giving a fit account of the rest. in the carrying out of such a scheme occasional deficiencies of specialist dealing, or even of specialist knowledge, must be held to be compensated by range of handling and width of view. and though it is in all such cases hopeless to appease what has been called "the rage of the specialist" himself--though a mezzofanti doubled with a sainte-beuve could never, in any general history of european literature, hope to satisfy the special devotees of roumansch or of platt-deutsch, not to mention those of the greater languages--yet there may, i hope, be a sufficient public who, recognising the advantage of the end, will make a fair allowance for necessary shortcomings in the means. as, however, it is quite certain that there will be some critics, if not some readers, who will not make this allowance, it seemed only just that the editor should bear the brunt in this new passage perilous. i shall state very frankly the qualifications which i think i may advance in regard to this volume. i believe i have read most of the french and english literature proper of the period that is in print, and much, if not most, of the german. i know somewhat less of icelandic and provençal; less still of spanish and italian as regards this period, but something also of them: welsh and irish i know only in translations. now it so happens that--for the period--french is, more than at any other time, the capital literature of europe. very much of the rest is directly translated from it; still more is imitated in form. all the great subjects, the great _matières_, are french in their early treatment, with the exception of the national work of spain, iceland, and in part germany. all the forms, except those of the prose saga and its kinsman the german verse folk-epic, are found first in french. whosoever knows the french literature of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, knows not merely the best literature in form, and all but the best in matter, of the time, but that which all the time was imitating, or shortly about to imitate, both in form and matter. again, england presents during this time, though no great english work written "in the english tongue for english men," yet the spectacle, unique in history, of a language and a literature undergoing a sea-change from which it was to emerge with incomparably greater beauty and strength than it had before, and in condition to vie with--some would say to outstrip--all actual or possible rivals. german, if not quite supreme in any way, gives an interesting and fairly representative example of a chapter of national literary history, less brilliant and original in performance than the french, less momentous and unique in promise than the english, but more normal than either, and furnishing in the epics, of which the _nibelungenlied_ and _kudrun_ are the chief examples, and in the best work of the minnesingers, things not only of historical but of intrinsic value in all but the highest degree. provençal and icelandic literature at this time are both of them of far greater intrinsic interest than english, if not than german, and they are infinitely more original. but it so happens that the prominent qualities of form in the first, of matter and spirit in the second, though intense and delightful, are not very complicated, various, or wide-ranging. if monotony were not by association a question-begging word, it might be applied with much justice to both: and it is consequently not necessary to have read every icelandic saga in the original, every provençal lyric with a strictly philological competence, in order to appreciate the literary value of the contributions which these two charming isolations made to european history. yet again, the production of spain during this time is of the smallest, containing, perhaps, nothing save the _poem of the cid_, which is at once certain in point of time and distinguished in point of merit; while that of italy is not merely dependent to a great extent on provençal, but can be better handled in connection with dante, who falls to the province of the writer of the next volume. the celtic tongues were either past or not come to their chief performance; and it so happens that, by the confession of the most ardent celticists who speak as scholars, no welsh or irish _texts_ affecting the capital question of the arthurian legends can be certainly attributed to the twelfth or early thirteenth centuries. it seemed to me, therefore, that i might, without presumption, undertake the volume. of the execution as apart from the undertaking others must judge. i will only mention (to show that the book is not a mere compilation) that the chapter on the arthurian romances summarises, for the first time in print, the result of twenty years' independent study of the subject, and that the views on prosody given in chapter v. are not borrowed from any one. i have dwelt on this less as a matter of personal explanation, which is generally superfluous to friends and never disarms foes, than in order to explain and illustrate the principle of the series. all its volumes have been or will be allotted on the same principle--that of occasionally postponing or antedating detailed attention to the literary production of countries which were not at the moment of the first consequence, while giving greater prominence to those that were: but at the same time never losing sight of the _general_ literary drift of the whole of europe during the whole period in each case. it is to guard against such loss of sight that the plan of committing each period to a single writer, instead of strapping together bundles of independent essays by specialists, has been adopted. for a survey of each time is what is aimed at, and a survey is not to be satisfactorily made but by one pair of eyes. as the individual study of different literatures deepens and widens, these surveys may be more and more difficult: they may have to be made more and more "by allowance." but they are also more and more useful, not to say more and more necessary, lest a deeper and wider ignorance should accompany the deeper and wider knowledge. the dangers of this ignorance will hardly be denied, and it would be invidious to produce examples of them from writings of the present day. but there can be nothing ungenerous in referring--_honoris_, not _invidiæ causa_--to one of the very best literary histories of this or any century, mr ticknor's _spanish literature_. there was perhaps no man of his time who was more widely read, or who used his reading with a steadier industry and a better judgment, than mr ticknor. yet the remarks on assonance, and on long mono-rhymed or single-assonanced tirades, in his note on berceo (_history of spanish literature_, vol. i. p. ), show almost entire ignorance of the whole prosody of the _chansons de geste_, which give such an indispensable light in reference to the subject, and which, even at the time of his first edition ( ), if not quite so well known as they are to-day, existed in print in fair numbers, and had been repeatedly handled by scholars. it is against such mishaps as this that we are here doing our best to supply a guard.[ ] [footnote : one of the most difficult points to decide concerned the allowance of notes, bibliographical or other. it seemed, on the whole, better not to overload such a series as this with them; but an attempt has been made to supply the reader, who desires to carry his studies further, with references to the best editions of the principal texts and the best monographs on the subjects of the different chapters. i have scarcely in these notes mentioned a single book that i have not myself used; but i have not mentioned a tithe of those that i have used.] contents. chapter i. the function of latin. reasons for not noticing the bulk of mediæval latin literature. excepted divisions. comic latin literature. examples of its verbal influence. the value of burlesque. hymns. the _dies iræ_. the rhythm of bernard. literary perfection of the hymns. scholastic philosophy. its influence on phrase and method. the great scholastics chapter ii. chansons de geste. european literature in . late discovery of the _chansons_. their age and history. their distinguishing character. mistakes about them. their isolation and origin. their metrical form. their scheme of matter. the character of charlemagne. other characters and characteristics. realist quality. volume and age of the _chansons_. twelfth century. thirteenth century. fourteenth, and later. _chansons_ in print. language: _oc_ and _oïl_. italian. diffusion of the _chansons_. their authorship and publication. their performance. hearing, not reading, the object. effect on prosody. the _jongleurs_. _jongleresses_, &c. singularity of the _chansons_. their charm. peculiarity of the _geste_ system. instances. summary of the _geste_ of william of orange. and first of the _couronnement loys_. comments on the _couronnement_. william of orange. the earlier poems of the cycle. the _charroi de nîmes_. the _prise d'orange_. the story of vivien. _aliscans._ the end of the story. renouart. some other _chansons_. final remarks on them chapter iii. the matter of britain. attractions of the arthurian legend. discussions on their sources. the personality of arthur. the four witnesses. their testimony. the version of geoffrey. its _lacunæ_. how the legend grew. wace. layamon. the romances proper. walter map. robert de borron. chrestien de troyes. prose or verse first? a latin graal-book. the mabinogion. the legend itself. the story of joseph of arimathea. merlin. lancelot. the legend becomes dramatic. stories of gawain and other knights. sir tristram. his story almost certainly celtic. sir lancelot. the minor knights. arthur. guinevere. the graal. how it perfects the story. nature of this perfection. no sequel possible. latin episodes. the legend as a whole. the theories of its origin. celtic. french. english. literary. the celtic theory. the french claims. the theory of general literary growth. the english or anglo-norman pretensions. attempted hypothesis chapter iv. antiquity in romance. oddity of the classical romance. its importance. the troy story. the alexandreid. callisthenes. latin versions. their story. its developments. alberic of besançon. the decasyllabic poem. the great _roman d'alixandre_. form, &c. continuations. _king alexander._ characteristics. the tale of troy. dictys and dares. the dares story. its absurdity. its capabilities. troilus and briseida. the _roman de troie_. the phases of cressid. the _historia trojana_. meaning of the classical romance chapter v. the making of english and the settlement of european prosody. special interest of early middle english. decay of anglo-saxon. early middle english literature. scantiness of its constituents. layamon. the form of the _brut_. its substance. the _ormulum_: its metre, its spelling. the _ancren riwle_. the _owl and the nightingale_. proverbs. robert of gloucester. romances. _havelok the dane._ _king horn._ the prosody of the modern languages. historical retrospect. anglo-saxon prosody. romance prosody. english prosody. the later alliteration. the new verse. rhyme and syllabic equivalence. accent and quantity. the gain of form. the "accent" theory. initial fallacies, and final perversities thereof chapter vi. middle high german poetry. position of germany. merit of its poetry. folk-epics: the _nibelungenlied_. the _volsunga saga_. the german version. metres. rhyme and language. _kudrun._ shorter national epics. literary poetry. its four chief masters. excellence, both natural and acquired, of german verse. originality of its adaptation. the pioneers: heinrich von veldeke. gottfried of strasburg. hartmann von aue. _erec der wanderære_ and _iwein_. lyrics. the "booklets." _der arme heinrich._ wolfram von eschenbach. _titurel._ _willehalm._ _parzival._ walther von der vogelweide. personality of the poets. the minnesingers generally chapter vii. the 'fox,' the 'rose,' and the minor contributions of france. the predominance of france. the rise of allegory. lyric. the _romance_ and the _pastourelle_. the _fabliaux_. their origin. their licence. their wit. definition and subjects. effect of the _fabliaux_ on language. and on narrative. conditions of _fabliau_-writing. the appearance of irony. fables proper. _reynard the fox._ order of texts. place of origin. the french form. its complications. unity of spirit. the rise of allegory. the satire of _renart_. the fox himself. his circle. the burial of renart. the _romance of the rose_. william of lorris and jean de meung. the first part. its capital value. the rose-garden. "danger." "reason." "shame" and "scandal." the later poem. "false-seeming." contrast of the parts. value of both, and charm of the first. marie de france and ruteboeuf. drama. adam de la halle. _robin et marion._ the _jeu de la feuillie_. comparison of them. early french prose. laws and sermons. villehardouin. william of tyre. joinville. fiction. _aucassin et nicolette_ chapter viii. icelandic and provenÇal. resemblances. contrasts. icelandic literature of this time mainly prose. difficulties with it. the saga. its insularity of manner. of scenery and character. fact and fiction in the sagas. classes and authorship of them. the five greater sagas. _njala._ _laxdæla._ _eyrbyggja._ _egla._ _grettla._ its critics. merits of it. the parting of asdis and her sons. great passages of the sagas. style. provençal mainly lyric. origin of this lyric. forms. many men, one mind. example of rhyme-schemes. provençal poetry not great. but extraordinarily pedagogic. though not directly on english. some troubadours. criticism of provençal chapter ix. the literature of the peninsulas. limitations of this chapter. late greek romance. its difficulties as a subject. anna comnena, &c. _hysminias and hysmine._ its style. its story. its handling. its "decadence." lateness of italian. the "saracen" theory. the "folk-song" theory. ciullo d'alcamo. heavy debt to france. yet form and spirit both original. love-lyric in different european countries. position of spanish. catalan-provençal. galician-portuguese. castilian. ballads? the _poema del cid_. a spanish _chanson de geste_. in scheme and spirit. difficulties of its prosody. ballad-metre theory. irregularity of line. other poems. apollonius and mary of egypt. berceo. alfonso el sabio chapter x. conclusion index the flourishing of romance and the rise of allegory. chapter i. the function of latin. reasons for not noticing the bulk of mediÆval latin literature. excepted divisions. comic latin literature. examples of its verbal influence. the value of burlesque. hymns. the "dies irÆ." the rhythm of bernard. literary perfection of the hymns. scholastic philosophy. its influence on phrase and method. the great scholastics. [sidenote: _reasons for not noticing the bulk of mediæval latin literature._] this series is intended to survey and illustrate the development of the vernacular literatures of mediæval and europe; and for that purpose it is unnecessary to busy ourselves with more than a part of the latin writing which, in a steadily decreasing but--until the end of the last century--an always considerable proportion, served as the vehicle of literary expression. but with a part of it we are as necessarily concerned as we are necessarily compelled to decline the whole. for not only was latin for centuries the universal means of communication between educated men of different languages, the medium through which such men received their education, the court-language, so to speak, of religion, and the vehicle of all the literature of knowledge which did not directly stoop to the comprehension of the unlearned; but it was indirectly as well as directly, unconsciously as well as consciously, a schoolmaster to bring the vernacular languages to literary accomplishment. they could not have helped imitating it, if they would; and they did not think of avoiding imitation of it, if they could. it modified, to a very large extent, their grammar; it influenced, to an extent almost impossible to overestimate, the prosody of their finished literature; it supplied their vocabulary; it furnished models for all their first conscious literary efforts of the more deliberate kind, and it conditioned those which were more or less spontaneous. but, even if we had room, it would profit us little to busy ourselves with diplomatic latin or with the latin of chronicles, with the latin of such scientific treatises as were written or with the latin of theology. all these except, for obvious reasons, the first, tended away from latin into the vernaculars as time went on, and were but of lesser literary moment, even while they continued to be written in latin. nor in _belles lettres_ proper were such serious performances as continued to be written well into our period of capital importance. such a book, for instance, as the well-known _trojan war_ of joseph of exeter,[ ] though it really deserves much of the praise which it used to receive,[ ] can never be anything much better than a large prize poem, such as those which still receive and sometimes deserve the medals and the gift-books of schools and universities. every now and then a man of irrepressible literary talent, having no vernacular or no public in the vernacular ready to his hand, will write in latin a book like the _de nugis curialium_,[ ] which is good literature though bad latin. but on the whole it is a fatal law of such things that the better the latin the worse must the literature be. [footnote : included with dictys and dares in a volume of valpy's delphin classics.] [footnote : cf. warton, _history of english poetry_. ed. hazlitt, i. - .] [footnote : gualteri mapes, _de nugis curialium distinctiones quinque_. ed. t. wright: camden society, .] [sidenote: _excepted divisions._] we may, however, with advantage select three divisions of the latin literature of our section of the middle ages, which have in all cases no small literary importance and interest, and in some not a little literary achievement. and these are the comic and burlesque latin writings, especially in verse; the hymns; and the great body of philosophical writing which goes by the general title of scholastic philosophy, and which was at its palmiest time in the later portion of our own special period. [sidenote: _comic latin literature._] it may not be absolutely obvious, but it does not require much thought to discover, why the comic and burlesque latin writing, especially in verse, of the earlier middle ages holds such a position. but if we compare such things as the _carmina burana_, or as the goliardic poems attributed to or connected with walter map,[ ] with the early _fabliaux_, we shall perceive that while the latter, excellently written as they sometimes are, depend for their comedy chiefly on matter and incident, not indulging much in play on words or subtle adjustment of phrase and cadence, the reverse is the case with the former. a language must have reached some considerable pitch of development, must have been used for a great length of time seriously, and on a large variety of serious subjects, before it is possible for anything short of supreme genius to use it well for comic purposes. much indeed of this comic use turns on the existence and degradation of recognised serious writing. there was little or no opportunity for any such use or misuse in the infant vernaculars; there was abundant opportunity in literary latin. accordingly we find, and should expect to find, very early parodies of the offices and documents of the church,--things not unnaturally shocking to piety, but not perhaps to be justly set down to any profane, much less to any specifically blasphemous, intention. when the quarrel arose between reformers and "papists," intentional ribaldry no doubt began. but such a thing as, for example, the "missa de potatoribus"[ ] is much more significant of an unquestioning familiarity than of deliberate insult. it is an instance of the same bent of the human mind which has made very learned and conscientious lawyers burlesque law, and which induces schoolboys and undergraduates to parody the classics, not at all because they hate them, but because they are their most familiar literature. [footnote : _carmina burana_, stuttgart, ; _political songs of england_ ( ), and _latin poems attributed to walter mapes_ ( ), both edited for the camden society by t. wright.] [footnote : wright and halliwell's _reliquiæ antiquæ_ (london, ), ii. .] at the same time this comic degradation, as may be seen in its earliest and perhaps its greatest practitioner aristophanes--no bad citizen or innovating misbeliever--leads naturally to elaborate and ingenious exercises in style, to a thorough familiarity with the capacities of language, metre, rhyme. and expertness in all these things, acquired in the latin, was certain sooner or later to be transferred to the vernacular. no one can read the latin poems which cluster in germany round the name of the "arch-poet,"[ ] in england round that of map, without seeing how much freer of hand is the latin rhymer in comparison with him who finds it "hard only not to stumble" in the vernacular. we feel what a gusto there is in this graceless catachresis of solemn phrase and traditionally serious literature; we perceive how the language, colloquially familiar, taught from infancy in the schools, provided with plentiful literary examples, and having already received perfect licence of accommodation to vernacular rhythms and the poetical ornaments of the hour, puts its stammering rivals, fated though they were to oust it, out of court for the time by its audacious compound of experience and experiment. [footnote : on this arch-poet see scherer, _history of german literature_ (engl. ed., oxford, ), i. .] [sidenote: _examples of its verbal influence._] the first impression of any one who reads that exceedingly delightful volume the camden society's _poems attributed to walter mapes_ may be one of mere amusement, of which there are few books fuller. the agreeable effrontery with which the question "whether to kiss rose or agnes" is put side by side with that "whether it is better to eat flesh cooked in the cauldron or little fishes driven into the net;" the intense solemnity and sorrow for self with which golias discourses in trochaic mono-rhymed _laisses_ of irregular length, _de suo infortunio_; the galloping dactylics of the "apocalypse"; the concentrated scandal against a venerated sex of the _de conjuge non ducenda_, are jocund enough in themselves, if not invariably edifying. but the good-for-nothing who wrote "fumus et mulier et stillicidia expellunt hominem a domo propria," was not merely cracking jokes, he was exercising himself, or his countrymen, or at farthest his successors, in the use of the vernacular tongues with the same lightness and brightness. when he insinuated that "dulcis erit mihi status si prebenda muneratus, reditu vel alio, vivam, licet non habunde, saltem mihi detur unde studeam de proprio,"-- he was showing how things could be put slyly, how the stiffness and awkwardness of native speech could be suppled and decorated, how the innuendo, the turn of words, the _nuance_, could be imparted to dog-latin. and if to dog-latin, why not to genuine french, or english, or german? [sidenote: _the value of burlesque._] and he was showing at the same time how to make verse flexible, how to suit rhythm to meaning, how to give freedom, elasticity, swing. no doubt this had in part been done by the great serious poetry to which we shall come presently, and which he and his kind often directly burlesqued. but in the very nature of things comic verse must supple language to a degree impossible, or very seldom possible, to serious poetry: and in any case the mere tricks with language which the parodist has to play, familiarise him with the use of it. even in these days of multifarious writing, it is not absolutely uncommon to find men of education and not devoid of talent who confess that they have no notion how to put things, that they cannot express themselves. we can see this tying of the tongue, this inability to use words, far more reasonably prevalent in the infancy of the vernacular tongues; as, for instance, in the constant presence of what the french call _chevilles_, expletive phrases such as the "sikerly," and the "i will not lie," the "verament," and the "everidel," which brought a whole class of not undeserving work, the english verse romances of a later time, into discredit. latin, with its wide range of already consecrated expressions, and with the practice in it which every scholar had, made recourse to constantly repeated stock phrases at least less necessary, if necessary at all; and the writer's set purpose to amuse made it incumbent on him not to be tedious. a good deal of this comic writing may be graceless: some of it may, to delicate tastes, be shocking or disgusting. but it was at any rate an obvious and excellent school of word-fence, a gymnasium and exercising-ground for style. [sidenote: _hymns._] and if the beneficial effect in the literary sense of these light songs is not to be overlooked, how much greater in every way is that of the magnificent compositions of which they were in some cases the parody! it will be more convenient to postpone to a later chapter of this volume a consideration of the exact way in which latin sacred poetry affected the prosody of the vernacular; but it is well here to point out that almost all the finest and most famous examples of the mediæval hymn, with perhaps the sole exception of _veni, sancte spiritus_, date from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.[ ] ours are the stately rhythms of adam of st victor, and the softer ones of st bernard the greater. it was at this time that jacopone da todi, in the intervals of his eccentric vernacular exercises, was inspired to write the _stabat mater_. from this time comes that glorious descant of bernard of morlaix, in which, the more its famous and very elegant english paraphrase is read beside it, the more does the greatness and the beauty of the original appear. and from this time comes the greatest of all hymns, and one of the greatest of all poems, the _dies iræ_. there have been attempts--more than one of them--to make out that the _dies iræ_ is no such wonderful thing after all: attempts which are, perhaps, the extreme examples of that cheap and despicable paradox which thinks to escape the charge of blind docility by the affectation of heterodox independence. the judgment of the greatest (and not always of the most pious) men of letters of modern times may confirm those who are uncomfortable without authority in a different opinion. fortunately there is not likely ever to be lack of those who, authority or no authority, in youth and in age, after much reading or without much, in all time of their tribulation and in all time of their wealth, will hold these wonderful triplets, be they thomas of celano's or another's, as nearly or quite the most perfect wedding of sound to sense that they know. [footnote : a few more precise dates may be useful. st bernard, - ; bernard of morlaix, exact years uncertain, but twelfth century; adam of st victor, _ob. cir._ ; jacopone da todi, _ob._ ; st bonaventura, - ; thomas of celano, _fl. c._ . the two great storehouses of latin hymn-texts are the well-known books of daniel, _thesaurus hymnologicus_, and mone, _hymni latini medii Ævi_. and on this, as on all matters connected with hymns, the exhaustive _dictionary of hymnology_ (london, ) of the rev. john julian will be found most valuable.] [sidenote: _the_ dies iræ.] it would be possible, indeed, to illustrate a complete dissertation on the methods of expression in serious poetry from the fifty-one lines of the _dies iræ_. rhyme, alliteration, cadence, and adjustment of vowel and consonant values,--all these things receive perfect expression in it, or, at least, in the first thirteen stanzas, for the last four are a little inferior. it is quite astonishing to reflect upon the careful art or the felicitous accident of such a line as "tuba mirum spargens sonum," with the thud of the trochee[ ] falling in each instance in a different vowel; and still more on the continuous sequence of five stanzas, from _judex ergo_ to _non sit cassus_, in which not a word could be displaced or replaced by another without loss. the climax of verbal harmony, corresponding to and expressing religious passion and religious awe, is reached in the last-- "quærens me sedisti lassus, redemisti crucem passus: tantus labor non sit cassus!"-- where the sudden change from the dominant _e_ sounds (except in the rhyme foot) of the first two lines to the _a_'s of the last is simply miraculous, and miraculously assisted by what may be called the internal sub-rhyme of _sedisti_ and _redemisti_. this latter effect can rarely be attempted without a jingle: there is no jingle here, only an ineffable melody. after the _dies iræ_, no poet could say that any effect of poetry was, as far as sound goes, unattainable, though few could have hoped to equal it, and perhaps no one except dante and shakespeare has fully done so. [footnote : of course no one of the four is a pure classical trochee; but all obey the trochaic _rhythm_.] beside the grace and the grandeur, the passion and the art, of this wonderful composition, even the best remaining examples of mediæval hymn-writing may look a little pale. it is possible for criticism, which is not hypercriticism, to object to the pathos of the _stabat_, that it is a trifle luscious, to find fault with the rhyme-scheme of _jesu dulcis memoria_, that it is a little faint and frittered; while, of course, those who do not like conceits and far-fetched interpretations can always quarrel with the substance of adam of st victor. but those who care for merits rather than for defects will never be weary of admiring the best of these hymns, or of noticing and, as far as possible, understanding their perfection. although the language they use is old, and their subjects are those which very competent and not at all irreligious critics have denounced as unfavourable to poetry, the special poetical charm, as we conceive it in modern days, is not merely present in them, but is present in a manner of which few traces can be found in classical times. and some such students, at least, will probably go on to examine the details of the hymn-writers' method, with the result of finding more such things as have been pointed out above. [sidenote: _the rhythm of bernard._] let us, for instance, take the rhythm of bernard the englishman (as he was really, though called of morlaix). "jerusalem the golden" has made some of its merits common property, while its practical discoverer, archbishop trench, has set those of the original forth with a judicious enthusiasm which cannot be bettered.[ ] the point is, how these merits, these effects, are produced. the piece is a crucial one, because, grotesque as its arrangement would probably have seemed to an augustan, its peculiarities are superadded to, not substituted for, the requirements of classical prosody. the writer does not avail himself of the new accentual quantification, and his other licences are but few. if we examine the poem, however, we shall find that, besides the abundant use of rhyme--interior as well as final--he avails himself of all those artifices of what may be called word-music, suggesting beauty by a running accompaniment of sound, which are the main secret of modern verse. he is not satisfied, ample as it may seem, with his double-rhyme harmony. he confines himself to it, indeed, in the famous overture-couplet-- "hora novissima, tempora pessima sunt, vigilemus! ecce! minaciter imminet arbiter ille supremus." [footnote : _sacred latin poetry_ ( d ed., london, ), p. . this admirable book has not been, and from its mixture of taste and learning is never likely to be, superseded as an introduction to, and chrestomathy of, the subject. indeed, if a little touch of orthodox prudery had not made the archbishop exclude the _stabat_, hardly a hymn of the very first class could be said to be missing in it.] but immediately afterwards, and more or loss throughout, he redoubles and redoubles again every possible artifice--sound-repetition in the _imminet, imminet_, of the third line, alliteration in the _recta remuneret_ of the fourth, and everywhere trills and _roulades_, not limited to the actually rhyming syllables of the same vowel-- "tunc nova gloria pectora sobria clarificabit... candida lilia, viva monilia, sunt tibi sponsa... te peto, te colo, te flagro, te volo, canto, saluto." he has instinctively discovered the necessity of varying as much as possible the cadence and composition of the last third of his verse, and carefully avoids anything like a monotonous use of his only spondee; in a batch of eighteen lines taken at random, there are only six end-words of two syllables, and these only once rhyme together. the consequence of these and other devices is that the whole poem is accompanied by a sort of swirl and eddy of sound and cadence, constantly varying, constantly shifting its centres and systems, but always assisting the sense with grateful clash or murmur, according as it is loud or soft, of word-music. [sidenote: _literary perfection of the hymns._] the vernacular languages were not as yet in case to produce anything so complicated as this, and some of them have never been quite able to produce it to this day. but it must be obvious at once what a standard was held up before poets, almost every one of whom, even if he had but small latin in a general way, heard these hymns constantly sung, and what means of producing like effects were suggested to them. the most varied and charming lyric of the middle ages, that of the german minnesingers, shows the effect of this latin practice side by side, or rather inextricably mingled, with the effects of the preciser french and provençal verse-scheme, and the still looser but equally musical, though half-inarticulate, suggestions of indigenous song. that english prosody--the prosody of shakespeare and coleridge, of shelley and keats--owes its origin to a similar admixture the present writer at least has no doubt at all, while even those who deny this can hardly deny the positive literary achievement of the best mediæval hymns. they stand by themselves. latin--which, despite its constant colloquial life, still even in the middle ages had in profane use many of the drawbacks of a dead language, being either slipshod or stiff,--here, owing to the millennium and more during which it had been throughout western europe the living language and the sole living language of the church universal, shakes off at once all artificial and all doggerel character. it is thoroughly alive: it comes from the writers' hearts as easily as from their pens. they have in the fullest sense proved it; they know exactly what they can do, and in this particular sphere there is hardly anything that they cannot do. [sidenote: _scholastic philosophy._] the far-famed and almost more abused than famed scholastic philosophy[ ] cannot be said to have added to positive literature any such masterpieces in prose as the hymn-writers (who were very commonly themselves scholastics) produced in verse. with the exception of abelard, whose interest is rather biographical than strictly literary, and perhaps anselm, the heroes of mediæval dialectic, the doctors subtle and invincible, irrefragable and angelic, have left nothing which even on the widest interpretation of pure literature can be included within it, or even any names that figure in any but the least select of literary histories. yet they cannot but receive some notice here in a history, however condensed, of the literature of the period of their chief flourishing. this is not because of their philosophical importance, although at last, after much bandying of not always well-informed argument, that importance is pretty generally allowed by the competent. it has, fortunately, ceased to be fashionable to regard the dispute about universals as proper only to amuse childhood or beguile dotage, and the quarrels of scotists and thomists as mere reductions of barren logomachy to the flatly absurd. still, this importance, though real, though great, is not directly literary. the claim which makes it impossible to pass them over here is that excellently put in the two passages from condorcet and hamilton which john stuart mill (not often a scholastically minded philosopher) set in the forefront of his _logic_, that, in the scottish philosopher's words, "it is to the schoolmen that the vulgar languages are indebted for what precision and analytical subtlety they possess;" and that, as the frenchman, going still further, but hardly exaggerating, lays it down, "logic, ethics, and metaphysics itself owe to scholasticism a precision unknown to the ancients themselves." [footnote : i should feel even more diffidence than i do feel in approaching this proverbially thorny subject if it were not that many years ago, before i was called off to other matters, i paid considerable attention to it. and i am informed by experts that though the later (chiefly german) histories of philosophy, by ueberweg, erdmann, windelband, &c., may be consulted with advantage, and though some monographs may be added, there are still no better guides than hauréau, _de la philosophie scolastique_ (revised edition) and prantl, _geschichte der logik im abendlande_, who were our masters five-and-twenty years ago. the last-named book in especial may be recommended with absolute confidence to any one who experiences the famous desire for "something craggy to break his mind upon."] [sidenote: _its influence on phrase and method._] there can be no reasonable or well-informed denial of the fact of this: and the reason of it is not hard to understand. that constant usage, the effect of which has been noted in theological verse, had the same effect in philosophico-theological prose. latin is before all things a precise language, and the one qualification which it lacked in classical times for philosophic use, the presence of a full and exact terminology, was supplied in the middle ages by the fearless barbarism (as pedants call it) which made it possible and easy first to fashion such words as _aseitas_ and _quodlibetalis_, and then, after, as it were, lodging a specification of their meaning, to use them ever afterwards as current coin. all the peculiarities which ignorance or sciolism used to ridicule or reproach in the scholastics--their wiredrawnness, their lingering over special points of verbal wrangling, their neglect of plain fact in comparison with endless and unbridled dialectic--all these things did no harm but much positive good from the point of view which we are now taking. when a man defended theses against lynx-eyed opponents or expounded them before perhaps more lynx-eyed pupils, according to rules familiar to all, it was necessary for him, if he were to avoid certain and immediate discomfiture, to be precise in his terms and exact in his use of them. that it was possible to be childishly as well as barbarously scholastic nobody would deny, and the famous sarcasms of the _epistolæ obscurorum virorum_, two centuries after our time, had been anticipated long before by satirists. but even the logical fribble, even the logical jargonist, was bound to be exact. now exactness was the very thing which languages, mostly young in actual age, and in all cases what we may call uneducated, unpractised in literary exercises, wanted most of all. and it was impossible that they should have better teachers in it than the few famous, and even than most of the numerous unknown or almost unknown, philosophers of the scholastic period. [sidenote: _the great scholastics._] it has been said that of those most famous almost all belong specially to this our period. before it there is, till its very latest eve, hardly one except john scotus erigena; after it none, except occam, of the very greatest. but during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries there is scarcely a decade without its illustration. the first champions of the great realist and nominalist controversy, roscellinus and william of champeaux, belong to the eleventh century in part, as does their still more famous follower, abelard, by the first twenty years of his life, while almost the whole of that of anselm may be claimed by it.[ ] but it was not till the extreme end of that century that the great controversy in which these men were the front-fighters became active (the date of the council of soissons, which condemned the nominalism of roscellinus as tritheistic is ), and the controversy itself was at its hottest in the earlier part of the succeeding age. the master of the sentences, peter lombard, belongs wholly to the twelfth, and the book which gives him his scholastic title dates from its very middle. john of salisbury, one of the clearest-headed as well as most scholarly of the whole body, died in . the fuller knowledge of aristotle, through the arabian writers, coincided with the latter part of the twelfth century: and the curious outburst of pantheism which connects itself on the one hand with the little-known teaching of amaury de bène and david of dinant, on the other with the almost legendary "eternal gospel" of joachim of flora, occurred almost exactly at the junction of the twelfth and thirteenth. as for the writers of the thirteenth century itself, that great period holds in this as in other departments the position of palmiest time of the middle ages. to it belong alexander hales, who disputes with aquinas the prize for the best example of the summa theologiæ; bonaventura, the mystic; roger bacon, the natural philosopher; vincent of beauvais, the encyclopædist. if, of the four greatest of all, albert of bolstadt, albertus magnus, the "dumb ox of cologne," was born seven years before its opening, his life lasted over four-fifths of it; that of aquinas covered its second and third quarters; occam himself, though his main exertions lie beyond us, was probably born before aquinas died; while john duns scotus hardly outlived the century's close by a decade. raymond lully (one of the most characteristic figures of scholasticism and of the mediæval period, with his "great art" of automatic philosophy), who died in , was born as early as . peter the spaniard, pope and author of the _summulæ logicales_, the grammar of formal logic for ages, died in . [footnote : some exacter dates may be useful. anselm, - ; roscellin, ?- ; william of champeaux, ?- ; abelard, - ; peter lombard, _ob._ ; john of salisbury, ?- ; alexander of hales, ?- ; vincent of beauvais, ?- ?; bonaventura, - ; albertus magnus, - ; thomas aquinas, ?- ; duns scotus, ?- ?; william of occam, ?- ; roger bacon, - ; petrus hispanus, ?- ; raymond lully, - .] of the matter which these and others by hundreds put in forgotten wealth of exposition, no account will be expected here. even yet it is comparatively unexplored, or else the results of the exploration exist only in books brilliant, but necessarily summary, like that of hauréau, in books thorough, but almost as formidable as the original, like that of prantl. even the latest historians of philosophy complain that there is up to the present day no "ingoing" (as the germans say) monograph about scotus and none about occam.[ ] the whole works of the latter have never been collected at all: the twelve mighty volumes which represent the compositions of the former contain probably not the whole work of a man who died before he was forty. the greater part of the enormous mass of writing which was produced, from scotus erigena in the ninth century to gabriel biel in the fifteenth, is only accessible to persons with ample leisure and living close to large and ancient libraries. except erigena himself, anselm in a few of his works, abelard, and a part of aquinas, hardly anything can be found in modern editions, and even the zealous efforts of the present pope have been less effectual in divulging aquinas than those of his predecessors were in making amaury of bena a mystery.[ ] yet there has always, in generous souls who have some tincture of philosophy, subsisted a curious kind of sympathy and yearning over the work of these generations of mainly disinterested scholars who, whatever they were, were thorough, and whatever they could not do, could think. and there have even, in these latter days, been some graceless ones who have asked whether the science of the nineteenth century, after an equal interval, will be of any more positive value--whether it will not have even less comparative interest than that which appertains to the scholasticism of the thirteenth. [footnote : rémusat on anselm and cousin on abelard long ago smoothed the way as far as these two masters are concerned, and dean church on anselm is also something of a classic. but i know no other recent monograph of any importance by an englishman on scholasticism except mr r.l. poole's _erigena_. indeed the "erin-born" has not had the ill-luck of his country, for with the migne edition accessible to everybody, he is in much better case than most of his followers two, three, and four centuries later.] [footnote : the amalricans, as the followers of amaury de bène were termed, were not only condemned by the lateran council of , but sharply persecuted; and we know nothing of the doctrines of amaury, david, and the other northern averroists or pantheists, except from later and hostile notices.] however this may be, the claim, modest and even meagre as it may seem to some, which has been here once more put forward for this scholasticism--the claim of a far-reaching educative influence in mere language, in mere system of arrangement and expression, will remain valid. if, at the outset of the career of modern languages, men had thought with the looseness of modern thought, had indulged in the haphazard slovenliness of modern logic, had popularised theology and vulgarised rhetoric, as we have seen both popularised and vulgarised since, we should indeed have been in evil case. it used to be thought clever to moralise and to felicitate mankind over the rejection of the stays, the fetters, the prison in which its thought was mediævally kept. the justice or the injustice, the taste or the vulgarity, of these moralisings, of these felicitations, may not concern us here. but in expression, as distinguished from thought, the value of the discipline to which these youthful languages were subjected is not likely now to be denied by any scholar who has paid attention to the subject. it would have been perhaps a pity if thought had not gone through other phases; it would certainly have been a pity if the tongues had all been subjected to the fullest influence of latin constraint. but that the more lawless of them benefited by that constraint there can be no doubt whatever. the influence of form which the best latin hymns of the middle ages exercised in poetry, the influence in vocabulary and in logical arrangement which scholasticism exercised in prose, are beyond dispute: and even those who will not pardon literature, whatever its historical and educating importance be, for being something less than masterly in itself, will find it difficult to maintain the exclusion of the _cur deus homo_, and impossible to refuse admission to the _dies iræ_. chapter ii. chansons de geste.[ ] [footnote : i prefer, as more logical, the plural form _chansons de gestes_, and have so written it in my _short history of french literature_ (oxford, th ed., ), to which i may not improperly refer the reader on the general subject. but of late years the fashion of dropping the _s_ has prevailed, and, therefore, in a book meant for general reading, i follow it here. those who prefer native authorities will find a recent and excellent one on the whole subject of french literature in m. lanson, _histoire de la littérature française_, paris, . for the mediæval period generally m. gaston paris, _la littérature française au moyen age_ (paris, ), speaks with unapproached competence; and, still narrowing the range, the subject of the present chapter has been dealt with by m. léon gautier, _les epopées françaises_ (paris, vols., - ), in a manner equally learned and loving. m. gautier has also been intrusted with the section on the _chansons_ in the new and splendidly illustrated collection of monographs (paris: colin) which m. petit de julleville is editing under the title _histoire de la langue et de la littérature française_. mr paget toynbee's _specimens of old french_ (oxford, ) will illustrate this and the following chapters.] european literature in . late discovery of the "chansons." their age and history. their distinguishing character. mistakes about them. their isolation and origin. their metrical form. their scheme of matter. the character of charlemagne. other characters and characteristics. realist quality. volume and age of the "chansons." twelfth century. thirteenth century. fourteenth, and later. "chansons" in print. language: "oc" and "oÏl." italian. diffusion of the "chansons." their authorship and publication. their performance. hearing, not reading, the object. effect on prosody. the "jongleurs." "jongleresses," etc. singularity of the "chansons." their charm. peculiarity of the "geste" system. instances. summary of the "geste" of william of orange. and first of the "couronnement loys." comments on the "couronnement." william of orange. the earlier poems of the cycle. the "charroi de nÎmes." the "prise d'orange." the story of vivien. "aliscans." the end of the story. renouart. some other "chansons." final remarks on them. [sidenote: _european literature in ._] when we turn from latin and consider the condition of the vernacular tongues in the year , there is hardly more than one country in europe where we find them producing anything that can be called literature. in england anglo-saxon, if not exactly dead, is dying, and has for more than a century ceased to produce anything of distinctly literary attraction; and english, even the earliest "middle" english, is scarcely yet born, is certainly far from being in a condition for literary use. the last echoes of the older and more original icelandic poetry are dying away, and the great product of icelandic prose, the saga, still _volitat per ora virum_, without taking a concrete literary form. it is in the highest degree uncertain whether anything properly to be called spanish or italian exists at all--anything but dialects of the _lingua rustica_ showing traces of what spanish and italian are to be; though the originals of the great _poema del cid_ cannot be far off. german is in something the same trance between its "old" and its "middle" state as is english. only in france, and in both the great divisions of french speech, is vernacular literature active. the northern tongue, the _langue d'oïl_, shows us--in actually known existence, or by reasonable inference that it existed--the national epic or _chanson de geste_; the southern, or _langue d'oc_, gives us the provençal lyric. the latter will receive treatment later, the former must be dealt with at once. it is rather curious that while the _chansons de geste_ are, after anglo-saxon and icelandic poetry, the oldest elaborate example of verse in the modern vernaculars; while they exhibit a character, not indeed one of the widest in range or most engaging in quality, but individual, interesting, intense as few others; while they are entirely the property of one nation, and that a nation specially proud of its literary achievements,--they were almost the last division of european literature to become in any degree properly known. in so far as they were known at all, until within the present century, the knowledge was based almost entirely on later adaptations in verse, and still later in prose; while--the most curious point of all--they were not warmly welcomed by the french even after their discovery, and cannot yet be said to have been taken to the heart of the nation, even to the limited extent to which the arthurian romances have been taken to the heart of england, much less to that in which the old, but much less old, ballads of england, scotland, germany, and spain have for periods of varying length been welcomed in their respective countries. to discuss the reason of this at length would lead us out of our present subject; but it is a fact, and a very curious fact. [sidenote: _late discovery of the_ chansons.] [sidenote: _their age and history._] the romances of charlemagne, or, to employ their more technical designation, the _chansons de geste_, form a large, a remarkably homogeneous, and a well-separated body of compositions. these, as far as can be decided, date in time from the eleventh to the thirteenth century, with a few belated representatives in the fourteenth; but scarcely, as far as probability shows, with any older members in the tenth. very little attention of any kind was paid to them, till some seventy years ago, an english scholar, conybeare, known for his services to our own early literature, following the example of another scholar, tyrwhitt, still earlier and more distinguished, had drawn attention to the merit and interest of, as it happens, the oldest and most remarkable of all. this was the _chanson de roland_, which, in this oldest form, exists only in one of the mss. of the bodleian library at oxford. but they very soon received the care of m. paulin paris, the most indefatigable student that in a century of examination of the older european literature any european country has produced, and after more than half a century of enthusiastic resuscitation by m. paris, by his son m. gaston, and by others, the whole body of them has been thoroughly overhauled and put at the disposal of those who do not care to read the original, in the four volumes of the remodelled edition of m. léon gautier's _epopées françaises_, while perhaps a majority of the actual texts are in print. this is as well, for though a certain monotony is always charged against the _chansons de geste_[ ] by those who do not love them, and may be admitted to some extent even by those who do, there are few which have not a more or less distinct character of their own; and even the generic character is not properly to be perceived until a considerable number have been studied. [footnote : this monotony almost follows from the title. for _geste_ in the french is not merely the equivalent of _gesta_, "deeds." it is used for the record of those deeds, and then for the whole class or family of performances and records of them. in this last sense the _gestes_ are in chief three--those of the king, of doon de mayence, and of garin de montglane--besides smaller ones.] [sidenote: _their distinguishing character._] the old habit of reading this division of romance in late and travestied versions naturally and necessarily obscured the curious traits of community in form and matter that belong to it, and indeed distinguish it from almost all other departments of literature of the imaginative kind. its members are frequently spoken of as "the charlemagne romances"; and, as a matter of fact, most of them do come into connection with the great prince of the second race in one way or another. yet bodel's phrase of _matière de france_[ ] is happier. for they are all still more directly connected with french history, seen through a romantic lens; and even the late and half-burlesque _hugues capet_, even the extremely interesting and partly contemporary set on the crusades, as well as such "little _gestes_" as that of the lorrainers, _garin le loherain_ and the rest, and the three "great _gestes_" of the king, of the southern hero william of orange (sometimes called the _geste_ of montglane), and of the family of doon de mayence, arrange themselves with no difficulty under this more general heading. and the _chanson de geste_ proper, as frenchmen are entitled to boast, never quite deserts this _matière de france_. it is always the _gesta francorum_ at home, or the _gesta dei per francos_ in the east, that supply the themes. when this subject or group of subjects palled, the very form of the _chanson de geste_ was lost. it was not applied to other things;[ ] it grew obsolete with that which it had helped to make popular. some of the material--_huon of bordeaux_, the _four sons of aymon_, and others--retained a certain vogue in forms quite different, and gave later ages the inexact and bastard notion of "charlemagne romance" which has been referred to. but the _chanson de geste_ itself was never, so to speak, "half-known"--except to a very few antiquaries. after its three centuries of flourishing, first alone, then with the other two "matters," it retired altogether, and made its reappearance only after four centuries had passed away. [footnote : jean bodel, a _trouvère_ of the thirteenth century, furnished literary history with a valuable stock-quotation in the opening of his _chanson des saisnes_ for the three great divisions of romance:-- "ne sont que trois matières à nul home attendant, de france et de bretaigne et de rome la grant." --_chanson des saxons_, ed. michel, paris, , vol. i. p. . the lines following, less often quoted, are an interesting early _locus_ for french literary patriotism.] [footnote : or only in rare cases to later french history itself--du guesclin, and the _combat des trente_.] [sidenote: _mistakes about them._] this fact or set of facts has made the actual nature of the original charlemagne romances the subject of much mistake and misstatement on the part of general historians of literature. the widely read and generally accurate dunlop knew nothing whatever about them, except in early printed versions representing their very latest form, and in the hopelessly travestied eighteenth-century _bibliothèque des romans_ of the comte de tressan. he therefore assigned to them[ ] a position altogether inferior to their real importance, and actually apologised for the writers, in that, coming _after_ the arthurian historians, they were compelled to imitation. as a matter of fact, it is probable that all the most striking and original _chansons de geste_, certainly all those of the best period, were in existence before a single one of the great arthurian romances was written; and as both the french and english, and even the german, writers of these latter were certainly acquainted with the _chansons_, the imitation, if there were any, must lie on their side. as a matter of fact, however, there is little or none. the later and less genuine _chansons_ borrow to some extent the methods and incidents in the romances; but the romances at no time exhibit much resemblance to the _chansons_ proper, which have an extremely distinct, racy, and original character of their own. hallam, writing later than dunlop, and if with a less wide knowledge of romance, with a much greater proficiency in general literary history, practically passes the _chansons de geste_ over altogether in the introduction to his _literature of europe_, which purports to summarise all that is important in the _history of the middle ages_, and to supplement and correct that book itself. [footnote : dunlop, _history of prose fiction_ (ed. wilson, london, ), i. - . had dunlop rigidly confined himself to _prose_ fiction, the censure in the text might not be quite fair. as a matter of fact, however, he does not, and it would have been impossible for him to do so.] [sidenote: _their isolation and origin._] the only excuse (besides mere unavoidable ignorance, which, no doubt, is a sufficient one) for this neglect is the curious fact, in itself adding to their interest, that these _chansons_, though a very important chapter in the histories both of poetry and of fiction, form one which is strangely marked off at both ends from all connection, save in point of subject, with literature precedent or subsequent. as to their own origin, the usual abundant, warm, and if it may be said without impertinence, rather futile controversies have prevailed. practically speaking, we know nothing whatever about the matter. there used to be a theory that the charlemagne romances owed their origin more or less directly to the fabulous _chronicle_ of tilpin or turpin, the warrior-archbishop of rheims. it has now been made tolerably certain that the latin chronicle on the subject is not anterior even to our existing _chanson de roland_, and very probable that it is a good deal later. on the other hand, of actual historical basis we have next to nothing except the mere fact of the death of roland ("hruotlandus comes britanniæ") at the skirmish of roncesvalles. there are, however, early mentions of certain _cantilenæ_ or ballads; and it has been assumed by some scholars that the earliest _chansons_ were compounded out of precedent ballads of the kind. it is unnecessary to inform those who know something of general literary history, that this theory (that the corruption of the ballad is the generation of the epic) is not confined to the present subject, but is one of the favourite fighting-grounds of a certain school of critics. it has been applied to homer, to _beowulf_, to the old and middle german romances, and it would be very odd indeed if it had not been applied to the _chansons de geste_. but it may be said with some confidence that not one tittle of evidence has ever been produced for the existence of any such ballads containing the matter of any of the _chansons_ which do exist. the song of roland which taillefer sang at hastings may have been such a ballad: it may have been part of the actual _chanson_; it may have been something quite different. but these "mays" are not evidence; and it cannot but be thought a real misfortune that, instead of confining themselves to an abundant and indeed inexhaustible subject, the proper literary study of what does exist, critics should persist in dealing with what certainly does not, and perhaps never did. on the general point it might be observed that there is rather more positive evidence for the breaking up of the epic into ballads than for the conglomeration of ballads into the epic. but on that point it is not necessary to take sides. the matter of real importance is, to lay it down distinctly that we _have_ nothing anterior to the earliest _chansons de geste_; and that we have not even any satisfactory reason for presuming that there ever was anything. [sidenote: _their metrical form._] one of the reasons, however, which no doubt has been most apt to suggest anterior compositions is the singular completeness of form exhibited by these poems. it is now practically agreed that--scraps and fragments themselves excepted--we have no monument of french in accomplished profane literature more ancient than the _chanson de roland_.[ ] and the form of this, though from one point of view it may be called rude and simple, is of remarkable perfection in its own way. the poem is written in decasyllabic iambic lines with a cæsura at the second foot, these lines being written with a precision which french indeed never afterwards lost, but which english did not attain till chaucer's day, and then lost again for more than another century. further, the grouping and finishing of these lines is not less remarkable, and is even more distinctive than their internal construction. they are not blank; they are not in couplets; they are not in equal stanzas; and they are not (in the earliest examples, such as _roland_) regularly rhymed. but they are arranged in batches (called in french _laisses_ or _tirades_) of no certain number, but varying from one to several score, each of which derives unity from an _assonance_--that is to say, a vowel-rhyme, the consonants of the final syllable varying at discretion. this assonance, which appears to have been common to all romance tongues in their early stages, disappeared before very long from french, though it continued in spanish, and is indeed the most distinguishing point of the prosody of that language. very early in the _chansons_ themselves we find it replaced by rhyme, which, however, remains the same for the whole of the _laisse_, no matter how long it is. by degrees, also, the ten-syllabled line (which in some examples has an octosyllabic tail-line not assonanced at the end of every _laisse_) gave way in its turn to the victorious alexandrine. but the mechanism of the _chanson_ admitted no further extensions than the substitution of rhyme for assonance, and of twelve-syllabled lines for ten-syllabled. in all other respects it remained rigidly the same from the eleventh century to the fourteenth, and in the very latest examples of such poems, as _hugues capet_ and _baudouin de seboure_--full as enthusiasts like m. gautier complain that they are of a spirit very different from that of the older _chansons_--there is not the slightest change in form; while certain peculiarities of stock phrase and "epic repetition" are jealously preserved. the immense single-rhymed _laisses_, sometimes extending to several pages of verse, still roll rhyme after rhyme with the same sound upon the ear. the common form generally remains; and though the adventures are considerably varied, they still retain a certain general impress of the earlier scheme. [footnote : _editio princeps_ by fr. michel, . since that time it has been frequently reprinted, translated, and commented. those who wish for an exact reproduction of the oldest ms. will find it given by stengel (heilbronn, ).] [sidenote: _their scheme of matter._] [sidenote: _the character of charlemagne._] that scheme is, in the majority of the _chansons_, curiously uniform. it has, since the earliest studies of them, been remarked as odd that charlemagne, though almost omnipresent (except of course in the crusading cycle and a few others), and though such a necessary figure that he is in some cases evidently confounded both with his ancestor charles martel and his successor charles the bald, plays a part that is very dubiously heroic. he is, indeed, presented with great pomp and circumstance as _li empereres à la barbe florie_, with a gorgeous court, a wide realm, a numerous and brilliant baronage. but his character is far from tenderly treated. in _roland_ itself he appears so little that critics who are not acquainted with many other poems sometimes deny the characteristic we are now discussing. but elsewhere he is much less leniently handled. indeed the plot of very many _chansons_ turns entirely on the ease with which he lends an ear to traitors (treason of various kinds plays an almost ubiquitous part, and the famous "trahis!" is heard in the very dawn of french literature), on his readiness to be biassed by bribes, and on the singular ferocity with which, on the slightest and most unsupported accusation, he is ready to doom any one, from his own family downwards, to block, stake, gallows, or living grave. this combination, indeed, of the irascible and the gullible tempers in the king defrays the plot of a very large number of the _chansons_, in which we see his best knights, and (except that they are as intolerant of injustice as he is prone to it) his most faithful servants, forced into rebellion against him, and almost overwhelmed by his own violence following on the machinations of their and his worst enemies. [sidenote: _other characters and characteristics._] nevertheless, charlemagne is always the defender of the cross, and the antagonist of the saracens, and the part which these latter play is as ubiquitous as his own, and on the whole more considerable. a very large part of the earlier _chansons_ is occupied with direct fighting against the heathen; and from an early period (at least if the _voyage à constantinoble_ is, as is supposed, of the early twelfth century, if not the eleventh) a most important element, bringing the class more into contact with romance generally than some others which have been noticed, is introduced in the love of a saracen princess, daughter of emperor or "admiral" (emir), for one of the christian heroes. here again _roland_ stands alone, and though the mention of aude, oliver's sister and roland's betrothed, who dies when she hears of his death, is touching, it is extremely meagre. there is practically nothing but the clash of arms in this remarkable poem. but elsewhere there is, in rather narrow and usual limits, a good deal else. charlemagne's daughter, and the daughters of peers and paladins, figure: and their characteristics are not very different from those of the pagan damsels. it is, indeed, unnecessary to convert them,--a process to which their miscreant sisters usually submit with great goodwill,--and they are also relieved from the necessity of showing the extreme undutifulness to their more religiously constant sires, which is something of a blot on paynim princesses like floripas in _fierabras_. this heroine exclaims in reference to her father, "he is an old devil, why do you not kill him? little i care for him provided you give me guy," though it is fair to say that fierabras himself rebukes her with a "moult grant tort avès." all these ladies, however, christian as well as heathen, are as tender to their lovers as they are hard-hearted to their relations; and the relaxation of morality, sometimes complained of in the later _chansons_, is perhaps more technical than real, even remembering the doctrine of the mediæval church as to the identity, for practical purposes, of betrothal and marriage. on the other hand, the courtesy of the _chansons_ is distinctly in a more rudimentary state than that of the succeeding romances. not only is the harshest language used by knights to ladies,[ ] but blows are by no means uncommon; and of what is commonly understood by romantic love there is on the knights' side hardly a trace, unless it be in stories such as that of _ogier le danois_, which are obviously late enough to have come under arthurian influence. the piety, again, which has been so much praised in these _chansons_, is of a curious and rather elementary type. the knights are ready enough to fight to the last gasp, and the last drop of blood, for the cross; and their faith is as free from flaw as their zeal. _li apostoiles de rome_--the pope--is recognised without the slightest hesitation as supreme in all religious and most temporal matters. but there is much less reference than in the arthurian romances, not merely to the mysteries of the creed, but even to the simple facts of the birth and death of christ. except in a few places--such as, for instance, the exquisite and widely popular story of _amis and amiles_ (the earliest vernacular form of which is a true _chanson de geste_ of the twelfth century)--there are not many indications of any higher or finer notion of christianity than that which is confined to the obedient reception of the sacraments, and the cutting off saracens' heads whensoever they present themselves.[ ] [footnote : _v. infra_ on the scene in _aliscans_ between william of orange and his sister queen blanchefleur.] [footnote : even the famous and very admirable death-scene of vivien (again _v. infra_) will not disprove these remarks.] [sidenote: _realist quality._] in manners, as in theology and ethics, there is the same simplicity, which some have called almost barbarous. architecture and dress receive considerable attention; but in other ways the arts do not seem to be far advanced, and living is still conducted nearly, if not quite, as much in public as in the _odyssey_ or in _beowulf_. the hall is still the common resort of both sexes by day and of the men at night. although gold and furs, silk and jewels, are lavished with the usual cheap magnificence of fiction, very few details are given of the minor _supellex_ or of ways of living generally. from the _chanson de roland_ in particular (which, though it is a pity to confine the attention to it as has sometimes been done, is undoubtedly the type of the class in its simplest and purest form) we should learn next to nothing about the state of society depicted, except that its heroes were religious in their fashion, and terrible fighters. but it ought to be added that the perusal of a large number of these _chansons_ leaves on the mind a much more genuine belief in their world (if it may so be called) as having for a time actually existed, than that which is created by the reading of arthurian romance. that fair vision we know (hardly knowing why or how we know it) to have been a creation of its own fata morgana, a structure built of the wishes, the dreams, the ideals of men, but far removed from their actual experience. this is not due to miracles--there are miracles enough in the _chansons de geste_ most undoubtingly related: nor to the strange history, geography, and chronology, for the two divisions are very much on a par there also. but strong as the fantastic element is in them, the _chansons de geste_ possess a realistic quality which is entirely absent from the gracious idealism of the romances. the emperors and the admirals, perhaps even their fair and obliging daughters, were not personages unknown to the contemporaries of the norman conquerors of italy and sicily, or to the first crusaders. the faithful and ferocious, covetous and indomitable, pious and lawless spirit, which hardly dropped the sword except to take up the torch, was, poetic presentation and dressing apart, not so very different from the general temper of man after the break up of the roman peace till the more or less definite mapping out of europe into modern divisions. more than one vivien and one william of orange listened to peter the hermit. in the very isolation of the atmosphere of these romances, in its distance from modern thought and feeling, in its lack (as some have held) of universal quality and transcendent human interest, there is a certain element of strength. it was not above its time, and it therefore does not reach the highest forms of literature. but it was intensely _of_ its time; and thus it far exceeds the lowest kinds, and retains an abiding value even apart from the distinct, the high, and the very curious perfection, within narrow limits, of its peculiar form. [sidenote: _volume and age of the_ chansons.] [sidenote: _twelfth century._] it is probable that very few persons who are not specially acquainted with the subject are at all aware of the enormous bulk and number of these poems, even if their later _remaniements_ (as they are called) both in verse and prose--fourteenth and fifteenth century refashionings, which in every case meant a large extension--be left out of consideration. the most complete list published, that of m. léon gautier, enumerates . of these he himself places only the _chanson de roland_ in the eleventh century, perhaps as early as the norman conquest of england, certainly not later than . to the twelfth he assigns (and it may be observed that, enthusiastic as m. gautier is on the literary side, he shows on all questions of age, &c., a wariness not always exhibited by scholars more exclusively philological) _acquin_, _aliscans_, _amis et amiles_, _antioche aspremont_, _auberi le bourgoing_, _aye d'avignon_, the _bataille loquifer_, the oldest (now only known in italian) form of _berte aus grans piés_, _beuves d'hanstone_ (with another italian form more or less independent), the _charroi de nîmes_, _les chétifs_, the _chevalerie ogier de danemarche_, the _chevalerie vivien_ (otherwise known as _covenant vivien_), the major part (also known by separate titles) of the _chevalier au cygne_, _la conquête de la petite bretagne_ (another form of _acquin_), the _couronnement loys_, _doon de la roche_, _doon de nanteuil_, the _enfances charlemagne_, the _enfances godefroi_, the _enfances roland_, the _enfances ogier_, _floovant_, _garin le loherain_, _garnier de nanteuil_, _giratz de rossilho_, _girbert de metz_, _gui de bourgogne_, _gui de nanteuil_, _hélias_, _hervis de metz_, the oldest form of _huon de bordeaux_, _jérusalem_, _jourdains de blaivies_, the lorraine cycle, including _garin_, &c., _macaire_, _mainet_, the _moniage guillaume_, the _moniage rainoart_, _orson de beauvais_, _rainoart_, _raoul de cambrai_, _les saisnes_, the _siège de barbastre_, _syracon_, and the _voyage de charlemagne_. in other words, nearly half the total number date from the twelfth century, if not even earlier. [sidenote: _thirteenth century._] by far the larger number of the rest are not later than the thirteenth. they include--_aimeri de narbonne_, _aiol_, _anséis de carthage_, _anséis fils de gerbert_, _auberon_, _berte aus grans piés_ in its present french form, _beton et daurel_, _beuves de commarchis_, the _département des enfans aimeri_, the _destruction de rome_, _doon de mayence_, _elie de saint gilles_, the _enfances doon de mayence_, the _enfances guillaume_, the _enfances vivien_, the _entrée en espagne_, _fierabras_, _foulques de candie_, _gaydon_, _garin de montglane_, _gaufrey_, _gérard de viane_, _guibert d'andrenas_, _jehan de lanson_, _maugis d'aigremont_, the _mort aimeri de narbonne_, _otinel_, _parise la duchesse_, the _prise de cordres_, the _prise de pampelune_, the _quatre fils d'aymon_, _renaud de montauban_ (a variant of the same), _renier_, the later forms of the _chanson de roland_, to which the name of _roncevaux_ is sometimes given for the sake of distinction, the _siège de narbonne_, _simon de pouille_, _vivien l'amachour de montbranc_, and _yon_. [sidenote: _fourteenth, and later._] by this the list is almost exhausted. the fourteenth century, though fruitful in _remaniements_, sometimes in mono-rhymed tirades, but often in alexandrine couplets and other changed shapes, contributes hardly anything original except the very interesting and rather brilliant last branches of the _chevalier au cygne_--_baudouin de seboure_, and the _bastart de bouillon_; _hugues capet_, a very lively and readable but slightly vulgar thing, exhibiting an almost undisguised tone of parody; and some fragments known by the names of _hernaut de beaulande_, _renier de gennes_, &c. as for fifteenth and sixteenth century work, though some pieces of it, especially the very long and unprinted poem of _lion de bourges_, are included in the canon, all the _chanson_-production of this time is properly apocryphal, and has little or nothing left of the _chanson_ spirit, and only the shell of the _chanson_ form. [sidenote: chansons _in print._] it must further be remembered that, with the exception of a very few in fragmentary condition, all these poems are of great length. only the later or less genuine, indeed, run to the preposterous extent of twenty, thirty, or (it is said in the case of _lion de bourges_) sixty thousand lines. but _roland_ itself, one of the shortest, has four thousand; _aliscans_, which is certainly old, eight thousand; the oldest known form of _huon_, ten thousand. it is probably not excessive to put the average length of the older _chansons_ at six thousand lines; while if the more recent be thrown in, the average of the whole hundred would probably be doubled. this immense body of verse, which for many reasons it is very desirable to study as a whole, is still, after the best part of a century, to a great extent unprinted, and (as was unavoidable) such of its constituents as have been sent to press have been dealt with on no very uniform principles. it was less inevitable, and is more to be regretted, that the dissensions of scholars on minute philological points have caused the repeated printing of certain texts, while others have remained inaccessible; and it cannot but be regarded as a kind of petty treason to literature thus to put the satisfaction of private crotchets before the "unlocking of the word-hoard" to the utmost possible extent. the earliest _chansons_ printed[ ] were, i believe, m. paulin paris's _berte aus grans piés_, m. francisque michel's _roland_; and thereafter these two scholars and others edited for m. techener a very handsome set of "romances des douze pairs," as they were called, including _les saisnes_, _ogier_, _raoul de cambrai_, _garin_, and the two great crusading _chansons_, _antioche_ and _jérusalem_. other scattered efforts were made, such as the publication of a beautiful edition of _baudouin de seboure_ at valenciennes as early as ; while a belgian scholar, m. de reiffenberg, published _le chevalier au cygne_, and a dutch one, dr jonckbloët, gave a large part of the later numbers of the garin de montglane cycle in his _guillaume d'orange_ ( vols., the hague, ). but the great opportunity came soon after the accession of napoleon iii., when a minister favourable to literature, m. de fourtou, gave, in a moment of enthusiasm, permission to publish the entire body of the _chansons_. perfect wisdom would probably have decreed the acceptance of the godsend by issuing the whole, with a minimum of editorial apparatus, in some such form as that of our chalmers's poets, the bulk of which need probably not have been exceeded in order to give the oldest forms of every real _chanson_ from _roland_ to the _bastart de bouillon_. but perfect wisdom is not invariably present in the councils of men, and the actual result took the form of ten agreeable little volumes, in the type, shape, and paper of the "bibliothèque elzévirienne" with abundant editorial matter, paraphrases in modern french, and the like. _les anciens poètes de la france_, as this series was called, appeared between , which saw the first volume, and , which fatal year saw the last, for the republic had no money to spare for such monarchical glories as the _chansons_. they are no contemptible possession; for the ten volumes give fourteen _chansons_ of very different ages, and rather interestingly representative of different kinds. but they are a very small portion of the whole, and in at least one instance, _aliscans_, they double on a former edition. since then the société des anciens textes français has edited some _chansons_, and independent german and french scholars have given some more; but no systematic attempt has been made to fill the gaps, and the pernicious system of re-editing, on pretext of wrong selection of mss. or the like, has continued. nevertheless, the number of _chansons_ actually available is so large that no general characteristic is likely to have escaped notice; while from the accounts of the remaining mss., it would not appear that any of those unprinted can rank with the very best of those already known. among these very best i should rank in alphabetical order--_aliscans_, _amis et amiles_, _antioche_, _baudouin de seboure_ (though in a mixed kind), _berte aus grans piés_, _fierabras_, _garin le loherain_, _gérard de roussillon_, _huon de bordeaux_, _ogier de danemarche_, _raoul de cambrai_, _roland_, and the _voyage de charlemagne à constantinoble_. the almost solitary eminence assigned by some critics to _roland_ is not, i think, justified, and comes chiefly from their not being acquainted with many others; though the poem has undoubtedly the merit of being the oldest, and perhaps that of presenting the _chanson_ spirit in its best and most unadulterated, as well as the _chanson_ form at its simplest, sharpest, and first state. nor is there anywhere a finer passage than the death of roland, though there are many not less fine. [footnote : immanuel bekker had printed the provençal _fierabras_ as early as .] it may, however, seem proper, if not even positively indispensable, to give some more general particulars about these _chansons_ before analysing specimens or giving arguments of one or more; for they are full of curiosities. [sidenote: _language._ oc _and_ oïl.] in the first place, it will be noticed by careful readers of the list above given, that these compositions are not limited to french proper or to the _langue d'oïl_, though infinitely the greater part of them are in that tongue. indeed, for some time after attention had been drawn to them, and before their actual natures and contents had been thoroughly examined, there was a theory that they were provençal in origin. this, though it was chiefly due to the fact that raynouard, fauriel, and other early students of old french had a strong southern leaning, had some other excuses. it is a fact that provençal was earlier in its development than french; and whether by irregular tradition of this fact, or owing to ignorance, or from anti-french prejudice (which, however, would not apply in france itself), the part of the _langue d'oc_ in the early literature of europe was for centuries largely overvalued. then came the usual reaction, and some fifty years ago or so one of the most capable of literary students declared roundly that the provençal epic had "le défaut d'être perdu." that is not quite true. there is, as noted above, a provençal _fierabras_, though it is beyond doubt an adaptation of the french; _betonnet d'hanstone_ or _beton et daurel_ only exists in provençal, though there is again no doubt of its being borrowed; and, lastly, the oldest existing, and probably the original, form of _gérard de roussillon_, _giratz de rossilho_, is, as its title implies, provençal, though it is in a dialect more approaching to the _langue d'oïl_ than any form of _oc_, and even presents the curious peculiarity of existing in two forms, one leaning to provençal, the other to french. but these very facts, though they show the statement that "the provençal epic is lost" to be excessive, yet go almost farther than a total deficiency in proving that the _chanson de geste_ was not originally provençal. had it been otherwise, there can be no possible reason why a bare three per cent of the existing examples should be in the southern tongue, while two of these are evidently translations, and the third was as evidently written on the very northern borders of the "limousin" district. [sidenote: _italian._] [sidenote: _diffusion of the_ chansons.] the next fact--one almost more interesting, inasmuch as it bears on that community of romance tongues of which we have evidence in dante,[ ] and perhaps also makes for the antiquity of the charlemagne story in its primitive form--is the existence of _chansons_ in italian, and, it may be added, in a most curious bastard speech which is neither french, nor provençal, nor italian, but french italicised in part.[ ] the substance, moreover, of the charlemagne stories was very early naturalised in italy in the form of a sort of abstract or compilation called the _reali di francia_,[ ] which in various forms maintained popularity through mediæval and early modern times, and undoubtedly exercised much influence on the great italian poets of the renaissance. they were also diffused throughout europe, the _carlamagnus saga_ in iceland marking their farthest actual as well as possible limit, though they never in germany attained anything like the popularity of the arthurian legend, and though the spaniards, patriotically resenting the frequent forays into spain to which the _chansons_ bear witness, and availing themselves of the confession of disaster at roncesvalles, set up a counter-story in which roland is personally worsted by bernardo del carpio, and the quarrels of the paynims are taken up by spain herself. in england the imitations, though fairly numerous, are rather late. they have been completely edited for the early english text society, and consist (for bevis of hampton has little relation with its _chanson_ namesake save the name) of _sir ferumbras_ (_fierabras_), _the siege of milan_, _sir otuel_ (two forms), the _life of charles the great_, _the soudone of babylone_, _huon of bordeaux_, and _the four sons of aymon_, besides a very curious semi-original entitled _rauf coilzear_ (collier), in which the well-known romance-_donnée_ of the king visiting some obscure person is applied to charlemagne. of these, one, the version of _huon of bordeaux_,[ ] is literature of no mean kind; but this is because it was executed by lord berners, long after our present period. also, being of that date, it represents the latest french form of the story, which was a very popular one, and incorporated very large borrowings from other sources (the loadstone rock, the punishment of cain, and so forth) which are foreign to the subject and substance of the _chansons_ proper. [footnote : _v._ the famous and all-important ninth chapter of the first book of the _de vulgari eloquio_.] [footnote : see especially _macaire_, ed. guessard, paris, .] [footnote : so also the _geste_ of montglane became the _nerbonesi_.] [footnote : ed. s. lee, london, - .] [sidenote: _their authorship and publication._] very great pains have been spent on the question of the authorship, publication, or performance of these compositions. as is the case with so much mediæval work, the great mass of them is entirely anonymous. a line which concludes, or rather supplements, _roland_-- "ci falt la geste que turoldus declinet"-- has been the occasion of the shedding of a very great deal of ink. the enthusiastic inquisitiveness of some has ferreted about in all directions for turolds, thorolds, or therouldes, in the eleventh century, and discovering them even among the companions of the conqueror himself, has started the question whether taillefer was or was not violating the copyright of his comrade at hastings. the fact is, however, that the best authorities are very much at sea as to the meaning of _declinet_, which, though it must signify "go over," "tell like a bead-roll," in some way or other, might be susceptible of application to authorship, recitation, or even copying. in some other cases, however, we have more positive testimony, though they are in a great minority. graindor of douai refashioned the work of richard the pilgrim, an actual partaker of the first crusade, into the present _antioche_, _jérusalem_, and perhaps _les chétifs_. either richard or graindor must have been one of the very best poets of the whole cycle. jehan de flagy wrote the spirited _garin le loherain_; and jehan bodel of arras _les saisnes_. adenès le roi, a _trouvère_, of whose actual position in the world we know a little, wrote or refashioned three or four _chansons_ of the thirteenth century, including _berte aus grans piés_, and one of the forms of part of _ogier_. other names--bertrand of bar sur aube, pierre de rieu, gérard d'amiens, raimbert de paris, brianchon (almost a character of balzac!), gautier of douai, nicolas of padua (an interesting person who was warned in a dream to save his soul by compiling a _chanson_), herbert of dammartin, guillaume de bapaume, huon de villeneuve--are mere shadows of names to which in nearly all cases no personality attaches, and which may be as often those of mere _jongleurs_ as of actual poets. [sidenote: _their performance._] no subject, however, in connection with these _chansons de geste_ has occupied more attention than the precise mode of what has been called above their "authorship, publication, or performance." they are called _chansons_, and there is no doubt at all that in their inception, and during the earlier and better part of their history, they strictly deserved the name, having been written not to be read but to be sung or recited. to a certain extent, of course, this was the case with all the lighter literature of mediæval times. far later than our present period the english metrical romances almost invariably begin with the minstrel's invocation, "listen, lordings," varied according to his taste, fancy, and metre; and what was then partly a tradition, was two or three hundred years earlier the simple record of a universal practice. since the early days of the romantic revival, even to the present time, the minutest details of this singing and recitation have been the subject of endless wrangling; and even the point whether it was "singing" or "recitation" has been argued. in a wider and calmer view these things become of very small interest. singing and recitation--as the very word recitative should be enough to remind any one--pass into each other by degrees imperceptible to any but a technical ear; and the instruments, if any, which accompanied the performance of the _chansons_, the extent of that accompaniment, and the rest, concern, if they concern history at all, the history of music, not that of literature. [sidenote: _hearing, not reading, the object._] [sidenote: _effect on prosody._] but it is a matter of quite other importance that, as has been said, lighter mediæval literature generally, and the _chansons_ in particular, were meant for the ear, not the eye--to be heard, not to be read. for this intention very closely concerns some of their most important literary characteristics. it is certain as a matter of fact, though it might not be very easy to account for it as a matter of argument, that repetitions, stock phrases, identity of scheme and form, which are apt to be felt as disagreeable in reading, are far less irksome, and even have a certain attraction, in matter orally delivered. whether that slower irritation of the mind through the ear of which horace speaks supplies the explanation may be left undiscussed. but it is certain that, especially for uneducated hearers (who in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, if not in the thirteenth, must have been the enormous majority), not merely the phraseological but the rhythmical peculiarities of the _chansons_ would be specially suitable. in particular, the long maintenance of the mono-rhymed, or even the single-assonanced, _tirade_ depends almost entirely upon its being delivered _vivâ voce_. only then does that wave-clash which has been spoken of produce its effect, while the unbroken uniformity of rhyme on the printed page, and the apparent absence of uniformity in the printed assonances, are almost equally annoying to the eye. nor is it important or superfluous to note that this oral literature had, in the teutonic countries and in england more especially, an immense influence (hitherto not nearly enough allowed for by literary historians) in the great change from a stressed and alliterative to a quantitative and rhymed prosody, which took place, with us, from about a.d. accustomed as were the ears of all to quantitative (though very licentiously quantitative) and rhymed measures in the hymns and services of the church--the one literary exercise to which gentle and simple, learned and unlearned, were constantly and regularly addicted--it was almost impossible that they should not demand a similar prosody in the profaner compositions addressed to them. that this would not affect the _chansons_ themselves is true enough; for there are no relics of any alliterative prosody in french, and its accentual scanning is only the naturally "crumbled" quantity of latin. but it is extremely important to note that the metre of these _chansons_ themselves, single-rhyme and all, directly influenced english writers. of this, however, more will be found in the chapter on the rise of english literature proper. [sidenote: _the_ jongleurs.] another, and for literature a hardly less important, consequence of this intention of being heard, was that probably from the very first, and certainly from an early period, a distinction, not very different from that afterwards occasioned by the drama, took place between the _trouvère_ who invented the _chanson_ and the _jongleur_ or minstrel who introduced it. at first these parts may, for better or worse, have been doubled. but it would seldom happen that the poet who had the wits to indite would have the skill to perform; and it would happen still seldomer that those whose gifts lay in the direction of interpretation would have the poetical spirit. nor is it wonderful that, in the poems themselves, we find considerably more about the performer than about the author. in the cases where they were identical, the author would evidently be merged in the actor; in cases where they were not, the actor would take care of himself. accordingly, though we know if possible even less of the names of the _jongleurs_ than of those of the _trouvères_, we know a good deal about their methods. very rarely does an author like nicolas of padua (_v. supra_) tell us so much as his motive for composing the poems. but the patient study of critics, eked out it may be by a little imagination here and there, has succeeded in elaborating a fairly complete account of the ways and fortunes of the _jongleur_, who also not improbably, even where he was not the author, adjusted to the _chansons_ which were his copyright, extempore _codas_, episodes, tags, and gags of different kinds. immense pains have been spent upon the _jongleur_. it has been asserted, and it is not improbable, that during the palmiest days--say the eleventh and twelfth centuries--of the _chansons_ a special order of the _jongleur_ or minstrel hierarchy concerned itself with them,--it is at least certain that the phrase _chanter de geste_ occurs several times in a manner, and with a context, which seem to justify its being regarded as a special term of art. and the authors at least present their heroes as deliberately expecting that they will be sung about, and fearing the chance of a dishonourable mention; a fact which, though we must not base any calculations upon it as to the actual sentiments of roland or ogier, raoul or huon, is a fact in itself. and it is also a fact that in the _fabliaux_ and other light verse of the time we find _jongleurs_ presented as boasting of the particular _chansons_ they can sing. [sidenote: jongleresses, _&c._] but the enumeration of the kinds of _jongleurs_--those itinerant, those attached to courts and great families, &c.--would lead us too far. they were not all of one sex, and we hear of _jongleresses_ and _chanteresses_, such as adeline who figures in the history of the norman conquest, aiglantine who sang before the duke of burgundy, gracieuse d'espagne, and so forth--pretty names, as even m. gautier, who is inclined to be suspicious of them, admits. these suspicions, it is fair to say, were felt at the time. don jayme of aragon forbade noble ladies to kiss _jongleresses_ or share bed and board with them; while the church, which never loved the _jongleur_ much, decided that the duty of a wife to follow her husband ceased if he took to jongling, which was a _vita turpis et inhonesta_. further, the pains above referred to, bestowed by scholars of all sorts, from percy downwards, have discovered or guessed at the clothes which the _jongleur_ and his mate wore, and the instruments with which they accompanied their songs. it is more germane to our purpose to know, as we do in one instance on positive testimony, the principles (easily to be guessed, by the way) on which the introduction of names into these poems were arranged. it appears, on the authority of the historian of guisnes and ardres, that arnold the old, count of ardres, would actually have had his name in the _chanson d'antioche_ had he not refused a pair of scarlet boots or breeches to the poet or performer thereof. nor is it more surprising to find, on the still more indisputable authority of passages in the _chansons_ themselves, that the _jongleur_ would stop singing at an interesting point to make a collection, and would even sometimes explicitly protest against the contribution of too small coins--_poitevines_, _mailles_, and the like. it is impossible not to regard with a mixture of respect and pity the labour which has been spent on collecting details of the kind whereof, in the last paragraph or two, a few examples have been given. but they really have very little, if anything, to do with literature; and what they have to do with it is common to all times and subjects. the excessive prodigality to minstrels of which we have record parallels itself in other times in regard to actors, jockeys, musicians, and other classes of mechanical pleasure-makers whose craft happens to be popular for the moment. and it was never more likely to be shown than in the middle ages, when generosity was a profane virtue; when the church had set the example--an example the too free extension of which she resented highly--of putting reckless giving above almost all other good deeds; and when the system of private war, of ransoms and other things of the same kind, made "light come, light go," a maxim almost more applicable than in the days of confiscations, in those of pensions on this or that list, or in those of stock-jobbing. moreover, inquirers into this matter have certainly not escaped the besetting sin of all but strictly political historians--a sin which even the political historian has not always avoided--the sin of mixing up times and epochs. it is the great advantage of that purely literary criticism, which is so little practised and to some extent so unpopular, that it is able to preserve accuracy in this matter. when with the assistance (always to be gratefully received) of philologists and historians in the strict sense the date of a literary work is ascertained with sufficient--it is only in a few cases that it can be ascertained with absolute--exactness, the historian of literature places it in that position for literary purposes only, and neither mixes it with other things nor endeavours to use it for purposes other than literary. to recur to an example mentioned above, adeline in the eleventh century and gracieuse d'espagne in the fifteenth are agreeable objects of contemplation and ornaments of discourse; but, once more, neither has much, if anything, to do with literature. [sidenote: _singularity of the_ chansons.] we may therefore with advantage, having made this digression to comply a little with prevalent fashions, return to the _chansons_ themselves, to the half-million or million verses of majestic cadence written in one of the noblest languages, for at least first effect, to be found in the history of the world, possessing that character of distinction, of separate and unique peculiarity in matter and form, which has such extraordinary charm, and endowed besides, more perhaps than any other division, with the attraction of presenting an utterly vanished past. the late mr froude found in church-bells--the echo of the middle ages--suggestion of such a vanishing. to some of us there is nothing dead in church-bells; there is only in them, as in the arthurian legends, for instance, a perennial thing still presented in associations, all the more charming for being slightly antique. but the _chansons de geste_, living by the poetry of their best examples, by the fire of their sentiment, by the clash and clang of their music, are still in thought, in connection with manners, hopes, aims, almost more dead than any of the classics. the literary misjudgment of them which was possible in quite recent times, to two such critics--very different, but each of the first class--as mr matthew arnold and m. ferdinand brunetière, is half excused by this curious feature in their own literary character. more than mummies or catacombs, more than herculaneum and pompeii, they bring us face to face with something so remote and afar that we can hardly realise it at all. it may be that that peculiarity of the french genius, which, despite its unsurpassed and almost unmatched literary faculty, has prevented it from contributing any of the very greatest masterpieces to the literature of the world, has communicated to them this aloofness, this, as it may almost be called, provincialism. but some such note there is in them, and it may be that the immense stretch of time during which they were worse than unknown--misknown--has brought it about. [sidenote: _their charm._] yet their interest is not the less; it is perhaps even the more. it is nearly twenty years since i began to read them, and during that period i have also been reading masses of other literature from other times, nations, and languages; yet i cannot at this moment take up one without being carried away by the stately language, as precise and well proportioned as modern french, yet with much of the grandeur which modern french lacks, the statelier metre, the noble phrase, the noble incident and passion. take, for instance, one of the crowning moments, for there are several, of the death-scene of roland, that where the hero discovers the dead archbishop, with his hands--"the white, the beautiful"--crossed on his breast:-- "li quenz rollanz revient de pasmeisuns, sur piez se drecet, mais il ad grant dulur; guardet aval e si guardet amunt; sur l'erbe verte, ultre ses cumpaignuns, la veit gesir le nobile barun: c'est l'arcevesque que deus mist en sun num, claimet sa culpe, si regardet amunt, cuntre le ciel ainsdoux ses mains ad juinz, si priet deu que pareis li duinst. morz est turpin le guerrier charlun. par granz batailles e par mult bels sermuns contre paiens fut tuz tens campiuns. deus li otreit seinte beneïçun. aoi!"[ ] [footnote : _roland_, ll. - .] then turn to, perhaps, the very last poem which can be called a _chanson de geste_ proper in style, _le bastart de bouillon_, and open on these lines:-- "pardevant la chité qui miekes[ ] fut clamée fu grande la bataille, et fière la mellée, enchois car on eust nulle tente levée, commencha li debas à chelle matinée. li cinc frere paien i mainent grant huée, il keurent par accort, chascuns tenoit l'espée, et une forte targe à son col acolée. esclamars va ferir sans nulle demorée, un gentil crestien de france l'onnerée-- armeïre n'i vault une pomme pelée; sus le senestre espaulle fu la chars atamée, le branc li embati par dedans la corée,[ ] mort l'abat du cheval; son ame soit sauvée!"[ ] [footnote : _i.e._, mecca.] [footnote : _corée_ is not merely = _coeur_, but heart, liver, and all the upper "inwards."] [footnote : _li bastars de bouillon_ (ed. scheler, brussels, ).] this is in no way a specially fine passage, it is the very "padding" of the average _chanson_, but what padding it is! compare the mere sound, the clash and clang of the verse, with the ordinary english romance in _sir thopas_ metre, or even with the italian poets. how alert, how succinct, how finished it is beside the slip-shodness of the first, in too many instances;[ ] how manly, how intense, beside the mere sweetness of the second! the very ring of the lines brings mail-shirt and flat-topped helmet before us. [footnote : not always; for the english romance of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries has on the whole been too harshly dealt with. but its _average_ is far below that of the _chansons_.] [sidenote: _peculiarity of the_ geste _system._] but in order to the proper comprehension of this section of literature, it is necessary that something more should be said as well of the matter at large as of the construction and contents of separate poems; and, most of all, of the singular process of adjustment of these separate poems by which the _geste_ proper (that is to say, the subdivision of the whole which deals more or less distinctly with a single subject) is constituted. here again we find a "difference" of the poems in the strict logical sense. the total mass of the arthurian story may be, though more probably it is not, as large as that of the charlemagne romances, and it may well seem to some of superior literary interest. but from its very nature, perhaps from the very nature of its excellence, it lacks this special feature of the _chansons de geste_. arthur may or may not be a greater figure in himself than charlemagne; but when the genius of map (or of some one else) had hit upon the real knotting and unknotting of the story--the connection of the frailty of guinevere with the quest for the grail--complete developments of the fates of minor heroes, elaborate closings of minor incidents, became futile. endless stories could be keyed or geared on to different parts of the main legend: there might be a tristan-saga, a palomides-saga, a gawain-saga, episodes of balin or of beaumains, incidents of the fate of the damsel of astolat or the resipiscence of geraint. but the central interest was too artistically complete to allow any of these to occupy very much independent space. [sidenote: _instances._] in our present subject, on the other hand, even charlemagne's life is less the object of the story than the history of france; and enormous as the falsification of that history may seem to modern criticism, the writers always in a certain sense remembered that they were historians. when an interesting and important personality presented itself, it was their duty to follow it out to the end, to fill up the gaps of forerunners, to round it off and shade it in.[ ] thus it happens that the _geste_ or saga of _guillaume d'orange_--which is itself not the whole of the great _geste_ of garin de montglane--occupies eighteen separate poems, some of them of great length; that the crusading series, beginning no doubt in a simple historical poem, which was extended and "cycled," has seven, the lorraine group five; while in the extraordinary monument of industry and enthusiasm which for some eight hundred pages m. léon gautier has devoted to the king's _geste_, twenty-seven different _chansons_ are more or less abstracted. several others might have been added here if m. gautier had laid down less strict rules of exclusion against mere _romans d'aventures_ subsequently tied on, like the above-mentioned outlying romances of the arthurian group, to the main subject. [footnote : this will explain the frequent recurrence of the title "_enfances ----_" in the list given above. a hero had become interesting in some exploit of his manhood: so they harked back to his childhood.] [sidenote: _summary of the_ geste _of william of orange._] it seems necessary, therefore, or at least desirable, especially as these poems are still far too little known to english readers, to give in the first place a more or less detailed account of one of the groups; in the second, a still more detailed account of a particular _chanson_, which to be fully illustrative should probably be a member of this group; and lastly, some remarks on the more noteworthy and accessible (for it is ill speaking at second-hand from accounts of manuscripts) of the remaining poems. for the first purpose nothing can be better than _guillaume d'orange_, many, though not all, of the constituents of which are in print, and which has had the great advantage of being systematically treated by more than one or two of the most competent scholars of the century on the subject--dr jonckbloët, mm. guessard and a. de montaiglon, and m. gautier himself. of this group the short, very old, and very characteristic _couronnement loys_ will supply a good subject for more particular treatment, a subject all the more desirable that _roland_ may be said to be comparatively familiar, and is accessible in english translations. [sidenote: _and first of the_ couronnement loys.] the poem as we have it[ ] begins with a double exordium, from which the _jongleur_ might perhaps choose as from alternative collects in a liturgy. each is ten lines long, and while the first rhymes throughout, the second has only a very imperfect assonance. each bespeaks attention and promises satisfaction in the usual manner, though in different terms-- "oez seignor que dex vos soit aidant;" "seignor baron, pleroit vos d'un exemple!" [footnote : ed. jonckbloët, _op. cit._, i. - .] a much less commonplace note is struck immediately afterwards in what may be excusably taken to be the real beginning of the poem:-- "a king who wears our france's crown of gold worthy must be, and of his body bold; what man soe'er to him do evil wold, he may not quit in any manner hold till he be dead or to his mercy yold. else france shall lose her praise she hath of old. falsely he's crowned: so hath our story told." then the story itself is plunged into in right style. when the chapel was blessed at aix and the minster dedicated and made, there was a mighty court held. poor and rich received justice; eighteen bishops, as many archbishops, twenty-six abbots, and four crowned kings attended; the pope of rome himself said mass; and louis, son of charlemagne, was brought up to the high altar where the crown was laid. at this moment the people are informed that charles feels his death approaching, and must hand over his kingdom to his son. they thank god that no strange king is to come on them. but when the emperor, after good advice as to life and policy, bids him not dare to take the crown unless he is prepared for a clean and valiant life, the infant (_li enfes_) does not dare. the people weep, and the king storms, declaring that the prince is no son of his and shall be made a monk. but hernaut of orleans, a great noble, strikes in, and pretending to plead for louis on the score of his extreme youth, offers to take the regency for three years, when, if the prince has become a good knight, he shall have the kingdom back, and in increased good condition. charlemagne, with the singular proneness to be victim of any kind of "confidence trick" which he shows throughout the _chansons_, is turning a willing ear to this proposition when william of orange enters, and, wroth at the notion, thinks of striking off hernaut's head. but remembering "que d'ome occire est trop mortex péchiés," he changes his plan and only pummels him to death with his fists, a distinction which seems indifferential. then he takes the crown himself, places it on the boy's head, and charles accommodates himself to this proceeding as easily as to the other proposal. five years pass: and it is a question, not of the mere choice of a successor or assessor, but of actual death. he repeats his counsels to his son, with the additional and very natural warning to rely on william. unluckily this chief, who is in the earlier part of the _chanson_ surnamed firebrace (not to be confounded with the converted saracen of that name), is not at the actual time of the king's death at aix, but has gone on pilgrimage, in fulfilment of a vow, to rome. he comes at a good time, for the saracens have just invaded italy, have overthrown the king of apulia with great slaughter, and are close to rome. the pope (the "apostle") hears of william, and implores his succour, which, though he has but forty knights and the saracens are in their usual thousands, he consents to give. the pope promises him as a reward that he may eat meat all the days of his life, and take as many wives as he chooses,--a method of guerdon which shocks m. gautier, the most orthodox as well as not the least scholarly of scholars. however, the holy father also wishes to buy off the heathen, thereby showing a truly apostolic ignorance of the world. galafré, the "admiral," however has a point of honour. he will not be bought off. he informs the pope, calling him "sir with the big hat,"[ ] that he is a descendant of romulus and julius cæsar, and for that reason feels it necessary to destroy rome and its clerks who serve god. he relents, however, so far as to propose to decide the matter by single combat, to which the pope, according to all but nineteenth century sentiment, very properly consents. william is, of course, the christian champion; the saracen is a giant named corsolt, very hideous, very violent, and a sort of mahometan capaneus in his language. the pope does not entirely trust in william's valour, but rubs him all over with st peter's arm, which confers invulnerability. unfortunately the "promontory of the face" is omitted. the battle is fierce, but not long. corsolt cuts off the uncharmed tip of william's nose (whence his epic surname of guillaume au court nez), but william cuts off corsolt's head. the saracens fly: william (he has joked rather ruefully with the pope on his misadventure, which, as being a recognised form of punishment, was almost a disgrace even when honourably incurred) pursues them, captures galafré, converts him at point of sword, and receives from him the offer of his beautiful daughter. the marriage is about to be celebrated, william and the saracen princess are actually at the altar, when a messenger from louis arrives claiming the champion's help against the traitors who already wish to wrest the sceptre from his hand. william asks the pope what he is to do, and the pope says "go": "guillaumes bese la dame o le vis cler, et ele lui; ne cesse deplorer. par tel covent ensi sont dessevré, puis ne se virent en trestot leur aé." [footnote : "parlez à moi, sire au chaperon large."--_c.l._, l. .] promptly as he acts, however, he is only in time to repair, not to prevent, the mischief. the rebels have already dethroned louis and imprisoned him at st martins in tours, making acelin of rouen, son of richard, emperor. william makes straight for tours, prevails on the castellan of the gate-fortress to let him in, kicks--literally kicks--the monks out of their abbey, and rescues louis. he then kills acelin, violently maltreats his father, and rapidly traverses the whole of france, reducing the malcontents. peace having been for the time restored at home, william returns to rome, where many things have happened. the pope and galafré are dead, the princess, though she is faithful to william, has other suitors, and there is a fresh invasion, not this time of heathen asiatics, but led by guy of germany. the count of orange forces louis (who behaves in a manner justifying the rebels) to accompany him with a great army to rome, defeats the germans, takes his _fainéant_ emperor's part in a single combat with guy, and is again victorious. nor, though he has to treat his pusillanimous sovereign in an exceedingly cavalier fashion, does he fail to have louis crowned again as emperor of rome. a fresh rebellion breaking out in france, he again subdues it; and strengthens the tottering house of charles martel by giving his own sister blanchefleur to the chicken-hearted king. "en grant barnage fu looys entrez; quant il fu riche, guillaume n'en sot gré," ends the poem with its usual laconism. [sidenote: _comments on the_ couronnement.] there is, of course, in this story an element of rough comedy, approaching horse-play, which may not please all tastes. this element, however, is very largely present in the _chansons_ (though it so happens, yet once more, that _roland_ is accidentally free from it), and it is especially obvious in the particular branch or _geste_ of william with the short nose, appearing even in the finest and longest of the subdivisions, _aliscans_, which some have put at the head of the whole. in fact, as we might expect, the _esprit gaulois_ can seldom refrain altogether from pleasantry, and its pleasantry at this time is distinctly "the humour of the stick." but still the poem is a very fine one. its ethical opening is really noble: the picture of the court at aix has grandeur, for all its touches of simplicity; the fighting is good; the marriage scene and its fatal interruption (for we hear nothing of the princess on william's second visit to rome) give a dramatic turn: and though there is no fine writing, there is a refreshing directness. the shortness, too (it has less than three thousand lines), is undoubtedly in its favour, for these pieces are apt to be rather too long than too short. and if the pusillanimity and _fainéantise_ of louis seem at first sight exaggerated, it must be remembered that, very awkward as was the position of a henry iii. of england in the thirteenth century, and a james iii. of scotland in the fifteenth, kings of similar character must have cut even worse figures in the tenth or eleventh, when the story was probably first elaborated, and worse still in the days of the supposed occurrence of its facts. indeed, one of the best passages as poetry, and one of the most valuable as matter, is that in which the old king warns his trembling son how he must not only do judgment and justice, must not only avoid luxury and avarice, protect the orphan and do the widow no wrong, but must be ready at any moment to cross the water of gironde with a hundred thousand men in order to _craventer et confondre_ the pagan host,--how he must be towards his own proud vassals "like a man-eating leopard," and if any dare levy war against him, must summon his knights, besiege the traitor's castle, waste and spoil all his land, and when he is taken show him no mercy, but lop him limb from limb, burn him in fire, or drown him in the sea.[ ] it is not precisely an amiable spirit, this spirit of the _chansons_: but there is this to be said in its favour, there is no mistake about it. [footnote : _c.l._, ll. - , - .] [sidenote: _william of orange._] it may be perhaps expected that before, in the second place, summing the other branches of the saga of this william of orange, it should be said who he was. but it is better to refer to the authorities already given on this, after all, not strictly literary point. enormous pains have been spent on the identification or distinction of william short-nose, saint william of gellona, william tow-head of poitiers, william longsword of normandy, as well as several other williams. it may not be superfluous, and is certainly not improper, for those who undertake the elaborate editing of a particular poem to enter into such details. but for us, who are considering the literary development of europe, it would be scarcely germane. it is enough that certain _trouvères_ found in tradition, in history freely treated, or in their own imaginations, the material which they worked into this great series of poems, of which those concerning william directly amount to eighteen, while the entire _geste_ of garin de montglane runs to twenty-four. [sidenote: _the earlier poems of the cycle._] for the purposes of the _chansons_, william of the strong arm or the short nose is count, or rather marquis, of orange, one of charlemagne's peers, a special bulwark of france and christendom towards the south-east, and a man of approved valour, loyalty, and piety, but of somewhat rough manners. also (which is for the _chanson de geste_ of even greater importance) he is grandson of garin de montglane and the son of aimeri de narbonne, heroes both, and possessors of the same good qualities which extend to all the family. for it is a cardinal point of the _chansons_ that not only _bon sang chasse de race_, but evil blood likewise. and the house of narbonne, or montglane, or orange, is as uniformly distinguished for loyalty as the normans and part of the house of mayence for "treachery." to illustrate its qualities, twenty-four _chansons_, as has been said, are devoted, six of which tell the story before william, and the remaining eighteen that of his life. the first in m. gautier's order[ ] is _les enfances garin de montglane_. garin de montglane, the son of duke savary of aquitaine and a mother persecuted by false accusations, like so many heroines of the middle ages, fights first in sicily, procures atonement for his mother's wrongs, and then goes to the court of charlemagne, who, according to the general story, is his exact equal in age, as is also doon de mayence, the special hero of the third great _geste_. he conquers montglane, and marries the lady mabille, his marriage and its preliminaries filling the second romance, or _garin de montglane_ proper. he has by mabille four sons--hernaut de beaulande, girart de viane, renier de gennes, and milles de pouille. each of the three first is the subject of an existing _chanson_, and doubtless the fourth was similarly honoured. _girart de viane_ is one of the most striking of the _chansons_ in matter. the hero quarrels with charlemagne owing to the bad offices of the empress, and a great barons' war follows, in which roland and oliver have their famous fight, and roland is betrothed to oliver's sister aude. _hernaut de beaulande_ tells how the hero conquers aquitaine, marries fregonde, and becomes the father of aimeri de narbonne; and _renier de gennes_ in like fashion the success of its eponym at genoa, and his becoming the father of oliver and aude. then we pass to the third generation (charlemagne reigning all the time) with the above-named _aimeri de narbonne_. the events of this come after roncesvalles, and it is on the return thence that, narbonne being in paynim hands, aimeri, after others have refused, takes the adventure, the town, and his surname. he marries hermengart, sister of the king of the lombards, repulses the saracens, who endeavour to recover narbonne, and begets twelve children, of whom the future william of orange is one. these _chansons_, with the exception of _girart de viane_, which was printed early, remained much longer in ms. than their successors, and the texts are not accessible in any such convenient _corpus_ as de jonckbloët's though some have been edited recently. [footnote : m. jonckbloët, who takes a less wide range, begins his selection or collection of the william saga with the _couronnement loys_.] three poems intervene between _aimeri de narbonne_ and the _couronnement loys_, but they do not seem to have been always kept apart. the first, the _enfances guillaume_, tells how when william himself had left narbonne for charlemagne's court, and his father was also absent, the saracens under thibaut, king of arabia, laid siege to the town, laying at the same time siege to the heart of the beautiful saracen princess orable, who lives in the enchanted palace of gloriette at orange, itself then, as narbonne had been, a pagan possession. william, going with his brothers to succour their mother, captures baucent, a horse sent by the princess to thibaut, and falls in love with her, his love being returned. she is forced to marry thibaut, but preserves herself by witchcraft as a wife only in name. orange does not fall into the hand of the christians, though they succeed in relieving narbonne. william meanwhile has returned to court, and has been solemnly dubbed knight, his _enfances_ then technically ceasing. this is followed by the _département des enfans aimeri_, in which william's brothers, following his example, leave narbonne and their father for different parts of france, and achieve adventures and possessions. one of them, bernart of brabant, is often specially mentioned in the latter branches of the cycle as the most valiant of the clan next to guillaume, and it is not improbable that he had a _chanson_ to himself. the youngest, guibelin, remains, and in the third _siege of narbonne_, which has a poem to itself, he shows prowess against the saracens, but is taken prisoner. he is rescued from crucifixion by his aged father, who cuts his way through the saracens and carries off his son. but the number of the heathen is too great, and the city must have surrendered if an embassy sent to charlemagne had not brought help, headed by william himself, in time. he is as victorious as usual, but after his victory again returns to aix. [sidenote: _the_ charroi de nîmes.] now begins the _couronnement loys_, of which the more detailed abstract given above may serve, not merely to make the individual piece known, but to indicate the general course, incidents, language, and so forth of all these poems. it will be remembered that it ends by a declaration that the king was not grateful to the king-maker. he forgets william in the distribution of fiefs, says m. gautier; we may say, perhaps, that he remembers rather too vividly the rough instruction he has received from his brother-in-law. on protest william receives spain, orange, and nîmes, a sufficiently magnificent dotation, were it not that all three are in the power of the infidels. william, however, loses no time in putting himself in possession, and begins with nîmes. this he carries, as told in the _charroi de nîmes_,[ ] by the douglas-like stratagem (indeed it is not at all impossible that the good lord james was acquainted with the poem) of hiding his knights in casks, supposed to contain salt and other merchandise, which are piled on cars and drawn by oxen. william himself and bertrand his nephew conduct the caravan, dressed in rough boots (which hurt bertrand's feet), blue hose, and coarse cloth frocks. the innocent paynims give them friendly welcome, though william is nearly discovered by his tell-tale disfigurement. a squabble, however, arises; but william, having effected his entrance, does not lose time. he blows his horn, and the knights springing from their casks, the town is taken. this _charroi de nîmes_ is one of the most spirited, but one of the roughest, of the group. the catalogue of his services with which william overwhelms the king, each item ushered by the phrase "rois, quar te membre" ("king, bethink thee then"), and to which the unfortunate louis can only answer in various forms, "you are very ill-tempered" ("pleins es de mautalent"; "mautalent avez moult"), is curiously full of uncultivated eloquence; while his refusal to accept the heritage of auberi le bourgoing, and thereby wrong auberi's little son, even though "sa marrastre hermengant de tori" is also offered by the generous monarch with the odd commendation-- "la meiller feme qui onc beust de vin," is justly praised. but when the venerable aymon not unnaturally protests against almost the whole army accompanying william, and the wrathful peer breaks his jaw with his fist, when the peasants who grumble at their casks and their oxen being seized are hanged or have their eyes put out--then the less amiable side of the matter certainly makes its appearance. [footnote : jonckbloët, i. - .] [sidenote: _the_ prise d'orange.] william has thus entered on part, though the least part, of the king's gift to him--a gift which it is fair to louis to say that the hero had himself demanded, after refusing the rather vague offer of a fourth of the lands and revenues of all france. the _prise d'orange_[ ] follows in time and as a subject of _chanson_, the _charroi de nîmes_. the earlier poem had been all sheer fighting with no softer side. in this william is reminded of the beautiful orable (wife, if only in name, of king thibaut), who lives there, though her husband, finding a wife who bewitches the nuptial chamber unsatisfactory, has left her and orange to the care of his son arragon. the reminder is a certain gilbert of vermandois who has been prisoner at orange, and who, after some hesitation, joins william himself and his brother guibelin in a hazardous expedition to the pagan city. they blacken themselves with ink, and are not ill received by arragon: but a saracen who knows the "marquis au court nez" informs against him (getting his brains beaten out for his pains), and the three, forcing a way with bludgeons through the heathen, take refuge in gloriette, receive arms from orable, who has never ceased to love the marquis, and drive their enemies off. but a subterranean passage (this probably shows the _chanson_ to be a late one in this form) lets the heathen in: and all three champions are seized, bound, and condemned to the flames. orable demands them, not to release but to put in her own dungeons, conveniently furnished with vipers; and for a time they think themselves betrayed. but orable soon appears, offers them liberty if william will marry her, and discloses a second underground passage. they do not, however, fly by this, but only send gilbert to nîmes to fetch succour: and as orable's conduct is revealed to arragon, a third crisis occurs. it is happily averted, and bertrand soon arriving with thirteen thousand men from nîmes, the saracens are cut to pieces and orange won. orable is quickly baptised, her name being changed to guibourc, and married without further delay. william is william of orange at length in good earnest, and the double sacrament reconciles m. gautier (who is constantly distressed by the forward conduct of his heroines) to guibourc ever afterwards. it is only fair to say that in the text published by m. jonckbloët (and m. gautier gives references to no other) "la curtoise orable" does not seem to deserve his hard words. there is nothing improper in her conduct, and her words do not come to much more than-- "i am your wife if you will marry me." [footnote : jonckbloët, i. - .] _la prise d'orange_ ends with the couplet-- "puis estut il tiex xxx ans en orenge mes ainc un jor n'i estut sanz chalenge." [sidenote: _the story of vivien._] orange, in short, was a kind of garde douloureuse against the infidel: and william well earned his title of "marchis." the story of his exploits diverges a little--a loop rather than an episode--in two specially heroic _chansons_, the _enfances vivien_ and the _covenant vivien_,[ ] which tell the story of one of his nephews, a story finished by vivien's glorious death at the opening of the great _chanson_ of _aliscans_. vivien is the son of garin d'ansène, one of those "children of aimeri" who have sought fortune away from narbonne, and one of the captives of roncesvalles. garin is only to be delivered at the cost of his son's life, which vivien cheerfully offers. he is actually on the pyre, which is kindled, when the pagan hold luiserne is stormed by a pirate king, and vivien is rescued, but sold as a slave. an amiable paynim woman buys him and adopts him; but he is a born knight, and when grown up, with a few allies surprises luiserne itself, and holds it till a french army arrives, and garin recovers his son, whom he had thought dead. after these _enfances_, promising enough, comes the _covenant_ or vow, never to retreat before the saracens. vivien is as savage as he is heroic; and on one occasion sends five hundred prisoners, miserably mutilated, to the great admiral desramé. the admiral assembles all the forces of the east as well as of spain, and invades france. vivien, overpowered by numbers, applies to his uncle william for help, and the battle of aliscans is already half fought and more than half lost before the actual _chanson_ of the name begins. _aliscans_[ ] itself opens with a triplet in which the "steel clash" of the _chanson_ measure is more than ever in place:-- "a icel jor ke la dolor fu grans, et la bataille orible en aliscans: li quens guillaumes i soufri grans ahans." [footnote : _enfances vivien_, ed. wahlen and v. feilitzer, paris, ; _covenant vivien_, jonckbloët, i. - .] [footnote : jonckbloët, i. to end; separately, as noted above, by guessard and de montaignon, paris, .] [sidenote: _aliscans._] and it continues in the same key. the commentators declare that the story refers to an actual historical battle of villedaigne. this may be a fact: the literary excellence of _aliscans_ is one. the scale of the battle is represented as being enormous: and the poet is not unworthy of his subject. neither is william _impar sibi_: but his day of unbroken victory is over. no one can resist him personally; but the vast numbers of the saracens make personal valour useless. vivien, already hopelessly wounded, fights on, and receives a final blow from a giant. he is able, however, to drag himself to a tree where a fountain flows, and there makes his confession, and prays for his uncle's safety. as for william himself, his army is entirely cut to pieces, and it is only a question whether he can possibly escape. he comes to vivien's side just as his nephew is dying, bewails him in a very noble passage, receives his last breath, and is able before it passes to administer the holy wafer which he carries with him. it is vivien's first communion as well as his last. after this really great scene, one of the finest in all the _chansons_, william puts the corpse of vivien on the wounded but still generous baucent, and endeavours to make his way through the ring of enemies who have held aloof but are determined not to let him go. night saves him: and though he has to abandon the body, he cuts his way through a weak part of the line, gains another horse (for baucent can carry him no longer), and just reaches orange. but he has taken the arms as well as the horse of a pagan to get through his foes: and in this guise he is refused entrance to his own city. guibourc herself rejects him, and only recognises her husband from the prowess which he shows against the pursuers, who soon catch him up. the gates are opened and he is saved, but orange is surrounded by the heathen. there is no room to tell the full heroism of guibourc, and, besides, _aliscans_ is one of the best known of the _chansons_, and has been twice printed. [sidenote: _the end of the story._] from this point the general interest of the saga, which has culminated in the battle of aliscans, though it can hardly be said to disappear, declines somewhat, and is diverted to other persons than william himself. it is decided that guibourc shall hold orange, while he goes to the court of louis to seek aid. this personal suit is necessary lest the fulness of the overthrow be not believed; and the pair part after a scene less rugged than the usual course of the _chansons_, in which guibourc expresses her fear of the "damsels bright of blee," the ladies of high lineage that her husband will meet at laon; and william swears in return to drink no wine, eat no flesh, kiss no mouth, sleep on his saddle-cloth, and never change his garments till he meets her again. [sidenote: _renouart._] his reception is not cordial. louis thinks him merely a nuisance, and the courtiers mock his poverty, distress, and loneliness. he meets with no hospitality save from a citizen. but the chance arrival of his father and mother from narbonne prevents him from doing anything rash. they have a great train with them, and it is no longer possible simply to ignore william; but from the king downwards, there is great disinclination to grant him succour, and queen blanchefleur is especially hostile. william is going to cut her head off--his usual course of action when annoyed--after actually addressing her in a speech of extreme directness, somewhat resembling hamlet's to gertrude, but much ruder. their mother saves blanchefleur, and after she has fled in terror to her chamber, the fair aelis, her daughter, a gracious apparition, begs and obtains forgiveness from william, short of temper as of nose, but also not rancorous. reconciliation takes place all round, and an expedition is arranged for the relief of orange. it is successful, but chiefly owing to the prowess, not of william, but of a certain renouart, who is the special hero, not merely of the last half of _aliscans_, but of nearly all the later _chansons_ of the _geste_ of garin de montglane. this renouart or rainouart is an example, and one of the earliest, perhaps the very earliest, of the type of hero, so dear to the middle ages, who begins by service in the kitchen or elsewhere, of no very dignified character, and ends by being discovered to be of noble or royal birth. rainouart is thus the ancestor, and perhaps the direct ancestor, of havelok, whom he especially resembles; of beaumains, in a hitherto untraced episode of the arthurian story, and of others. his early feats against the saracens, in defence of orange first, and then when william arrives, are made with no knightly weapon, but with a _tinel_--huge bludgeon, beam, "caber"--but he afterwards turns out to be guibourc's, or rather orable's, own brother. there are very strong comic touches in all this part of the poem, such as the difficulty rainouart finds in remounting his comrades, the seven nephews of william, because his _tinel_ blows are so swashing that they simply smash horse and man--a difficulty overcome by the ingenious suggestion of bertrand that he shall hit with the small end. and these comic touches have a little disturbed those who wish to find in the pure _chanson de geste_ nothing but war and religion, honour and generosity. but, as has been already hinted, this is to be over-nice. no doubt the oldest existing, or at least the oldest yet discovered, ms. of _aliscans_ is not the original, for it is rhymed, not assonanced, a practically infallible test. but there is no reason to suppose that the comic touches are all new, though they may have been a little amplified in the later version. once more, it is false argument to evolve the idea of a _chanson_ from _roland_ only, and then to insist that all _chansons_ shall conform to it. after the defeat of desramé, and the relief of half-ruined orange, the troubles of that city and its count are not over. the admiral returns to the charge, and the next _chanson_, the _bataille loquifer_, is ranked by good judges as ancient, and describes fresh prowess of rainouart. then comes the _moniage_ ["monking" of] _rainouart_, in which the hero, like so many other heroes, takes the cowl. this, again, is followed by a series describing chiefly the reprisals in spain and elsewhere of the christians--_foulques de candie_, the _siège de barbastre_, the _prise de cordres_, and _gilbert d'andrenas_. and at last the whole _geste_ is wound up by the _mort aimeri de narbonne_, _renier_, and the _moniage guillaume_, the poem which unites the profane history of the _marquis au court nez_ to the legend of st william of the desert, though in a fashion sometimes odd. m. gautier will not allow any of these poems (except the _bataille loquifer_ and the two _moniages_) great age; and even if it were otherwise, and more of them were directly accessible,[ ] there could be no space to say much of them here. the sketch given should be sufficient to show the general characteristics of the _chansons_ as each is in itself, and also the curious and ingenious way in which their successive authors have dovetailed and pieced them together into continuous family chronicles. [footnote : _foulques de candie_ (ed. tarbé, reims, ) is the only one of this batch which i possess, or have read _in extenso_.] [sidenote: _some other_ chansons.] if these delights can move any one, they may be found almost universally distributed about the _chansons_. of the minor groups the most interesting and considerable are the crusading cycle, late as it is in part, and that of the lorrainers, which is, in the main, very early. of the former the _chansons d'antioche_ and _de jérusalem_ are almost historical, and are pretty certainly based on the account of an actual partaker. _antioche_ in particular has few superiors in the whole hundred and more poems of the kind. _hélias_ ties this historic matter on to legend proper by introducing the story of the knight of the swan; while _les chétifs_ (_the captives_) combines history and legend very interestingly, starting as it does with a probably historical capture of certain christians, who are then plunged in dreamland of romance for the rest of it. the concluding poems of this cycle, _baudouin de sebourc_ and the _bastart de bouillon_, have been already more than once mentioned. they show, as has been said, the latest form of the _chanson_, and are almost pure fiction, though they have a sort of framework or outline in the wars in northern arabia, at and round the city of jôf, whose crusading towers still, according to travellers, look down on the _hadj_ route through the desert. _garin le loherain_, on the other hand, and its successors, are pure early feudal fighting, as is also the early, excellent, and very characteristic _raoul de cambrai_. these are instances, and no doubt not the only ones, of what may be called district or provincial _gestes_, applying the principles of the _chansons_ generally to local quarrels and fortunes. of what purists call the sophisticated _chansons_, those in which general romance-motives of different kinds are embroidered on the strictly _chanson_ canvas, there are probably none more interesting than the later forms of _huon de bordeaux_ and _ogier de danemarche_. the former, since the fortunate reprinting of lord berners's version by the early english text society, is open to every one, though, of course, the last vestiges of _chanson_ form have departed, and those who can should read it as edited in m. guessard's series. the still more gracious legend, in which the ferocious champion ogier, after his early triumphs over the giant caraheu and against the paladins of charles, is, like huon, brought to the loadstone rock, is then subjected to the enchantments--loving, and now not baneful--of arthur's sister morgane, and tears himself from fairyland to come to the rescue of france, is by far the most delightful of the attempts to "cross" the arthurian and carlovingian cycles. and of this we fortunately have in english a poetical version from the great _trouvère_ among the poets of our day, the late mr william morris. of yet others, the often-mentioned _voyage à constantinoble_, with its rather unseemly _gabz_ (boasting jests of the peers, which are overheard by the heathen emperor with results which seem like at one time to be awkward), is among the oldest, and is a warning against the tendency to take the presence of comic elements as a necessary evidence of late date. _les saisnes_, dealing with the war against the saxons, is a little loose in its morals, but vigorous and interesting. the pleasant pair of _aiol_ and _elie de st gilles_; the touching history of charlemagne's mother, _berte aus grans piés_; _acquin_, one of the rare _chansons_ dealing with brittany (though roland was historically count thereof); _gérard de roussillon_, which has more than merely philological interest; _macaire_, already mentioned; the famous _quatre fils d'aymon_, longest and most widely popular, must be added to the list, and are not all that should be added to it. [sidenote: _final remarks on them._] on the whole, i must repeat that the _chansons de geste_, which as we have them are the work of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries in the main, form the second division in point of literary value of early mediæval literature, while they possess, in a certain "sincerity and strength," qualities not to be found even in the arthurian story itself. despite the ardour with which they have been philologically studied for nearly three-quarters of a century, despite (or perhaps because of) the enthusiasm which one or two devotees have shown for their literary qualities, it does not seem to me that fair justice, or anything like it, has yet been generally done. german critics care little for literary merit, and are perhaps not often trained to appreciate it; in england the _chansons_ have been strangely little read. but the most singular thing is the cold reception, slightly if at all thawed recently, which they have met in france itself. it may give serious pause to the very high estimate generally entertained of french criticism by foreigners to consider this coldness, which once reached something like positive hostility in m. ferdinand brunetière, the chief french literary critic of our generation. i regret to see that m. lanson, the latest historian of french literature, has not dared to separate himself from the academic _grex_. "on ne saurait nier," he says, "que quelques uns aient eu du talent;" but he evidently feels that this generous concession is in need of guards and caveats. there is no "beauté formelle" in them, he says--no formal beauty in those magnificently sweeping _laisses_, of which the ear that has once learnt their music can no more tire thereafter than of the sound of the sea itself. the style (and if it be objected that his previous words have been directly addressed to the later _chansons_ and _chanson_ writers, here he expressly says that this style "est le même style que dans le _roland_," though "moins sobre, moins plein, moins sur") has "no beauty by itself," and finally he thinks that the best thing to do is "to let nine-tenths of the _chansons_ follow nine-tenths of our tragedies." i have read many _chansons_ and many tragedies; but i have never read a _chanson_ that has not more poetry in it than ninety-nine french tragedies out of a hundred. the fact is that it is precisely the _beauté formelle_, assisted as it is by the peculiar spirit of which so much has been said already, which constitutes the beauty of these poems: and that these characteristics are present, not of course in uniform measure, but certainly in the great majority of the _chansons_ from _roland_ to the _bastard_. of course if a man sits down with a preconceived idea of an epic poem, it is more likely than not that his preconceived idea will be of something very different from a _chanson de geste_. and if, refusing to depart from his preconceived idea, and making that idea up of certain things taken from the _iliad_, certain from the _Æneid_, certain from the _divina commedia_, certain from _paradise lost_,--if he runs over the list and says to the _chanson_, "are you like homer in this point? can you match me virgil in that?" the result will be that the _chanson_ will fail to pass its examination. but if, with some knowledge of literature in the wide sense, and some love for it, he sits down to take the _chansons_ as they are, and judge them on their merits and by the law of their own poetical state, then i think he will come to a very different conclusion. he will say that their kind is a real kind, a thing by itself, something of which if it were not, nothing else in literature could precisely supply the want. and he will decide further that while the best of them are remarkably good of their kind, few of them can be called positively bad in it. and yet again, if he has been fortunately gifted by nature with that appreciation of form which saves the critic from mere prejudice and crotchet, from mere partiality, he will, i believe, go further still, and say that while owing something to spirit, they owe most to form itself, to the form of the single-assonanced or mono-rhymed _tirade_, assisted as it is by the singular beauty of old french in sound, and more particularly by the sonorous recurring phrases of the _chanson_ dialect. no doubt much instruction and some amusement can be got out of these poems as to matters of fact: no doubt some passages in _roland_, in _aliscans_, in the _couronnement loys_, have a stern beauty of thought and sentiment which deserves every recognition. but these things are not all-pervading, and they can be found elsewhere: the clash and clang of the _tirade_ are everywhere here, and can be found nowhere else. chapter iii. the matter of britain. attractions of the arthurian legend. discussions on their sources. the personality of arthur. the four witnesses. their testimony. the version of geoffrey. its lacunÆ. how the legend grew. wace. layamon. the romances proper. walter map. robert de borron. chrestien de troyes. prose or verse first? a latin graal-book. the mabinogion. the legend itself. the story of joseph of arimathea. merlin. lancelot. the legend becomes dramatic. stories of gawain and other knights. sir tristram. his story almost certainly celtic. sir lancelot. the minor knights. arthur. guinevere. the graal. how it perfects the story. nature of this perfection. no sequel possible. latin episodes. the legend as a whole. the theories of its origin. celtic. french. english. literary. the celtic theory. the french claims. the theory of general literary growth. the english or anglo-norman pretensions. attempted hypothesis. [sidenote: _attractions of the arthurian legend._] to english readers, and perhaps not to english readers only, the middle division of the three great romance-subjects[ ] ought to be of far higher interest than the others; and that not merely, even in the english case, for reasons of local patriotism. the mediæval versions of classical story, though attractive to the highest degree as evidence of the extraordinary plastic power of the period, which could transform all art to its own image and guise, and though not destitute of individual charm here and there, must always be mainly curiosities. the cycle of charlemagne, a genuine growth and not merely an incrustation or transformation, illustrated, moreover, by particular examples of the highest merit, is exposed on the one hand to the charge of a certain monotony, and on the other to the objection that, beautiful as it is, it is dead. for centuries, except in a few deliberate literary exercises, the king _à la barbe florie_ has inspired no modern singer--his _geste_ is extinct. but the legend of arthur, the latest to take definite form of the three, has shown by far the greatest vitality. from generation to generation it has taken new forms, inspired new poetries. the very latest of the centuries has been the most prolific in contributions of any since the end of the middle ages; and there is no sufficient reason why the lineage should ever stop. for while the romance of antiquity is a mere "sport," an accident of time and circumstance, the _chanson de geste_, majestic and interesting as it is, representative as it is to a certain extent of a nation and a language, has the capital defect of not being adaptable. having little or no allegorical capacity, little "soul," so to speak, it was left by the tide of time on the shores thereof without much hope of floating and living again. the arthurian legend, if not from the very first, yet from the first moment when it assumed vernacular forms, lent itself to that double meaning which, though it is open to abuse, and was terribly abused in these very ages, is after all the salvation of things literary, since every age adopting the first and outer meaning can suit the second and inner to its own taste and need. [footnote : see the quotation from jean bodel, p. , note. the literature of the arthurian question is very large; and besides the drawbacks referred to in the text, much of it is scattered in periodicals. the most useful recent things in english are mr nutt's _studies on the legend of the holy grail_ (london, ); professor rhys's _arthurian legend_ (oxford, ); and the extensive introduction to dr sommer's _malory_ (london, ). in french the elaborate papers on different parts which m. gaston paris brings out at intervals in _romania_ cannot be neglected; and m. loth's surveys of the subject there and in the _revue celtique_ (october ) are valuable. naturally, there has been a great deal in german, the best being, perhaps, dr kölbing's long introduction to his reprint of _arthour and merlin_ (leipzig, ). other books will be mentioned in subsequent notes; but a complete and impartial history of the whole subject, giving the contents, with strictly literary criticism only, of all the texts, and merely summarising theories as to origin, &c., is still wanting, and sorely wanted. probably there is still no better, as there is certainly no more delightful, book on the matter than m. paulin paris's _romans de la table ronde_ ( vols., paris, - ). the monograph by m. clédat on the subject in m. petit de julleville's new _history_ (_v. supra_, p. , note) is unfortunately not by any means one of the best of these studies.] [sidenote: _discussions on their sources._] that the vitality of the legend is in part, if not wholly, due to the strange crossing and blending of its sources, i at least have no doubt. to discuss these sources at all, much more to express any definite opinion on the proportions and order of their blending, is a difficult matter for any literary student, and dangerous withal; but the adventure is of course not to be wholly shirked here. the matter has, both in england and abroad, been quite recently the subject of that rather acrimonious debating by which scholars in modern tongues seem to think it a point of honour to rival the scholars of a former day in the classics, though the vocabulary used is less picturesque. a great deal of this debate, too, turns on matters of sheer opinion, in regard to which language only appropriate to matters of sheer knowledge is too often used. the candid inquirer, informed that mr, or m., or herr so-and-so, has "proved" such and such a thing in such and such a book or dissertation, turns to the text, to find to his grievous disappointment that nothing is "proved"--but that more or less probable arguments are advanced with less or more temper against or in favour of this or that hypothesis. even the dates of mss., which in all such cases must be regarded as the primary data, are very rarely _data_ at all, but only (to coin, or rather adapt, a much-needed term) _speculata_. and the matter is further complicated by the facts that extremely few scholars possess equal and adequate knowledge of celtic, english, french, german, and latin, and that the best palæographers are by no means always the best literary critics. where every one who has handled the subject has had to confess, or should have confessed, imperfect equipment in one or more respects, there is no shame in confessing one's own shortcomings. i cannot speak as a celtic scholar; and i do not pretend to have examined mss. but for a good many years i have been familiar with the printed texts and documents in latin, english, french, and german, and i believe that i have not neglected any important modern discussions of the subject. to have no celtic is the less disqualification in that all the most qualified celtic scholars themselves admit, however highly they may rate the presence of the celtic element in spirit, that no texts of the legend in its romantic form at present existing in the celtic tongues are really ancient. and it is understood that there is now very little left unprinted that can throw much light on the general question. i shall therefore endeavour, without entering into discussions on minor points which would be unsuitable to the book, to give what seems to me the most probable view of the case, corrected by (though not by any means adjusted in a hopeless zigzag of deference to) the various authorities, from ritson to professor rhys, from paulin paris to m. loth, and from san marte to drs förster and zimmer. the first and the most important thing--a thing which has been by no means always or often done--is to keep the question of arthur apart from the question of the arthurian legend. [sidenote: _the personality of arthur._] that there was no such a person as arthur in reality was at one time a not very uncommon opinion among men who could call themselves scholars, though of late it has yielded to probable if not certain arguments. the two most damaging facts are the entire silence of bede and that of gildas in regard to him. the silence of bede might be accidental, and he wrote _ex hypothesi_ nearly two centuries after arthur's day. yet his collections were extremely careful, and the neighbourhood of his own northumbria was certainly not that in which traditions of arthur should have been least rife. that gildas should say nothing is more surprising and more difficult of explanation. for putting aside altogether the positive testimony of the _vita gildæ_, to which we shall come presently, gildas was, again _ex hypothesi_, a contemporary of arthur's, and must have known all about him. if the compound of scolding and lamentation known as _de excidio britanniæ_ is late and a forgery, we should expect it to contain some reference to the king; if it is early and genuine, it is difficult to see how such reference could possibly be omitted. [sidenote: _the four witnesses._] at the same time, mere silence can never establish anything but a presumption; and the presumption is in this case rebutted by far stronger probabilities on the other side. the evidence is here drawn from four main sources, which we may range in the order of their chronological bearing. first, there are the arthurian place-names, and the traditions respecting them; secondly, the fragments of genuine early welsh reference to arthur; thirdly, the famous passage of nennius, which introduces him for the first time to probably dated literature; fourthly, the curious references in the above-referred-to _vita gildæ_ of, or attributed to, caradoc of lancarvan. after this last, or at a time contemporary with it, we come to the comparatively detailed account of geoffrey of monmouth, and the beginning of the legend proper. [sidenote: _their testimony._] to summarise this evidence as carefully but as briefly as possible, we find, in almost all parts of britain beyond the range of the first saxon conquests, but especially in west wales, strathclyde, and lothian, certain place-names connecting themselves either with arthur himself or with the early catalogue of his battles.[ ] we find allusions to him in welsh poetry which may be as old as the sixth century--allusions, it is true, of the vaguest and most meagre kind, and touching no point of his received story except his mysterious death or no-death, but fairly corroborative of his actual existence. nennius--the much-debated nennius, whom general opinion attributes to the ninth century, but who _may_ be as early as the eighth, and cannot well be later than the tenth--gives us the catalogue of the twelve battles, and the exploits of arthur against the saxons, in a single paragraph containing no reference to any but military matters, and speaking of arthur not as king but as a _dux bellorum_ commanding kings, many of whom were more noble than himself. [footnote : the late mr skene, with great learning and ingenuity, endeavoured in his _four ancient books of wales_ to claim all or almost all these place-names for scotland in the wide sense. this can hardly be admitted: but impartial students of the historical references and the romances together will observe the constant introduction of northern localities in the latter, and the express testimony in the former to the effect that arthur was general of _all_ the british forces. we need not rob cornwall to pay lothian. for the really old references in welsh poetry see, besides skene, professor rhys, _op. cit._ gildas and nennius (but not the _vita gildæ_) will be found conveniently translated, with geoffrey himself, in a volume of bohn's historical library, _six old english chronicles_. the e.e.t.s. edition of _merlin_ contains a very long _excursus_ by mr stuart-glennie on the place-name question.] the first authority from whom we get any _personal_ account of arthur is caradoc, if caradoc it be. the biographer makes his hero st gildas (i put minor and irrelevant discrepancies aside) contemporary with arthur, whom he loved, and who was king of all greater britain. but his brother kings did not admit this sovereignty quietly, and often put him to flight. at last arthur overthrew and slew hoel, who was his _major natu_, and became unquestioned _rex universalis britanniæ_, but incurred the censure of the church for killing hoel. from this sin gildas himself at length absolved him. but king melvas carried off king arthur's queen, and it was only after a year that arthur found her at glastonbury and laid siege to that place. gildas and the abbot, however, arranged matters, and the queen was given up. it is most proper to add in this place that probably at much the same time as the writings of caradoc and of geoffrey (_v. infra_), or at a time not very distant, william of malmesbury and giraldus cambrensis give us glastonbury traditions as to the tomb of arthur, &c., which show that by the middle of the twelfth century such traditions were clustering thickly about the isle of avalon. all this time, however, it is very important to notice that there is hardly the germ, and, except in caradoc, not even the germ, of what makes the arthurian legend interesting to us, even of what we call the arthurian legend. although the fighting with the saxons plays an important part in the _merlin_ branches of the story, it has extremely little to do with the local traditions, and was continually reduced in importance by the men of real genius, especially mapes, chrestien, and, long afterwards, malory, who handled them. the escapade of melvas communicates a touch rather nearer to the perfect form, but only a little nearer to it. in fact, there is hardly more in the story at this point than in hundreds of other references in early history or fiction to obscure kinglets who fought against invaders. [sidenote: _the version of geoffrey._] and it is again very important to observe that, though under the hands of geoffrey of monmouth the story at once acquires more romantic proportions, it is still not in the least, or only in the least, the story that we know. the advance is indeed great. the wonder-working of merlin is brought in to help the patriotism of arthur. the story of uther's love for igraine at once alters the mere chronicle into a romance. arthur, the fruit of this passion, succeeds his father, carries on victorious war at home and abroad, is crowned with magnificence at caerleon, is challenged by and defeats the romans, is about to pass the alps when he hears that his nephew mordred, left in charge of the kingdom, has assumed the crown, and that guinevere (guanhumara, of whom we have only heard before as "of a noble roman family, and surpassing in beauty all the women of the island") has wickedly married him. arthur returns, defeats mordred at rutupiæ (after this battle guinevere takes the veil), and, at winchester, drives him to the extremity of cornwall, and there overthrows and kills him. but the renowned king arthur himself was mortally wounded, and "being carried thence to the isle of avallon to be cured of his wounds, he gave up the crown to his kinsman constantine." and so arthur passes out of geoffrey's story, in obedience to one of the oldest, and certainly the most interesting, of what seem to be the genuine welsh notices of the king--"not wise is it to seek the grave of arthur." [sidenote: _its_ lacunæ.] a few people, perhaps, who read this little book will need to be told that geoffrey attributed the new and striking facts which he sprung upon his contemporaries to a british book which walter, archdeacon of oxford, had brought out of armorica: and that not the slightest trace of this most interesting and important work has ever been found. it is a thousand pities that it has not survived, inasmuch as it was not only "a very ancient book in the british tongue," but contained "a continuous story in an elegant style." however, the inquiry whether walter, archdeacon of oxford, did or did not belong to the ancient british family of harris may be left to historians proper. to the specially literary historian the chief point of interest is first to notice how little, if geoffrey really did take his book from "british" sources, those sources apparently contained of the arthurian legend proper as we now know it. an extension of the fighting with saxons at home, and the addition of that with romans abroad, the igraine episode, or rather overture, the doubtless valuable introduction of merlin, the treason of mordred and guinevere, and the retirement to avalon--that is practically all. no round table; no knights (though "walgan, the king's nephew," is, of course, an early appearance of gawain); none of the interesting difficulties about arthur's succession: an entire absence of personal characteristics about guinevere (even that peculiarity of hers which a french critic has politely described as her being "very subject to be carried off," and which already appears in caradoc, being changed to a commonplace act of ambitious infidelity with mordred): and, most remarkable of all, no lancelot, and no holy grail. nevertheless geoffrey had, as it has been the fashion to say of late years, "set the heather on fire," and perhaps in no literary instance on record did the blaze spread and heighten itself with such extraordinary speed and intensity. his book must have been written a little before the middle of the twelfth century: by the end thereof the legend was, except for the embellishments and amplifications which the middle age was always giving, complete. [sidenote: _how the legend grew._] in the account of its probable origins and growth which follows nothing can be further from the writer's wish than to emulate the confident dogmatism of those who claim to have proved or disproved this or that fact or hypothesis. in the nature of the case proof is impossible; we cannot go further than probability. it is unfortunate that some of the disputants on this, as on other kindred subjects, have not more frequently remembered the admirable words of the greatest modern practitioner and though he lacked some more recent information, the shrewdest modern critic of romance itself.[ ] i need only say that though i have not in the least borrowed from either, and though i make neither responsible for my views, these latter, as they are about to be stated, will be found most to resemble those of sir frederic madden in england and m. paulin paris in france--the two critics who, coming after the age of wild guesswork and imperfect reading, and before that of a scholarship which, sometimes at least, endeavours to vindicate itself by innovation for the sake of innovation, certainly equalled, and perhaps exceeded, any others in their familiarity with the actual texts. with that familiarity, so far as mss. go, i repeat that i do not pretend to vie. but long and diligent reading of the printed material, assisted by such critical lights as critical practice in more literatures than one or two for many years may give, has led me to the belief that when they agreed they were pretty sure to be right, and that when they differed, the authority of either was at least equal, as authority, to anything subsequent. [footnote : "both these subjects of discussion [authorship and performance of romances] have been the source of great controversy among antiquaries--a class of men who, be it said with their forgiveness, are apt to be both positive and polemical upon the very points which are least susceptible of proof, and least valuable, if the truth could be ascertained."--sir walter scott, "essay on romance," _prose works_, vi. .] [sidenote: _wace._] the known or reasonably inferred historical procession of the legend is as follows. before the middle of the twelfth century we have nothing that can be called a story. at almost that exact point (the subject of the dedication of the _historia britonum_ died in ) geoffrey supplies the outlines of such a story. they were at once seized upon for filling in. before many years two well-known writers had translated geoffrey's latin into french, another geoffrey, gaimar, and wace of jersey. gaimar's _brut_ (a title which in a short time became generic) has not come down to us: wace's (written in ) has, and though there is, as yet, no special attention bestowed upon arthur, the arthurian part of the story shares the process of dilatation and amplification usual in the middle ages. the most important of these additions is the appearance of the round table. [sidenote: _layamon._] as geoffrey fell into the hands of wace, so did wace fall into those of layamon; but here the result is far more interesting, both for the history of the legend itself and for its connection with england. not only did the priest of ernley or arley-on-severn do the english tongue the inestimable service of introducing arthur to it, not only did he write the most important book by far, both in size, in form, and in matter, that was written in english between the conquest and the fourteenth century, but he added immensely to the actual legend. it is true that these additions still do not exactly give us the arthur whom we know, for they still concern the wars with the saxons and romans chiefly. but if it were only that we find first[ ] in layamon the introduction of "elves" at arthur's birth, and his conveyance by them at death in a magic boat to queen "argante" at avalon, it would be almost enough. but there is much more. the uther story is enlarged, and with it the appearances of merlin; the foundation of the round table receives added attention; the voluntary yielding of guinevere, here called wenhaver, is insisted upon, and gawain (walwain) and bedivere (beduer) make their appearance. but there is still no lancelot, and still no grail. [footnote : a caution may be necessary as to this word "first." nearly all the dates are extremely uncertain, and it is highly probable that intermediate texts of great importance are lost, or not yet found. but layamon gives us wace as an authority, and this is not in wace. see madden's edition (london, ).] [sidenote: _the romances proper._] these additions, which on the one side gave the greatest part of the secular interest, on the other almost the whole of the mystical attraction, to the complete story, had, however, it seems probable, been actually added before layamon wrote. for the date of the earlier version of his _brut_ is put by the best authorities at not earlier than , and it is also, according to such authorities, almost certain that the great french romances (which contain the whole legend with the exception of part of the tristram story, and of hitherto untraced excursions like malory's beaumains) had been thrown into shape. but the origin, the authorship, and the order of _merlin_ in its various forms, of the _saint graal_ and the _quest_ for it, of _lancelot_ and the _mort artus_,--these things are the centre of nearly all the disputes upon the subject. [sidenote: _walter map._] a consensus of ms. authority ascribes the best and largest part of the _prose_ romances,[ ] especially those dealing with lancelot and the later fortunes of the graal and the round table company, to no less a person than the famous englishman walter mapes, or map, the author of _de nugis curialium_, the reputed author (_v._ chap. i.) of divers ingenious latin poems, friend of becket, archdeacon of oxford, churchman, statesman, and wit. no valid reason whatever has yet been shown for questioning this attribution, especially considering the number, antiquity, and strength of the documents by which it is attested. map's date ( - ) is the right one; his abilities were equal to any literary performance; his evident familiarity with things welsh (he seems to have been a herefordshire man) would have informed him of welsh tradition, if there was any, and the _de nugis curialium_ shows us in him, side by side with a satirical and humorous bent, the leaning to romance and to the marvellous which only extremely shallow people believe to be alien from humour. but it is necessary for scholarship of the kind just referred to to be always devising some new thing. frenchmen, germans, and celticising partisans have grudged an englishman the glory of the exploit; and there has been of late a tendency to deny or slight map's claims. his deposition, however, rests upon no solid argument, and though it would be exceedingly rash, considering the levity with which the copyists in mediæval mss. attributed authorship, to assert positively that map wrote _lancelot_, or the _quest of the saint graal_, it may be asserted with the utmost confidence that it has not been proved that he did not. [footnote : these, both map's and borron's (_v. infra_), with some of the verse forms connected with them, are in a very puzzling condition for study. m. paulin paris's book, above referred to, abstracts most of them; the actual texts, as far as published, are chiefly to be found in hucher, _le saint graal_ ( vols., le mans, - ); in michel's _petit saint graal_ (paris, ); in the _merlin_ of mm. g. paris and ulrich (paris, ). but _lancelot_ and the later parts are practically inaccessible in any modern edition.] [sidenote: _robert de borron._] the other claimant for the authorship of a main part of the story--in this case the merlin part, and the long history of the graal from the days of joseph of arimathea downwards--is a much more shadowy person, a certain robert de borron, a knight of the north of france. nobody has much interest in disturbing borron's claims, though they also have been attacked; and it is only necessary to say that there is not the slightest ground for supposing that he was an ancestor of lord byron, as was once very gratuitously done, the time when he was first heard of happening to coincide with the popularity of that poet. [sidenote: _chrestien de troyes._] the third personage who is certainly or uncertainly connected by name with the original framework of the legend is again more substantial than robert de borron, though less so than walter map. as his surname, derived from his birthplace, indicates, chrestien de troyes was of champenois extraction, thus belonging to the province which, with normandy, contributed most to early french literature. and he seems to have been attached not merely to the court of his native prince, the count of champagne, but to those of the neighbouring walloon lordships or principalities of flanders and hainault. of his considerable work (all of it done, it would seem, before the end of the twelfth century) by far the larger part is arthurian--the immense romance of _percevale le gallois_,[ ] much of which, however, is the work of continuators; the interesting episode of the lancelot saga, called _le chevalier à la charette_; _erec et Énide_, the story known to every one from lord tennyson's idyll; the _chevalier au lyon_, a gawain legend; and _cligès_, which is quite on the outside of the arthurian group. all these works are written in octosyllabic couplets, particularly light and skipping, somewhat destitute of force and grip, but full of grace and charm. of their contents more presently. [footnote : ed. potvin, vols., mons, - . dr förster has undertaken a complete chrestien, of which the d and d vols. are _yvain_ ("le chevalier au lyon") and _erec_ (halle, - ). _le chevalier à la charette_ should be read in dr jonckbloët's invaluable parallel edition with the prose of _lancelot_ (the hague, ). on this last see m. g. paris, _romania_, xii. --an admirable paper, though i do not agree with it.] next to the questions of authorship and of origin in point of difficulty come two others--"which are the older: the prose or the verse romances?" and, "was there a latin original of the graal story?" [sidenote: _prose or verse first?_] with regard to the first, it has long been laid down as a general axiom, and it is no doubt as a rule true, that prose is always later than verse, and that in mediæval times especially the order is almost invariable. verse; unrhymed and half-disrhythmed prose; prose pure and simple: that is what we find. for many reasons, however, drawn partly from the presumed age of the mss. and partly from internal evidence, the earlier scholars who considered the arthurian matter, especially m. paulin paris, came to the conclusion that here the prose romances were, if not universally, yet for the most part, the earlier. and this, though it is denied by m. paris's equally learned son, still seems the more probable opinion. for, in the first place, by this time prose, though not in a very advanced condition, was advanced enough not to make it absolutely necessary for it to lag behind verse, as had been the case with the _chansons de geste_. and in the second place, while the prose romances are far more comprehensive than the verse, the age of the former seems to be beyond question such that there could be no need, time, or likelihood for the reduction to a general prose summary of separate verse originals, while the separate verse episodes are very easily intelligible as developed from parts of the prose original.[ ] [footnote : the parallel edition, above referred to, of the _chevalier à la charette_ and the corresponding prose settled this in my mind long ago; and though i have been open to unsettlement since, i have not been unsettled. the most unlucky instance of that over-positiveness to which i have referred above is m. clédat's statement that "nous savons" that the prose romances are later than the verse. we certainly do not "know" this any more than we know the contrary. there is important authority both ways; there is fair argument both ways; but the positive evidence which alone can turn opinion into knowledge has not been produced, and probably does not exist.] [sidenote: _a latin graal-book._] with regard to the latin graal-book, the testimony of the romances themselves is formal enough as to its existence. but no trace of it has been found, and its loss, if it existed, is contrary to all probability. for _ex hypothesi_ (and if we take one part of the statement we must take the rest) it was not a recent composition, but a document, whether of miraculous origin or not, of considerable age. why it should only at this time have come to light, why it should have immediately perished, and why none of the persons who took interest enough in it to turn it into the vernacular should have transmitted his copy to posterity, are questions difficult, or rather impossible, to answer. but here, again, the wise critic will not peremptorily deny. he will say that there _may_ be a latin graal-book, and that when that book is produced, and stands the test of examination, he will believe in it; but that until it appears he will be contented with the french originals of the end of the twelfth century. of the characteristic and probable origins of the graal story itself, as of those of the larger legend of which it forms a part, it will be time enough to speak when we have first given an account of the general history as it took shape, probably before the twelfth century had closed, certainly very soon after the thirteenth had opened. for the whole legend--even excluding the numerous ramifications into independent or semi-independent _romans d'aventures_--is not found in any single book or compilation. the most extensive, and by far the best, that of our own malory, is very late, extremely though far from unwisely eclectic, and adjusted to the presumed demands of readers, and to the certain existence in the writer of a fine literary sense of fitness. it would be trespassing on the rights of a future contributor to say much directly of malory; but it must be said here that in what he omits, as well as in his treatment of what he inserts, he shows nothing short of genius. those who call him a mere, or even a bad, compiler, either have not duly considered the matter or speak unhappily. but before we go further it may be well also to say a word on the welsh stories, which, though now admitted to be in their present form later than the romances, are still regarded as possible originals by some. [sidenote: _the mabinogion._] it would hardly be rash to rest the question of the celtic origin, in any but the most remote and partial sense, of the arthurian romances on the _mabinogion_[ ] alone. the posteriority of these as we have them need not be too much dwelt upon. we need not even lay great stress on what i believe to be a fact not likely to be disputed by good critics, that the reading of the french and the welsh-english versions one after the other, no matter in what order they be taken, will leave something more than an impression that the french is the direct original of the welsh, and that the welsh, in anything at all like its present form, could not by any possibility be the original of the french. the test to which i refer is this. let any one read, with as open a mind as he can procure, the three welsh-french or french-welsh romances of _yvain-owain_, _erec-geraint_, and _percivale-peredur_, and then turn to those that are certainly and purely celtic, _kilhwch and olwen_, the _dream of rhiabwy_ (both of these arthurian after a fashion, though quite apart from our arthurian legend), and the fourfold _mabinogi_, which tells the adventures of rhiannon and those of math ap matholwy. i cannot conceive this being done by any one without his feeling that he has passed from one world into another entirely different,--that the two classes of story simply _cannot_ by any possibility be, in any more than the remotest suggestion, the work of the same people, or have been produced under the same literary covenant. [footnote : translated by lady charlotte guest, d ed., london, .] [sidenote: _the legend itself._] let us now turn to the legend itself. the story which ends in avalon begins in jerusalem. for though the graal-legends are undoubtedly later additions to whatever may have been the original arthurian saga--seeing that we find nothing of them in the early welsh traditions, nothing in nennius, nothing in geoffrey, nothing even in wace or layamon--yet such is the skill with which the unknown or uncertain authors have worked them into the legend that the whole makes one indivisible romance. yet (as the untaught genius of malory instinctively perceived) when the graal-story on the one hand, and the loves of lancelot and guinevere with which it is connected on the other, came in, they made comparatively otiose and uninteresting the wars with saxons and romans, which in the earlier legend had occupied almost the whole room. and accordingly these wars, which still hold a very large part of the field in the _merlin_, drop out to some extent later. the whole cycle consists practically of five parts, each of which in almost all cases exists in divers forms, and more than one of which overlaps and is overlapped by one or more of the others. these five are _merlin_, the _saint-graal_, _lancelot_, the _quest of the saint-graal_, and the _death of arthur_. each of the first two pairs intertwines with the other: the last, _mort artus_, completes them all, and thus its title was not improperly used in later times to designate the whole legend. [sidenote: _the story of joseph of arimathea._] the starting-point of the whole, in time and incident, is the supposed revenge of the jews on joseph of arimathea for the part he has taken in the burial of our lord. he is thrown into prison and remains there (miraculously comforted, so that the time seems to him but as a day or two) till delivered by titus. then he and certain more or less faithful christians set out in charge of the holy graal, which has served for the last supper, which holds christ's blood, and which is specially under the guardianship of joseph's son, the bishop "josephes," to seek foreign lands, and a home for the holy vessel. after a long series of the wildest adventures, in which the personages, whose names are known rather mistily to readers of malory only--king evelake, naciens, and others--appear fully, and in which many marvels take place, the company, or the holier survivors of them, are finally settled in britain. here the imprudence of evelake (or mordrains) causes him to receive the "dolorous stroke," from which none but his last descendant, galahad, is to recover him fully. the most striking of all these adventures, related in various forms in other parts of the legend, is the sojourn of naciens on a desert island, where he is tempted of the devil; while a very great part is played throughout by the legend of the three trees, which in successive ages play their part in the fall, in the first origin of mankind according to natural birth, not creation, in the building of the temple, and in the passion. this later legend, a wild but very beautiful one, dominated the imagination of english mediæval writers very particularly, and is fully developed, apart from its arthurian use, in the vast and interesting miscellany of the _cursor mundi_. [sidenote: _merlin._] but when the graal and its guardians have been safely established upon english soil, the connection of the legend with the older and, so to speak, historical arthurian traditions, is effected by means of merlin, in a manner at least ingenious if not very direct. the results of the passion, and especially the establishment on earth of a christian monarchy with a sort of palladium in the saint-graal, greatly disturb the equanimity of the infernal regions; and a council is held to devise counter-policy. it occurs apparently that as this discomfiture has come by means of the union of divine and human natures, it can be best opposed by a union of human and diabolic: and after some minor proceedings a seductive devil is despatched to play incubus to the last and chastest daughter of a _prud'homme_, who has been driven to despair and death by previous satanic attacks. the attempt is successful in a way; but as the victim keeps her chastity of intention and mind, not only is she herself saved from the legal consequences of the matter, but her child when born is the celebrated merlin, a being endowed with supernatural power and knowledge, and not always scrupulous in the use of them, but always on the side of the angels rather than of his paternal kinsfolk. a further and more strictly literary connection is effected by attributing the knowledge of the graal history to his information, conveyed to his master and pupil blaise, who writes it (as well as the earlier adventures at least of the arthurian era proper) from merlin's dictation or report. for some time the various merlin stories follow geoffrey in recounting the adventures of the prophetic child in his youth, with king vortigern and others. but he is soon brought (again in accordance with geoffrey) into direct responsibility for arthur, by his share in the wooing of igraine. for it is to be observed that--and not in this instance only--though there is usually some excuse for him, merlin is in these affairs more commonly occupied in making two lovers happy than in attending to the strict dictates of morality. and thenceforward till his inclusion in his enchanted prison (an affair in which it is proper to say that the earliest versions give a much more favourable account of the conduct and motives of the heroine than that which malory adopted, and which tennyson for purposes of poetic contrast blackened yet further) he plays the part of adviser, assistant, and good enchanter generally to arthur and arthur's knights. he in some stories directly procures, and in all confirms, the seating of arthur on his father's throne; he brings the king's nephews, gawain and the rest, to assist their uncle, in some cases against their own fathers; he presides over the foundation of the round table, and brings about the marriage of guinevere and arthur; he assists, sometimes by actual force of arms, sometimes as head of the intelligence department, sometimes by simple gramarye, in the discomfiture not merely of the rival and rebel kinglets, but of the saxons and romans. as has been said, malory later thought proper to drop the greater part of this latter business (including the interminable fights round the _roche aux saisnes_ or saxon rock). and he also discarded a curious episode which makes a great figure in the original _merlin_, the tale of the "false guinevere," a foster-sister, namesake, and counterpart of the true princess, who is nearly substituted for guinevere herself on her bridal night, and who later usurps for a considerable time the place and rights of the queen. for it cannot be too often repeated that arthur, not even in malory a "blameless king" by any means, is in the earlier and original versions still less blameless, especially in the article of faithfulness to his wife. we do not, however, in the _merlin_ group proper get any tidings of lancelot, though lucan, kay, bedivere, and others, as well as gawain and the other sons of lot, make their appearance, and the arthurian court and _régime_, as we imagine it with the round table, is already constituted. it is to be observed that in the earlier versions there is even a sharp rivalry between the "round table" proper and the "queen's" or younger knights. but this subsides, and the whole is centred at camelot, with the realm (until mordred's treachery) well under control, and with a constant succession of adventures, culminating in the greatest of all, the quest of the graal or sangreal itself. although there are passages of great beauty, the excessive mysticism, the straggling conduct of the story, and the extravagant praise of virginity in and for itself, in the early graal history, have offended some readers. in the _merlin_ proper the incompleteness, the disproportionate space given to mere kite-and-crow fighting, and the defect of love-interest, undoubtedly show themselves. although merlin was neither by extraction nor taste likely to emulate the almost ferocious horror of human affection entertained by robert de borron (if robert de borron it was), the authors of his history, except in the version of his own fatal passion, above referred to, have touched the subject with little grace or charm. and while the great and capital tragedies of lancelot and guinevere, of tristram and iseult, are wholly lacking, there is an equal lack of such minor things as the episodes of lancelot and the two elaines, of pelleas and the lady of the lake, and many others. nor is this lack compensated by the stories of the incestuous (though on neither side consciously incestuous, and on the queen's quite innocent) adventure of arthur with his sister margause, of the exceedingly unromantic wooing of morgane le fée, and of the warlock-planned intercourse of king ban and the mother of lancelot. [sidenote: _lancelot._] whether it was walter map, or chrestien de troyes, or both, or neither, to whom the glory of at once completing and exalting the story is due, i at least have no pretension to decide. whosoever did it, if he did it by himself, was a very great man indeed--a man second only to dante among the men of the middle age. even if it was done by an irregular company of men, each patching and piecing the others' efforts, the result shows a marvellous "wind of the spirit" abroad and blowing on that company. as before, the reader of malory only, though he has nearly all the best things, has not quite all even of those, and is without a considerable number of things not quite the best, but good. the most difficult to justify of the omissions of sir thomas is the early history of the loves of guinevere and lancelot, when the knight was introduced to the queen by galahault the haughty prince--"galeotto," as he appears in the most universally known passage of dante himself. not merely that unforgettable association, but the charm and grace of the original passage, as well as the dramatic and ethical justification, so to speak, of the fatal passion which wrecked at once lancelot's quest and arthur's kingdom, combine to make us regret this exclusion. but malory's genius was evidently rather an unconscious than a definitely critical one. and though the exquisite felicity of his touch in detail is established once for all by comparing his prose narratives of the passing of arthur and the parting of lancelot and the queen with the verse[ ] from which he almost beyond question directly took both, he must sometimes have been bewildered by the mass of material from which he had to select, and may not always have included or excluded with equally unerring judgment. [footnote : _le morte arthur_ (ed. furnivall, london, ), l. _sqq._] [sidenote: _the legend becomes dramatic._] we have seen that in the original story of geoffrey the treason of mordred and the final scenes take place while arthur is warring against the romans, very shortly after he has established his sovereignty in the isle of britain. walter, or chrestien, or whoever it was, saw that such a waste of good romantic material could never be tolerated. the romance is never--it has not been even in the hands of its most punctilious modern practitioners--very observant of miserable _minutiæ_ of chronology; and after all, it was reasonable that arthur's successes should give him some considerable enjoyment of his kingdom. it will not do to scrutinise too narrowly, or we should have to make arthur a very old man at his death, and guinevere a lady too elderly to leave any excuse for her proceedings, in order to accommodate the birth of lancelot (which happened, according to the _merlin_, after the king came to the throne), the birth of lancelot's son galahad, galahad's life till even the early age of fifteen, when knighthood was then given, the quest of the sangreal itself, and the subsequent breaking out of mordred's rebellion, consequent upon the war between lancelot and arthur after the deaths of agravain and gareth. but the allowance of a golden age of comparatively quiet sovereignty, of feasts and joustings at camelot, and caerleon, and carlisle, of adventures major and minor, and of the great graal-quest, is but a moderate demand for any romancer to make. at any rate, he or they made it, and justified the demand amply by the result. the contents of the central arthurian story thus elaborated may be divided into four parts: . the miscellaneous adventures of the several knights, the king himself sometimes taking share in them. . those of sir tristram, of which more presently. . the quest of the sangreal. . the death of arthur. [sidenote: _stories of gawain and other knights._] taking these in order, the first, which is the largest in bulk, is also, and necessarily, the most difficult to summarise in short space. it is sometimes said that the prominent figure in the earlier stories is gawain, who is afterwards by some spite or caprice dethroned in favour of lancelot. this is not quite exact, for the bulk of the lancelot legends being, as has been said, anterior to the end of the twelfth century, is much older than the bulk of the gawain romances, which, owing their origin to english, and especially to northern, patriotism, do not seem to date earlier than the thirteenth or even the fourteenth. but it is true that gawain, as we have seen, makes an appearance, though no very elaborate one, in the most ancient forms of the legend itself, where we hear nothing of lancelot; and also that his appearances in _merlin_ do not bear anything like the contrast (similar to that afterwards developed in the iberian romance-cycle as between galaor and amadis) which other authorities make between him and lancelot.[ ] generally speaking, the knights are divisible into three classes. first there are the older knights, from ulfius (who had even taken part in the expedition which cheated igraine) and antor, down to bedivere, lucan, and the most famous of this group, sir kay, who, alike in older and in later versions, bears the uniform character of a disagreeable person, not indeed a coward, though of prowess not equal to his attempts and needs; but a boaster, envious, spiteful, and constantly provoking by his tongue incidents in which his hands do not help him out quite sufficiently.[ ] then there is the younger and main body, of whom lancelot and gawain (still keeping tristram apart) are the chiefs; and lastly the outsiders, whether the "felon" knights who are at internecine, or the mere foreigners who are in friendly, antagonism with the knights of the "rowntabull." [footnote : since i wrote this passage i have learnt with pleasure that there is a good chance of the whole of the gawain romances, english and foreign, being examined together by a very competent hand, that of mr i. gollancz of christ's college, cambridge.] [footnote : the welsh passages relating to kay seem to be older than most others.] of these the chief are sir palomides or palamedes (a gallant saracen, who is tristram's unlucky rival for the affections of iseult, while his special task is the pursuit of the questing beast, a symbol of slander), and tristram himself. [sidenote: _sir tristram._] the appearance of this last personage in the legend is one of the most curious and interesting points in it. although on this, as on every one of such points, the widest diversity of opinion prevails, an impartial examination of the texts perhaps enables us to obtain some tolerably clear views on the subject--views which are helpful not merely with reference to the "tristan-saga" itself, but with reference to the origins and character of the whole legend.[ ] there cannot, i think, be a doubt that the tristram story originally was quite separate from that of arthur. in the first place, tristram has nothing whatever to do with that patriotic and national resistance to the saxon invader which, though it died out in the later legend, was the centre, and indeed almost reached the circumference, of the earlier. in the second, except when he is directly brought to arthur's court, all tristram's connections are with cornwall, brittany, ireland, not with that more integral and vaster part of _la bloie bretagne_ which extends from somerset and dorset to the lothians. when he appears abroad, it is as a varangian at constantinople, not in the train of arthur fighting against romans. again, the religious part of the story, which is so important in the developed arthurian legend proper, is almost entirely absent from the tristram-tale, and the subject which played the fourth part in mediæval affections and interests with love, religion, and fighting--the chase--takes in the tristram romances the place of religion itself. [footnote : editions: the french _tristan_, edited long ago by f. michel, but in need of completion; the english _sir tristrem_ in scott's well-known issue, and re-edited (heilbronn, ), with excellent taste as well as learning, by dr kölbing, who has also given the late icelandic version, as well as for the scottish text society (edinburgh, ) by mr george p. mcneill; gottfried of strasburg's german (_v._ chap. vi.), ed. bechstein (leipzig, ). _romania_, v. xv. ( ), contains several essays on the tristram story.] [sidenote: _his story almost certainly celtic._] but the most interesting, though the most delicate, part of the inquiry concerns the attitude of this episode or branch to love, and the conclusion to be drawn as well from that attitude as from the local peculiarities above noticed, as to the national origin of tristram on the one hand, and of the arthur story on the other. it has been said that tristram's connections with what may be roughly called britain at large--_i.e._, the british islands _plus_ brittany--are, except in his visits to arthur's court, entirely with the celtic parts--cornwall, ireland, armorica--less with wales, which plays a strangely small part in the arthurian romances generally. this would of itself give a fair presumption that the tristram story is more purely, or at any rate more directly, celtic than the rest. but it so happens that in the love of tristram and iseult, and the revenge and general character of mark, there is also a suffusion of colour and tone which is distinctly celtic. the more recent advocates for the celtic origin of romance in general, and the arthurian legend in particular, have relied very strongly upon the character of the love adventures in these compositions as being different from those of classical story, different from those of frankish, teutonic, and scandinavian romance; but, as it seems to them, like what has been observed of the early native poetry of wales, and still more (seeing that the indisputable texts are older) of ireland. a discussion of this kind is perhaps more than any other _periculosæ plenum opus aleæ_; but it is too important to be neglected. taking the character of the early celtic, and especially the irish, heroine as it is given by her champions--a process which obviates all accusations of misunderstanding that might be based on the present writer's confession that of the celtic texts alone he has to speak at second-hand--it seems to me beyond question that both the iseults, iseult of ireland and iseult of brittany, approach much nearer to this type than does guinevere, or the lady of the lake, or the damsel lunete, or any of arthur's sisters, even morgane, or, to take earlier examples, igraine and merlin's love. so too the peculiar spitefulness of mark, and his singular mixture of tolerance and murderous purpose towards tristram[ ] are much more celtic than anglo-french: as indeed is the curious absence of religiosity before noted, which extends to iseult as well as to tristram. we have no trace in mark's queen of the fact or likelihood of any such final repentance as is shown by arthur's: and though the complete and headlong self-abandonment of iseult is excused to some extent by the magic potion, it is of an "all-for-love-and-the-world-well-lost" kind which finds no exact parallel elsewhere in the legend. so too, whether it seem more or less amiable, the half-coquettish jealousy of guinevere in regard to lancelot is not celtic: while the profligate vindictiveness attributed to her in _sir launfal_, and only in _sir launfal_, an almost undoubtedly celtic offshoot of the arthurian legend, is equally alien from her character. we see iseult planning the murder of brengwain with equal savagery and ingratitude, and we feel that it is no libel. on the other hand, though tristram's faithfulness is proverbial, it is an entirely different kind of faithfulness from that of lancelot--flightier, more passionate perhaps in a way, but of a less steady passion. lancelot would never have married iseult the white-handed. [footnote : it is fair to say that mark, like gawain, appears to have gone through a certain process of blackening at the hands of the late romancers; but the earliest story invited this.] it is, however, quite easy to understand how, this tristram legend existing by hypothesis already or being created at the same time, the curious centripetal and agglutinative tendency of mediæval romance should have brought it into connection with that of arthur. the mere fact of mark's being a vassal-king of greater britain would have been reason enough; but the parallel between the prowess of lancelot and tristram, and between their loves for the two queens, was altogether too tempting to be resisted. so tristram makes his appearance in arthur's court, and as a knight of the round table, but as not exactly at home there,--as a visitor, an "honorary member" rather than otherwise, and only an occasional partaker of the home tournaments and the adventures abroad which occupy arthur's knights proper. [sidenote: _sir lancelot._] the origin of the greatest of these, of lancelot himself, is less distinct. since the audacious imaginativeness of the late m. de la villemarqué, which once, i am told, brought upon him the epithet "_faussaire!_" uttered in full conclave of breton antiquaries, has ceased to be taken seriously by arthurian students, the old fancies about some breton "ancel" or "ancelot" have been quietly dropped. but the celticisers still cling fondly to the supposed possibility of derivation from king melvas, or king maelgon, one or other of whom does seem to have been connected, as above mentioned, by early welsh tradition with the abduction of the queen. it is, however, evident to any reader of the _charette_ episode, whether in the original french prose and verse or in malory, that meleagraunce the ravisher and lancelot the avenger cannot have the same original. i should myself suppose lancelot to have been a directly and naturally spontaneous literary growth. the necessity of a love-interest for the arthurian story being felt, and, according to the manner of the time, it being felt with equal strength that the lover must not be the husband, it was needful to look about for some one else. the merely business-like self-surrender to mordred as the king _de facto_, to the "lips that were near," of geoffrey's guanhumara and layamon's wenhaver, was out of the question; and the part of gawain as a faithful nephew was too well settled already by tradition for it to be possible to make him the lover. perhaps the great artistic stroke in the whole legend, and one of the greatest in all literature, is the concoction of a hero who should be not only "like paris handsome, and like hector brave," but more heroic than paris and more interesting than hector,--not only a "greatest knight," but at once the sinful lover of his queen and the champion who should himself all but achieve, and in the person of his son actually achieve, the sacred adventure of the holy graal. if, as there seems no valid reason to disbelieve, the hitting upon this idea, and the invention or adoption of lancelot to carry it out, be the work of walter mapes, then walter mapes is one of the great novelists of the word, and one of the greatest of them. if it was some unknown person (it could hardly be chrestien, for in chrestien's form the graal interest belongs to percevale, not to lancelot or galahad), then the same compliment must be paid to that person unknown. meanwhile the conception and execution of lancelot, to whomsoever they may be due, are things most happy. entirely free from the faultlessness which is the curse of the classical hero; his unequalled valour not seldom rewarded only by reverses; his merits redeemed from mawkishness by his one great fault, yet including all virtues that are themselves most amiable, and deformed by no vice that is actually loathsome; the soul of goodness in him always warring with his human frailty;--sir lancelot fully deserves the noble funeral eulogy pronounced over his grave, and felt by all the elect to be, in both senses, one of the first of all extant pieces of perfect english prose. [sidenote: _the minor knights._] but the virtues which are found in lancelot eminently are found in all but the "felon" knights, differing only in degree. it is true that the later romances and compilations, feeling perhaps the necessity of shade, extend to all the sons of lot and margause, except gareth, and to some extent gawain, the unamiable character which mordred enjoys throughout, and which even in the _merlin_ is found showing itself in agravaine. but sir lamoracke, their victim, is almost lancelot's equal: and the best of lancelot's kin, especially sir bors, come not far behind. it is entirely untrue that, as the easy epigram has it, they all "hate their neighbour and love their neighbour's wife." on the contrary, except in the bad subjects--ranging from the mere ruffianism of breuse-sans-pitié to the misconduct of meleagraunce--there is no hatred of your neighbour anywhere. it is not hatred of your neighbour to be prepared to take and give hard blows from and to him, and to forgather in faith and friendship before and after. and as to the other and more delicate point, a large majority of the knights can at worst claim the benefit of the law laid down by a very pious but indulgent mediæval writer,[ ] who says that if men will only not meddle with "spouse or sib" (married women or connections within the prohibited degrees), it need be no such deadly matter. [footnote : _cursor mundi_, l. .] [sidenote: _arthur._] it may be desirable, as it was in reference to charlemagne, to say a few words as to arthur himself. in both cases there is noticeable (though less in the case of arthur than in that of charlemagne) the tendency _not_ to make the king blameless, or a paragon of prowess: and in both cases, as we should expect, this tendency is even more noticeable in the later versions than in the earlier. this may have been partly due to the aristocratic spirit of at least idealised feudalism, which gave the king no semi-divine character, but merely a human primacy _inter pares_; partly also to the literary instinct of the middle ages, which had discovered that the "biggest" personage of a story is by no means that one who is most interesting. in arthur's very first literary appearance, the nennius passage, his personal prowess is specially dwelt upon: and in those parts of the _merlin_ group which probably represent the first step from geoffrey to the complete legend, he slays saxons and romans, wrests the sword single-handed from king ryaunce, and so forth, as valiantly as gawain himself. it is, however, curious that at this time the writers are much less careful than at a later to represent him as faithful to guinevere, and blameless before marriage, with the exception of the early affair with margause. he accepts the false guinevere and the saxon enchantress very readily; and there is other scandal in which the complaisant merlin as usual figures. but in the accepted arthuriad (i do not of course speak of modern writers) this is rather kept in the background, while his prowess is also less prominent, except in a few cases, such as his great fight with his sister's lover, sir accolon. even here he never becomes the complaisant wittol, which late and rather ignoble works like the _cokwold's daunce_[ ] represent him as being: and he never exhibits the slightest approach to the outbursts of almost imbecile wrath which characterise charlemagne. [footnote : printed by hartshorne, _ancient metrical tales_ (london, ), p. ; and hazlitt, _early popular poetry_ (london, ), i. .] [sidenote: _guinevere._] something has been said of guinevere already. it is perhaps hard to look, as any english reader of our time must, backward through the coloured window of the greatest of the _idylls of the king_ without our thoughts of the queen being somewhat affected by it. but those who knew their malory before the _idylls_ appeared escape that danger. mr morris's guinevere in her _defence_ is perhaps a little truer than lord tennyson's to the original conception--indeed, much of the delightful volume in which she first appeared is pure _extrait arthurien_. but the tennysonian glosses on guinevere's character are not ill justified: though perhaps, if less magnificent, it would have been truer, both to the story and to human nature, to attribute her fall rather to the knowledge that arthur himself was by no means immaculate than to a despairing sense of his immaculateness. the guinevere of the original romances is the first perfectly human woman in english literature. they have ennobled her unfaithfulness to arthur by her constancy to lancelot, they have saved her constancy to lancelot from being insipid by interspersing the gusts of jealousy in the matter of the two elaines which play so great a part in the story. and it is curious that, coarse as both the manners and the speech of the middle ages are supposed to have been, the majority of these romances are curiously free from coarseness. the ideas might shock ascham's prudery, but the expression is, with the rarest exceptions, scrupulously adapted to polite society. there are one or two coarse passages in the _merlin_ and the older _saint graal_, and i remember others in outside branches like the _chevalier as deux espées_. but though a french critic has detected something shocking in _le chevalier à la charette_, it requires curious consideration to follow him. [sidenote: _the graal._] the part which the holy graal plays in the legend generally is not the least curious or interesting feature of the whole. as has been already said more than once, it makes no figure at all in the earliest versions: and it is consistent with this, as well as with the general theory and procedure of romance, that when it does appear the development of the part played by it is conducted on two more or less independent lines, which, however, the later compilers at least do not seem to think mutually exclusive. with the usual reserves as to the impossibility of pronouncing with certainty on the exact order of the additions to this wonderful structure of legend, it may be said to be probable, on all available considerations of literary probability, that of the two versions of the graal story--that in which percival is the hero of the quest, and that in which galahad occupies that place--the former is the earlier. according to this, which commended itself especially to the french and german handlers of the story,[ ] the graal quest lies very much outside the more intimate concerns of the arthurian court and the realm of britain. indeed, in the latest and perhaps greatest of this school, wolfram von eschenbach (_v._ chap. vi.), the story wanders off into uttermost isles of fancy, quite remote from the proper arthurian centres. it may perhaps be conceded that this development is in more strict accordance with what we may suppose and can partly perceive to have been the original and almost purely mystical conception of the graal as entertained by robert de borron, or another--the conception in which all earthly, even wedded, love is of the nature of sin, and according to which the perfect knight is only an armed monk, converting the heathen and resisting the temptations of the devil, the world, and more particularly the flesh; diversifying his wars and preachings only or mainly by long mystical visions of sacred history as it presented itself to mediæval imagination. it is true that the genius of wolfram has not a little coloured and warmed this chilly ideal: but the story is still conducted rather afar from general human interest, and very far off indeed from the special interests of arthur. [footnote : and contrariwise the welsh _peredur_ (_mabinogion_, _ed. cit._, ) has only a possible allusion to the graal story, while the english _sir percivale_ (_thornton romances_, ed. halliwell, camden society, ) omits even this.] [sidenote: _how it perfects the story._] another genius, that of walter map (by hypothesis, as before), described and worked out different capabilities in the story. by the idea, simple, like most ideas of genius, of making lancelot, the father, at once the greatest knight of the arimathean lineage, and unable perfectly to achieve the quest by reason of his sin, and galahad the son, inheritor of his prowess but not of his weakness, he has at once secured the success of the quest in sufficient accordance with the original idea and the presence of abundant purely romantic interest as well. and at the same time by connecting the sin which disqualifies lancelot with the catastrophe of arthur, and the achieving of the quest itself with the weakening and breaking up of the round table (an idea insisted upon no doubt, by tennyson, but existent in the originals), a dramatic and romantic completeness has been given to the whole cycle which no other collection of mediæval romances possesses, and which equals, if it does not exceed, that of any of the far more apparently regular epics of literary history. it appears, indeed, to have been left for malory to adjust and bring out the full epic completeness of the legend: but the materials, as it was almost superfluous for dr sommer to show by chapter and verse, were all ready to his hand. and if (as that learned if not invariably judicious scholar thinks) there is or once was somewhere a _suite_ of lancelot corresponding to the _suite de merlin_ of which sir thomas made such good use, it is not improbable that we should find the adjustment, though not the expression, to some extent anticipated. [sidenote: _nature of this perfection._] at any rate, the idea is already to hand in the original romances of our present period; and a wonderfully great and perfect idea it is. not the much and justly praised arrangement and poetical justice of the oresteia or of the story of oedipus excel the arthuriad in what used to be called "propriety" (which has nothing to do with prudishness), while both are, as at least it seems to me, far inferior in varied and poignant interest. that the attainment of the graal, the healing of the maimed king, and the fulfilling of the other "weirds" which have lain upon the race of joseph, should practically coincide with the termination of that glorious reign, with which fate and metaphysical aid had connected them, is one felicity. the "dolorous death and departing out of this world" in lyonnesse and elsewhere corresponds to and completes the triumph of sarras. from yet another point of view, the bringing into judgment of all the characters and their deeds is equally complete, equally natural and unforced. it is astonishing that men like ascham,[ ] unless blinded by a survival of mediæval or a foreshadowing of puritan prudery, should have failed to see that the morality of the _morte d'arthur_ is as rigorous as it is unsqueamish. guinevere in her cloister and lancelot in his hermitage, arthur falling by (or at any rate in battle against) the fruit of his incestuous intercourse--these are not exactly encouragements to vice: while at the same time the earlier history may be admitted to have nothing of a crabbed and jejune virtue. [footnote : this curious outburst, referred to before, may be found in the _schoolmaster_, ed. arber, p. , or ed. giles, _works of ascham_, iii. .] but this conclusion, with the minor events which lead up to it, is scarcely less remarkable as exhibiting in the original author, whoever he was, a sense of art, a sense of finality, the absence of which is the great blot on romance at large, owing to the natural, the human, but the very inartistic, craving for sequels. as is well known, it was the most difficult thing in the world for a mediæval romancer to let his subject go. he must needs take it up from generation to generation; and the interminable series of amadis and esplandian stories, which, as the last example, looks almost like a designed caricature, is only an exaggeration of the habit which we can trace back through _huon of bordeaux_ and _guy of warwick_ almost to the earliest _chansons de geste_. [sidenote: _no sequel possible._] but the intelligent genius who shaped the arthuriad has escaped this danger, and that not merely by the simple process which dryden, with his placid irony, somewhere describes as "leaving scarce three of the characters alive." we have reached, and feel that we have reached, the conclusion of the whole matter when the graal has been taken to heaven, and arthur has gone to avalon. nobody wants to hear anything of the doubtless excellent duke and king constantine. sir ector himself could not leave the stage with more grace than with his great discourse on his dead comrade and kinsman. lancelot's only son has gone with the graal. the end is not violent or factitious, it is necessary and inevitable. it were even less unwise to seek the grave of arthur than to attempt to take up the story of the arthurians after king and queen and lancelot are gone each to his and her own place, after the graal is attained, after the round table is dissolved. it is creditable to the intelligence and taste of the average mediæval romance-writer that even he did not yield to his besetting sin in this particular instance. with the exception of _ysaie le triste_, which deals with the fortunes of a supposed son of tristan and yseult, and thus connects itself with the most outlying part of the legend--a part which, as has been shown, is only hinged on to it--i cannot remember a single romance which purports to deal with affairs subsequent to the battle in lyonesse. the two latest that can be in any way regarded as arthurian, _arthur of little britain_ and _cleriodus_, avowedly take up the story long subsequently, and only claim for their heroes the glory of distant descent from arthur and his heroes. _meliadus de lyonnois_ ascends from tristram, and endeavours to connect the matter of britain with that of france. _giron le courtois_ deals with palamedes and the earlier arthurian story; while _perceforest_, though based on the _brut_, selects periods anterior to arthur.[ ] [footnote : i have a much less direct acquaintance with the romances mentioned in this paragraph than with most of the works referred to in this book. i am obliged to speak of them at second-hand (chiefly from dunlop and mr ward's invaluable _catalogue of romances_, vol. i. ; vol. ii. ). it is one of the results of the unlucky fancy of scholars for re-editing already accessible texts instead of devoting themselves to _anecdota_, that work of the first interest, like _perceforest_, for instance, is left to black-letter, which, not to mention its costliness, is impossible to weak eyes; even where it is not left to manuscript, which is more impossible still.] [sidenote: _latin episodes._] there was, however, no such artistic constraint as regards episodes of the main story, or _romans d'aventures_ celebrating the exploits of single knights, and connected with that story by a sort of stock overture and _dénoûment_, in the first of which an adventure is usually started at arthur's court, while the successful knight is also accustomed to send his captives to give testimony to his prowess in the same place. as has been said above,[ ] there is a whole cluster of such episodes--most, it would seem, owing their origin to england or scotland--which have sir gawain for their chief hero, and which, at least in such forms as survive, would appear to be later than the great central romances which have been just noticed. some of these are of much local interest--there being a scottish group, a group which seems to centre about cumbria, and so forth--but they fall rather to the portion of my successor in this series, who will take as his province _gawaine and the green knight_, _lancelot of the laik_, the quaint alliterative thornton _morte arthur_, and not a few others. the most interesting of all is that hitherto untraced romance of beaumains or gareth (he, as gawain's brother, brings the thing into the class referred to), of which malory has made an entire book, and which is one of the most completely and perfectly turned-out episodes existing. it has points in common with _yvain_,[ ] and others in common with _ipomydon_,[ ] but at the same time quite enough of its own. but we have no french text for it. on the other hand, we have long verse romances like _durmart le gallois_[ ] (which both from the title and from certain mystical graal passages rather connects itself with the percevale sub-section); and the _chevalier as deux espées_,[ ] which belongs to the gawain class. but all these, as well as the german romances to be noticed in chap. vi., distinguish themselves from the main stories analysed above not merely by their obvious and almost avowed dependence, but by a family likeness in incident, turn, and phrase from which those main stories are free. in fact the general fault of the _romans d'aventures_ is that neither the unsophisticated freshness of the _chanson de geste_, nor the variety and commanding breadth of the arthurian legend, appears in them to the full. the kind of "balaam," the stock repetitions and expletives at which chaucer laughs in "sir thopas"--a laugh which has been rather unjustly received as condemning the whole class of english romances--is very evident even in the french texts. we have left the great and gracious ways, the inspiring central ideas, of the larger romance. [footnote : see pp. , note.] [footnote : see above, p. .] [footnote : ed. weber, _metrical romances_, edinburgh, , ii. .] [footnote : ed. stengel. tübingen, .] [footnote : ed. förster. halle, .] [sidenote: _the legend as a whole._] it may perhaps seem to some readers that too much praise has been given to that romance itself. far as we are, not merely from ascham's days, but from those in which the excellent dunlop was bound to confess that "they [the romances of the round table] will be found extremely defective in those points which have been laid down as constituting excellence in fictitious narrative," that they are "improbable," full of "glaring anachronisms and geographical blunders," "not well shaded and distinguished in character," possessing heroines such as "the mistresses of tristan and lancelot" [may god assoil dunlop!] who are "women of abandoned character," "highly reprehensible in their moral tendency," "equalled by the most insipid romance of the present day as a fund of amusement." in those days even scott thought it prudent to limit his praise of malory's book to the statement that "it is written in pure old english, and many of the wild adventures which it contains are told with a simplicity bordering on the sublime." of malory--thanks to the charms of his own book in the editions of southey, of the two editors in mo, of wright and of sir edward strachey, not to mention the recent and stately issues given by dr sommer and professor rhys--a better idea has long prevailed, though there are some gainsayers. but of the originals, and of the legend as a whole, the knowledge is too much limited to those who see in that legend only an opportunity for discussing texts and dates, origins and national claims. its extraordinary beauty, and the genius which at some time or other, in one brain or in many, developed it from the extremely meagre materials which are all that can be certainly traced, too often escape attention altogether, and have hardly, i think, in a single instance obtained full recognition. [sidenote: _the theories of its origin._] yet however exaggerated the attention to the _quellen_ may have been, however inadequate the attention to the actual literary result, it would be a failure in duty towards the reader, and disrespectful to those scholars who, if not always in the most excellent way, have contributed vastly to our knowledge of the subject, to finish this chapter without giving something on the question of origins itself. i shall therefore conclude it with a brief sketch of the chief opinions on the subject, and with an indication of those to which many years' reading have inclined myself. the theories, not to give them one by one as set forth by individual writers, are in the main as follows:-- [sidenote: _celtic._] i. that the legend is, not merely in its first inception, but in main bulk, celtic, either (_a_) welsh or (_b_) armorican. [sidenote: _french._] ii. that it is, except in the mere names and the vaguest outline, french. [sidenote: _english._] iii. that it is english, or at least anglo-norman. [sidenote: _literary._] iv. that it is very mainly a "literary" growth, owing something to the greek romances, and not to be regarded without error as a new development unconnected, or almost unconnected, with traditional sources of any kind. [sidenote: _the celtic theory._] the first explanation is the oldest. after being for nearly half a century discredited, it has again found ardent defenders, and it may seem at first sight to be the most natural and reasonable. arthur, if he existed at all, was undoubtedly a british hero; the british celts, especially the welsh, possess beyond all question strong literary affinities and a great literary performance, and geoffrey of monmouth, the father of the whole story, expressly declares that he took it from a book written in the british tongue. it was natural that in comparatively uncritical ages no quarrel should be made with this account. there were, even up to the last century, i believe, enthusiastic antiquaries who affirmed, and perhaps believed, that they had come across the very documents to which geoffrey refers, or at worst later welsh transcripts of them. but when the study of the matter grew, and especially when welsh literature itself began to be critically examined, uncomfortable doubts began to arise. it was found impossible to assign to the existing welsh romances on the subject, such as those published in the _mabinogion_, a date even approaching in antiquity that which can certainly be claimed by the oldest french texts: and in more than one case the welsh bore unmistakable indications of having been directly imitated from the french itself. further, in undoubtedly old welsh literature, though there were (_v. supra_) references to arthur, they were few, they were very meagre, and except as regards the mystery of his final disappearance rather than death, they had little if anything to do with the received arthurian story. on the other hand, as far as brittany was concerned, after a period of confident assertion, and of attempts, in at least doubtful honesty, to supply what could not be found, it had to be acknowledged that brittany could supply no ancient texts whatever, and hardly any ancient tradition. these facts, when once established (and they have never since been denied by competent criticism), staggered the celtic claim very seriously. of late years, however, it has found advocates (who, as usual, adopt arguments rather mutually destructive than mutually confirmatory) both in france (m. gaston paris) and in germany (herr zimmer), while it has been passionately defended in england by mr nutt, and with a more cautious, but perhaps at least equally firm, support by professor rhys. as has been said, these neo-celticists do not, when they are wise, attempt to revive the older form of the claims. they rest theirs on the scattered references in undoubtedly old welsh literature above referred to, on the place-names which play such an undoubtedly remarkable part in the local nomenclature of the west-welsh border in the south-west of england and in cornwall, of wales less frequently, of strathclyde and lothian eminently, and not at all, or hardly at all, of that portion of england which was early and thoroughly subjected to saxon and angle sway. and the bolder of them, taking advantage of the admitted superiority in age of irish to welsh literature as far as texts go, have had recourse to this, not for direct originals (it is admitted that there are none, even of parts of the legend such as those relating to tristram and iseult, which are not only avowedly irish in place but irish in tone), but for evidences of differential origin in comparison with classical and teutonic literature. unfortunately this last point is one not of technical "scholarship," but of general literary criticism, and it is certain that the celticists have not converted all or most students in that subject to their view. i should myself give my opinion, for whatever it may be worth, to the effect that the tone and tendency of the celtic, and especially the irish, literature of very early days, as declared by its own modern champions, are quite different from those of the romances in general and the arthurian legend in particular. again, though the other two classes of evidence cannot be so ruled out of court as a whole, it must be evident that they go but a very little way, and are asked to go much further. if any one will consult professor rhys's careful though most friendly abstract of the testimony of early welsh literature, he will see how very great the interval is. when we are asked to accept a magic caldron which fed people at discretion as the special original of the holy grail, the experienced critic knows the state of the case pretty well.[ ] while as to the place-names, though they give undoubted and valuable support of a kind to the historical existence of arthur, and support still more valuable to the theory of the early and wide distribution of legends respecting him, it is noticeable that they have hardly anything to do with _our_ arthurian legend at all. they concern--as indeed we should expect--the fights with the saxons, and some of them reflect (very vaguely and thinly) a tradition of conjugal difficulties between arthur and his queen. but unfortunately these last are not confined to arthurian experience; and, as we have seen, arthur's fights with the saxons, except the last when they joined mordred, are of ever-dwindling importance for the romance. [footnote : for these magical provisions of food are commonplaces of general popular belief, and, as readers of major wingate's book on the soudan will remember, it was within the last few years an article of faith there that one of the original mahdi's rivals had a magic tent which would supply rations for an army.] [sidenote: _the french claims._] like the celtic theory, the french has an engaging appearance of justice and probability, and it has over the celtic the overwhelming advantage as regards texts. that all, without exception, of the oldest texts in which the complete romantic story of arthur appears are in the french language is a fact entirely indisputable, and at first blench conclusive. we may even put it more strongly still and say that, taking positive evidence as apart from mere assertion (as in the case of the latin graal-book), there is nothing to show that any part of the full romantic story of arthur, as distinguished from the meagre quasi-historical outline of geoffrey, ever appeared in any language before it appeared in french. the most certain of the three personal claimants for the origination of these early texts, chrestien de troyes, was undoubtedly a frenchman in the wide sense; so (if he existed) was robert de borron, another of them. the very phrase so familiar to readers of malory, "the french book," comes to the assistance of the claim. and yet, as is the case with some other claims which look irresistible at first sight, the strength of this shrinks and dwindles remarkably when it comes to be examined. one consideration is by itself sufficient, not indeed totally to destroy it, but to make a terrible abatement in its cogency; and this is, that if the great arthurian romances, written between the middle and end of the twelfth century, were written in french, it was chiefly because they could not have been written in any other tongue. not only was no other language generally intelligible to that public of knights and ladies to which they were addressed; not only was no other vernacular language generally known to european men of letters, but no such vernacular, except provençal, had attained to anything like the perfection necessary to make it a convenient vehicle. whatever the nationality of the writer or writers, it was more likely that he or they would write in french than in any other language. and as a matter of fact we see that the third of the great national claimants was an englishman, while it is not certain that robert de borron was not an english subject. nor is it yet formally determined whether chrestien himself, in those parts of his work which are specially arthurian, had not map or some one else before him as an authority. [sidenote: _the theory of general literary growth._] the last theory, that the legend may be almost if not quite sufficiently accounted for as a legitimate descendant of previous literature, classical and other (including oriental sources), has been the least general favourite. as originally started, or at least introduced into english literary history, by warton, it suffered rather unfairly from some defects of its author. warton's _history of english poetry_ marks, and to some extent helped to produce, an immense change for the better in the study of english literature: and he deserved the contemptuous remarks of some later critics as little as he did the savage attacks of the half-lunatic ritson. but he was rather indolent; his knowledge, though wide, was very desultory and full of scraps and gaps; and, like others in his century, he was much too fond of hypothesis without hypostasis, of supposition without substance. he was very excusably but very unluckily ignorant of what may be called the comparative panorama of english and european literature during the middle ages, and was apt to assign to direct borrowing or imitation those fresh workings up of the eternal _données_ of all literary art which presented themselves. as the theory has been more recently presented with far exacter learning and greater judgment by his successor, mr courthope,[ ] it is much relieved from most of its disabilities. i have myself no doubt that the greek romances (see chap. ix.) _do_ represent at the least a stage directly connecting classical with romantic literature; and that the later of them (which, it must be remembered, were composed in this very twelfth century, and must have come under the notice of the crusaders), _may_ have exercised a direct effect upon mediæval romance proper. i formed this opinion more than twenty years ago, when i first read _hysminias and hysmine_; and i have never seen reason to change it since. but these influences, though not to be left out of the question, are perhaps in one respect too general, and in another too partial, to explain the precise matter. that the arthurian romances, in common with all the romances, and with mediæval literature generally, were much more influenced by the traditional classical culture than used at one time to be thought, i have believed ever since i began to study the subject, and am more and more convinced of it. the classics both of europe and the east played a part, and no small part, in bringing about the new literature; but it was only a part. [footnote : in his _history of english poetry_, vol. i., london, , and in a subsequent controversy with mr nutt, which was carried on in the _athenæum_.] [sidenote: _the english or anglo-norman pretensions._] if, as i think may fairly be done, the glory of the legend be chiefly claimed for none of these, but for english or anglo-norman, it can be done in no spirit of national _pleonexia_, but on a sober consideration of all the facts of the case, and allowing all other claimants their fair share in the matter as subsidiaries. from the merely _a priori_ point of view the claims of england--that is to say, the anglo-norman realm--are strong. the matter is "the matter of britain," and it was as natural that arthur should be sung in britain as that charlemagne should be celebrated in france. but this could weigh nothing against positive balance of argument from the facts on the other side. the balance, however, does not lie against us. the personal claim of walter map, even if disproved, would not carry the english claim with it in its fall. but it has never been disproved. the positive, the repeated, attribution of the mss. may not be final, but requires a very serious body of counter-argument to upset it. and there is none such. the time suits; the man's general ability is not denied; his familiarity with welshmen and welsh tradition as a herefordshire marcher is pretty certain; and his one indisputable book of general literature, the _de nugis curialium_, exhibits many--perhaps all--of the qualifications required: a sharp judgment united with a distinct predilection for the marvellous, an unquestionable piety combined with man-of-the-worldliness, and a toleration of human infirmities. it is hardly necessary to point out the critical incompetence of those who say that a satirist like map could not have written the _quest_ and the _mort_. such critics would make two peacocks as the simultaneous authors of _nightmare abbey_ and _rhododaphne_--nay, two shakespeares to father the _sonnets_ and the _merry wives_. if any one will turn to the stories of gerbert and meridiana, of galo, sadius, and the evil queen in the _nugæ_, he will, making allowance for walter's awkward latin in comparison with the exquisite french of the twelfth century, find reasons for thinking the author of that odd book quite equal to the authorship of part--not necessarily the whole--of the arthurian story in its co-ordinated form. again, it is distinctly noticeable that the farther the story goes from england and the english continental possessions, the more does it lose of that peculiar blended character, that mixture of the purely mystical and purely romantic, of sacred and profane, which has been noted as characteristic of its perfect bloom. in the _percevale_ of chrestien and his continuators, and still more in wolfram von eschenbach, as it proceeds eastwards, and into more and more purely teutonic regions, it absorbs itself in the _graal_ and the moonshiny mysticism thereto appertaining. when it has fared southwards to italy, the lawlessness of the loves of guinevere and iseult preoccupies southern attention. as for welsh, it is sufficient to quote the statement of the most competent of welsh authorities, professor rhys, to the effect that "the passion of lancelot for guinevere is unknown to welsh literature." now, as i have tried to point out, the passion of lancelot for guinevere, blended as it is with the quasi-historic interest of arthur's conquests and the religious-mystical interest of the graal story, is the heart, the life, the source of all charm and beauty in the perfect arthur-story. i should think, therefore, that the most reasonable account of the whole matter may be somewhat as follows, using imagination as little as possible, and limiting hypothesis rigidly to what is necessary to connect, explain, and render generally intelligible the historical facts which have been already summarised. and i may add that while this account is not very different from the views of the earliest of really learned modern authorities, sir frederic madden and m. paulin paris, i was surprised to find how much it agrees with that of one of the very latest, m. loth. [sidenote: _attempted hypothesis._] in so far as the probable personality and exploits, and the almost certain tradition of such exploits and such a personality, goes, there is no reason for, and much reason against, denying a celtic origin to this legend of arthur. the best authorities have differed as to the amount of really ancient testimony in welsh as to him, and it seems to be agreed by the best authorities that there is no ancient tradition in any other branch of celtic literature. but if we take the mentions allowed as ancient by such a careful critic as professor rhys, if we combine them with the place-name evidence, and if we add the really important fact, that of the earliest literary dealers, certain or probable, with the legend, geoffrey, layamon, and walter map were neighbours of wales, and wace a neighbour of brittany, to suppose that arthur as a subject for romantic treatment was a figment of some non-celtic brain, saxon or norman, french or english, is not only gratuitous but excessively unreasonable. again, there can be no reasonable doubt that the merlin legends, in at least their inception, were celtic likewise. the attempt once made to identify merlin with the well-known "marcolf," who serves as solomon's interlocutor in a mass of early literature more or less eastern in origin, is one of those critical freaks which betray an utterly uncritical temperament. yet further, i should be inclined to allow no small portion of celtic ingredient in the spirit, the tendency, the essence of the arthurian legend. we want something to account for this, which is not saxon, not norman, not french, not teutonic generally, not latin, not eastern; and i at least am unable to discover where this something comes from if it is not from the celtic fringe of england and of normandy. but when we come to the legend proper, and to its most important and most interesting characteristics, to its working up, to that extraordinary development which in a bare half-century (and half a century, though a long time now, was a very short one seven hundred years ago) evolved almost a whole library of romance from the scanty _faits et gestes_ of arthur as given by geoffrey,--then i must confess that i can see no evidence of celtic forces or sources having played any great part in the matter. if caradoc of lancarvan wrote the _vita gildæ_--and it is pretty certainly not later than his day, while if it was not written by him it must have been written by some one equally well acquainted with traditions, british and armorican, of st gildas--if he or any one else gave us what he has given about arthur and gildas himself, about arthur's wife and melvas, and if traditions existed of galahad or even percivale and the graal, of the round table, most of all of lancelot,--why in the name of all that is critical and probable did he not give us more? his hero could not have been ignorant of the matter, the legends of his hero could hardly have been silent about them. it is hard to believe that anybody can read the famous conclusion of geoffrey's history without seeing a deliberate impishness in it, without being certain that the tale of the book and the archdeacon is a tale of a cock and a bull. but if it be taken seriously, how could the "british book" have failed to contain something more like our legend of arthur than geoffrey has given us, and how, if it existed and gave more, could geoffrey have failed to impart it? why should the welsh, the proudest in their way of all peoples, and not the least gifted in literature, when they came to give arthurian legends of the kind which we recognise, either translate them from the french or at least adapt and adjust them thereto? on the other hand, the supposition that the fashioning, partly out of vague tradition, partly it may be out of more definite celtic tales like that of tristram, partly from classical, eastern, and other sources, belongs to the english in the wide sense--that is to say, the nation or nations partly under english rule proper, partly under scottish, partly under that of the feudatories or allies of the english kings as dukes of normandy--has to support it not merely the arguments stated above as to the concentration of the legend proper between troyes and herefordshire, between broceliande and northumbria, as to ms. authority, as to the inveteracy of the legend in english,--not only those negative ones as to the certainty that if it were written by englishmen it would be written in french,--but another, which to the comparative student of literary history may seem strongest of all. here first, here eminently, and here just at the time when we should expect it, do we see that strange faculty for exhibiting a blend, a union, a cross of characteristics diverse in themselves, and giving when blended a result different from any of the parts, which is more than anything else the characteristic of the english language, of english literature, of english politics, of everything that is english. classical rhetoric, french gallantry, saxon religiosity and intense realisation of the other world, oriental extravagance to some extent, the "celtic vague"--all these things are there. but they are all co-ordinated, dominated, fashioned anew by some thing which is none of them, but which is the english genius, that curious, anomalous, many-sided genius, which to those who look at only one side of it seems insular, provincial, limited, and which yet has given us shakespeare, the one writer of the world to whom the world allows an absolute universality. chapter iv. antiquity in romance. oddity of the classical romance. its importance. the troy story. the alexandreid. callisthenes. latin versions. their story. its developments. alberic of besanÇon. the decasyllabic poem. the great "roman d'alixandre." form, etc. continuations. "king alexander." characteristics. the tale of troy. dictys and dares. the dares story. its absurdity. its capabilities. troilus and briseida. the 'roman de troie.' the phases of cressid. the 'historia trojana.' meaning of the classical romance. [sidenote: _oddity of the classical romance._] as the interest of jean bodel's first two divisions[ ] differs strikingly, and yet represents, in each case intimately and indispensably, certain sides of the mediæval character, so also does that of his third. this has perhaps more purely an interest of curiosity than either of the others. it neither constitutes a capital division of general literature like the arthurian story, nor embodies and preserves a single long-past phase in national spirit and character, like the _chansons de geste_. from certain standpoints of the drier and more rigid criticism it is exposed to the charge of being trifling, almost puerile. we cannot understand--or, to speak with extremer correctness, it would seem that some of us cannot understand--the frame of mind which puts dictys and dares on the one hand, homer on the other, as authorities to be weighed on equal terms, and gravely sets homer aside as a very inferior and prejudiced person; which, even after taking its dictys and dares, proceeds to supplement them with entire inventions of its own; which, after in the same way taking the pseudo-callisthenes as the authoritative biographer of alexander, elaborates the legend with a wild luxuriance that makes the treatment of the tale of troy seem positively modest and sober; which makes thebes, julius cæsar, anything and anybody in fabulous and historical antiquity alike, the centre, or at least the nucleus, of successive accretions of romantic fiction. [footnote : see note , p. .] [sidenote: _its importance--the troy story._] nevertheless, the attractions, intrinsic and extrinsic, of the division are neither few nor small. this very confusion, as it seems nowadays, this extraordinary and almost monstrous blending of uncritical history and unbridled romance, shows one of the most characteristic sides of the whole matter, and exhibits, as do few other things, that condition of mediæval thought in regard to all critical questions which has so constantly to be insisted on. as in the case of the arthurian story, the matter thus presented caught hold of the mediæval imagination with a remarkable grip, and some of the most interesting literary successions of all history date from it. among them it is almost enough to mention the chain of names--benoît de sainte-more, guido colonna, boccaccio, chaucer, henryson--which reaches shakespeare, and does not cease with him, all successively elaborating the history of troilus and cressida. the lively story, first formed, like so many others, by the french genius, and well, if rather impudently, copied by colonna; boccaccio's vivid italian cressida; chaucer's inimitable pandarus, the first pleasing example of the english talent for humorous portrayal in fiction; the wonderful passage, culminating in a more wonderful single line,[ ] of that dunfermline schoolmaster whom some inconceivable person has declared to be only a poet to "scotch patriotism"; the great gnomic verses of shakespeare's ulysses, and the various, unequal, sometimes almost repulsive, never otherwise than powerful, pageantry of that play, which has been perhaps more misjudged than any other of shakespeare's,--all these spring from the tale of troy, not in the least as handed down by the ancients, but tricked and frounced as the middle age was wont. nor is this half-borrowed interest by any means the only one. the cressid story, indeed, does not reach its full attraction as a direct subject of literary treatment till the fourteenth century. but the great alexander cycle gives us work which merely as poetry equals all but the very best mediæval work, and its importance in connection with the famous metre named from it is of itself capital. [footnote : "than upon him scho kest up baith her ene, and with ane blunk it came in to his thocht, that he sumtyme hir face before had sene. * * * * * ane sparke of lufe than till his hart culd spring, and kendlit all his bodie in ane fyre with heit fevir, ane sweit and trimbilling him tuik quhile he was readie to expire; to beir his scheild his breast began to tyre: within ane quhyle he changit mony hew, _and nevertheles not ane ane uther knew_." laing's _poems of henryson_ (edinburgh, ), p. . this volume is unfortunately not too common; but 'the testament and complaint of cressid' may also be found under chaucer in chalmers's poets (i. for this passage).] [sidenote: _the alexandreid._] in interest, bulk, and importance these two stories--the story of the destruction of troy and the alexandreid--far outstrip all the other romances of antiquity; they are more accessible than the rest, and have been the subject of far more careful investigation by modern students. little has been added, or is likely to be added, in regard to the troy-books generally, since m. joly's introduction to benoît's _roman de troie_ six-and-twenty years ago,[ ] and it is at least improbable that much will be added to m. paul meyer's handling of the old french treatments of the alexandreid in his _alexandre le grand dans la littérature française au moyen age_.[ ] for it must once more be said that the pre-eminence of french over other literatures in this volume is not due to any crotchet of the writer, or to any desire to speak of what he has known pretty thoroughly, long, and at first-hand, in preference to that which he knows less thoroughly, less of old, and in parts at second-hand. it is the simplest truth to say that in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries france kept the literary school of europe, and that, with the single exception of iceland, during a part, and only a part, of the time, all the nations of europe were content to do, each in its own tongue, and sometimes even in hers, the lessons which she taught, the exercises which she set them. that the scholars sometimes far surpassed their masters is quite true, and is nothing unusual; that they were scholars is simple fact. [footnote : _le roman de troie._ par benoît de sainte-more. ed. joly. paris, .] [footnote : paris, . the number of monographs on this subject is, however, very large, and i should like at least to add mr wallis budge's _alexander the great_ (the syriac version of callisthenes), cambridge, , and his subsequent _life and exploits of alexander_.] [sidenote: _callisthenes._] the alexander story, which mr wallis budge, our chief authority (and perhaps _the_ chief authority) on the oriental versions of it, speaks of as "a book which has had more readers than any other, the bible alone excepted," is of an antiquity impossible to determine in any manner at all certain. nor is the exact place of its origin, or the language in which it was originally written, to be pronounced upon with anything like confidence. what does seem reasonably sure is that what is called "the pseudo-callisthenes"--that is to say, the fabulous biography of the great king, which is certainly the basis of all western, and perhaps that of most eastern, versions of the legend--was put into greek at least as early as the third century after christ, and thence into latin (by "julius valerius" or another) before the middle of the fourth. and it appears probable that some of the eastern versions, if not themselves the original (and a strong fight has been made for the Æthiopic or old-egyptian origin of nearly the whole), represent greek texts older than those we have, as well as in some cases other eastern texts which may be older still. before any modern western vernacular handled the subject, there were alexander legends, not merely in greek and latin, not merely in Æthiopic or coptic, but in armenian and syriac, in hebrew and arabic, in persian and perhaps in turkish: and it is possible that, either indirectly before the crusades, or directly through and after them, the legend as told in the west received additions from the east. as a whole, however, the pseudo-callisthenes, or rather his latin interpreter julius valerius,[ ] was the main source of the mediæval legend of alexander. and it is not at all impossible (though the old vague assertions that this or that mediæval characteristic or development was derived from the east were rarely based on any solid foundation so far as their authors knew) that this alexander legend did, at second-hand, and by suggesting imitation of its contents and methods, give to some of the most noteworthy parts of mediæval literature itself an eastern colouring, perhaps to some extent even an eastern substance. [footnote : most conveniently accessible in the teubner collection, ed. kübler, leipzig, .] [sidenote: _latin versions._] still the direct sources of knowledge in the west were undoubtedly latin versions of the pseudo-callisthenes, one of which, that ascribed to julius valerius, appears, as has been said, to have existed before the middle of the fourth century, while the other, sometimes called the _historia de proeliis_, is later by a good deal. later still, and representing traditions necessarily different from and later than those of the callisthenes book, was the source of the most marvellous elements in the alexandreids of the twelfth and subsequent centuries, the _iter ad paradisum_, in which the conquerer was represented as having journeyed to the earthly paradise itself. after this, connected as it was with dim oriental fables as to his approach to the unknown regions north-east of the caucasus, and his making gates to shut out gog, there could be no further difficulty, and all accretions as to his descent into the sea in a glass cage and so forth came easily. [sidenote: _their story._] nor could they, indeed, be said to be so very different in nature from at least the opening part of the callisthenes version itself. this starts with what seems to be the capital and oldest part of the whole fabulous story, a very circumstantial account of the fictitious circumstances of the birth of alexander. according to this, which is pretty constantly preserved in all the fabulous versions of the legend (a proof of its age), nectanabus, an egyptian king and magician, having ascertained by sortilege (a sort of _kriegs-spiel_ on a basin of water with wax ships) that his throne is doomed, quits the country and goes to macedonia. there he falls in love with olympias, and during the absence of her husband succeeds by magic arts not only in persuading her that the god ammon is her lover, but to some extent in persuading king philip to believe this, and to accept the consequences, the part of ammon having been played of course by nectanabus himself. bucephalus makes a considerable figure in the story, and nectanabus devotes much attention to alexander's education--care which the prince repays (for no very discernible reason) by pushing his father and tutor into a pit, where the sorcerer dies after revealing the relationship. the rest of the story is mainly occupied by the wars with darius and porus (the former a good deal travestied), and two important parts, or rather appendices, of it are epistolary communications between aristotle and alexander on the one hand, alexander and dindymus (dandamis, &c.), king of the brahmins, on the other. after his indian adventures the king is poisoned by cassander or at his instigation. [sidenote: _its developments._] into a framework of this kind fables of the sort above mentioned had, it will be seen, not the remotest difficulty in fitting themselves; and it was not even a very long step onward to make alexander a christian, equip him with twelve peers, and the like. but it has been well demonstrated by m. paul meyer that though the fictitious narrative obtained wide acceptance, and even admission into their historical compilations by vincent of beauvais, ekkehard, and others, a more sober tradition as to the hero obtained likewise. if we were more certain than we are as to the exact age of quintus curtius, it would be easier to be certain likewise how far he represents and how far he is the source of this more sober tradition. it seems clear that the latin _alexandreis_ of walter of châtillon is derived from him, or from a common source, rather than from valerius-callisthenes: while m. meyer has dwelt upon a latin compilation perhaps as old as the great outburst of vernacular romance on alexander, preserved only in english mss. at oxford and cambridge, and probably of english composition, which is a perfectly common-sense account based upon historians, of various dates and values, indeed, ranging from trogus to isidore of seville, but all historians and not romancers. in this path, however, comparatively few cared to tread. the attraction for the twelfth century lay elsewhere. sometimes a little of the more authentic matter was combined with the fabulous, and at least one instance occurs where the author, probably in the thirteenth century, simply combined, with a frank audacity which is altogether charming, the popular epitome of valerius and the sober compilation just referred to. the better, more famous, and earlier romantic work is taken straight from, though it by no means confines itself to, valerius, the _historia de proeliis_, and the _iter ad paradisum_. the results of this handling are enormous in bulk, and in minor varieties; but they are for general purposes sufficiently represented by the great _roman d'alixandre_[ ] in french, the long and interesting english _king alisaunder_,[ ] and perhaps the german of lamprecht. the icelandic alexander-saga, though of the thirteenth century, is derived from walter of châtillon, and so reflects the comparatively sober side of the story. of all the others the _roman d'alixandre_ is the most immediate parent. [footnote : ed. michelant, stuttgart, .] [footnote : ed. weber, _op. cit. sup._, i. - .] [sidenote: _alberic of besançon._] there was, indeed, an older french poem than this--perhaps two such--and till the discovery of a fragment of it six years after the publication in of the great _roman d'alixandre_ itself by michelant, it was supposed that this poem was the original of lamprecht's german (or of the german by whomsoever it be, for some will have it that lamprecht is simply lambert li tors, _v. infra_). this, however, seems not to be the case. the alberic fragment[ ] (respecting which the philologists, as usual, fight whether it was written by a besançon man or a briançon one, or somebody else) is extremely interesting in some ways. for, in the first place, it is written in octosyllabic _tirades_ of single assonance or rhyme, a very rare form; in the second, it is in a dialect of provençal; and in the third, the author not only does not follow, but distinctly and rather indignantly rejects, the story of nectanabus:-- "dicunt alquant estrobatour quel reys fud filz d'encantatour: mentent fellon losengetour; mai en credreyz nec un de lour."[ ] [footnote : ed. meyer, _op. cit._, i. - .] [footnote : ll. - .] but the fragment is unluckily so short ( lines only) that it is impossible to say much of its matter. [sidenote: _the decasyllabic poem._] between this and the alexandrine poem there is another version,[ ] curiously intermediate in form, date, and substance. this is in the ordinary form of the older, but not oldest, _chansons de geste_, decasyllabic rhymed _tirades_. there are only about eight hundred lines of it, which have been eked out, by about ten thousand alexandrines from the later and better known poem, in the mss. which remain. the decasyllabic part deals with the youth of alexander, and though the author does not seem, any more than alberic, to have admitted the scandal about nectanabus, the death of that person is introduced, and altogether we see a callisthenic influence. the piece has been very highly praised for literary merit; it seems to me certainly not below, but not surprisingly above, the average of the older _chansons_ in this respect. but in so much of the poem as remains to us no very interesting part of the subject is attacked. [footnote : meyer, i. - .] the great romance is in more fortunate conditions. we have it not indeed complete (for it does not go to the death of the hero) but in ample measure: and fortunately it has for full half a century been accessible to the student. when m. paul meyer says that this edition "ne saurait fournir une base suffisante à une étude critique sur le roman d'alixandre," he is of course using the word _critique_ with the somewhat arbitrary limitations of the philological specialist. the reader who cares for literature first of all--for the book as a book to read--will find it now complete for his criticism in the stuttgart version of the _alixandre_, though he cannot be too grateful to m. meyer for his second volume as a whole, and for the printing in the first of alberic, and the decasyllabic poem, and for the extracts from that of thomas of kent, who, unlike the authors of the great romance, admitted the nectanabus marvels and intrigues. [sidenote: _the great_ roman d'alixandre.] the story is of such importance in mediæval literature that some account of the chief english and french embodiments of it may be desirable. the french version, attributed in shares, which have as usual exercised the adventurous ingenuity of critics, to two authors, lambert li tors, the crooked (the older designation "li cors," the short, seems to be erroneous), and alexander of bernay or paris, occupies in the standard edition of michelant pages, holding, when full and with no blanks or notes, lines each. it must, therefore, though the lines are not continuously numbered, extend to over , . it begins with alexander's childhood, and though the paternity of nectanabus is rejected here as in the decasyllabic version, which was evidently under the eyes of the authors, yet the enchanter is admitted as having a great influence on the prince's education. this portion, filling about fifteen pages, is followed by another of double the length, describing a war with nicolas, king of cesarea, an unhistorical monarch, who in the callisthenic fiction insults alexander. he is conquered and his kingdom given to ptolemy. next alexander threatens athens, but is turned from his wrath by aristotle; and coming home, prevents his father's marriage with cleopatra, who is sent away in disgrace. and then, omitting the poisoning of philip by olympias and her paramour, which generally figures, the romance goes straight to the war with darius. this is introduced (in a manner which made a great impression on the middle ages, as appears in a famous passage of our wars with france[ ]) by an insulting message and present of childish gifts from the persian king. alexander marches to battle, bathes in the cydnus, crosses "lube" and "lutis," and passing by a miraculous knoll which made cowards brave and brave men fearful, arrives at tarsus, which he takes. the siege of tyre comes next, and holds a large place; but a very much larger is occupied by the _fuerres de gadres_ ("foray of gaza"), where the story of the obstinate resistance of the philistine city is expanded into a kind of separate _chanson de geste_, occupying pages and some five thousand lines. [footnote : see _henry v._ for the tennis-ball incident.] in contradistinction to this prolixity, the visit to jerusalem, and the two battles of arbela and issus mixed into one, are very rapidly passed over, though the murder of darius and alexander's vengeance for it are duly mentioned. something like a new beginning (thought by some to coincide with a change of authors) then occurs, and the more marvellous part of the narrative opens. after passing the desert and (for no very clear object) visiting the bottom of the sea in a glass case, alexander begins his campaign with porus, whom darius had summoned to his aid. the actual fighting does not take very long; but there is an elaborate description of the strange tribes and other wonders of india. porus fights again in bactria and is again beaten, after which alexander pursues his allies gog and magog and shuts them off by his famous wall. an arrangement with porus and a visit to the pillars of hercules follow. the return is begun, and marvels come thicker and thicker. strange beasts and amphibious men attack the greeks. the "valley from which none return" presents itself, and alexander can only obtain passage for his army by devoting himself, though he manages to escape by the aid of a grateful devil whom he sets free from bondage. at the sea-shore sirens beset the host, and numbers perish; after which hairy horned old men tell them of the three magic fountains--the fountain of youth, the fountain (visible only once a-year) of immortality, and the fountain of resurrection. many monstrous tribes of enemies supervene; also a forest of maidens, kind but of hamadryad nature--"flower-women," as they have been poetically called. it is only after this experience that they come to the fountain of youth--the fontaine de jouvence--which has left such an indelible impression on tradition. treachery had deprived alexander of access to that of immortality; and that of resurrection has done nothing but restore two cooked fish to life. but after suffering intense cold, and passing through a rain of blood, the army arrives at the jouvence, bathes therein, and all become as men thirty years old. the fountain is a branch of the euphrates, the river of paradise. after this they come to the trees of the sun and moon--speaking trees which foretell alexander's death. porus hears of this, and when the army returns to india he picks a quarrel, and the two kings fight. bucephalus is mortally wounded; but porus is killed. the beginnings of treason, plots against alexander, and the episode of queen candace (who has, however, been mentioned before) follow. the king marches on babylon and soars into the air in a car drawn by griffins. at babylon there is much fighting; indeed, except the foray of gaza, this is the chief part of the book devoted to that subject, the persian and indian wars having been, as we saw, but lightly treated. the amazons are brought in next; but fighting recommences with the siege of "defur." an enchanted river, which whosoever drinks he becomes guilty of cowardice or treachery, follows; and then we return to tarsus and candace, that courteous queen. meanwhile the traitors antipater and "divinuspater" continue plotting, and though alexander is warned against them by his mother olympias, they succeed in poisoning him. the death of the king and the regret of his twelve peers, to whom he has distributed his dominions, finish the poem. [sidenote: _form, &c._] in form this poem resembles in all respects the _chansons de geste_. it is written in mono-rhymed _laisses_ of the famous metre which owes its name and perhaps its popularity to the use of it in this romance. part of it at least cannot be later than the twelfth century; and though in so long a poem, certainly written by more than one, and in all likelihood by more than two, there must be inequality, this inequality is by no means very great. the best parts of the poem are the marvels. the fighting is not quite so good as in the _chansons de geste_ proper; but the marvels are excellent, the poet relating them with an admirable mixture of gravity and complaisance, in spirited style and language, and though with extremely little attention to coherence and verisimilitude, yet with no small power of what may be called fabulous attraction. [sidenote: _continuations._] it is also characteristic in having been freely continued. two authors, guy of cambray and jean le nevelois, composed a _vengeance alexandre_. the _voeux du paon_, which develop some of the episodes of the main poem, were almost as famous at the time as _alixandre_ itself. here appears the popular personage of gadiffer, and hence was in part derived the great prose romance of perceforest. less interesting in itself, but curious as illustrating the tendency to branch up and down to all parts of a hero's pedigree, is _florimont_, a very long octosyllabic poem, perhaps as old as the twelfth century, dealing with alexander's grandfather.[ ] [footnote : in this paragraph i again speak at second-hand, for neither the _voeux_ nor _florimont_ is to my knowledge yet in print. the former seems to have supplied most of the material of the poem in fifteenth-century scots, printed by the bannatyne club in , and to be reprinted, in another version, by the scottish text society.] [sidenote: king alexander.] the principal and earliest version of the english _alexander_ is accessible without much difficulty in weber's _metrical romances of the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries_. its differences from the french original are, however, very well worth noting. that it only extends to about eight thousand octosyllabic lines instead of some twenty thousand alexandrines is enough to show that a good deal is omitted; and an indication in some little detail of its contents may therefore not be without interest. it should be observed that besides this and the scots _alexander_ (see note above) an alliterative _romance of alexander and dindymus_[ ] exists, and perhaps others. but until some one supplements mr ward's admirable _catalogue of romances in the british museum_ with a similar catalogue for the minor libraries of the united kingdom, it will be very difficult to give complete accounts of matters of this kind. [footnote : e.e.t.s., , edited by professor skeat.] our present poem may be of the thirteenth century, and is pretty certainly not long posterior to it. it begins, after the system of english romances, with a kind of moral prologue on the various lives and states of men of "middelerd." those who care for good literature and good learning are invited to hear a noble _geste_ of alisaundre, darye, and pore, with wonders of worm and beast. after a geographical prologue the story of nectanabus, "neptanabus," is opened, and his determination to revenge himself on philip of macedon explained by the fact of that king having headed the combination against egypt. the design on olympias, and its success, are very fully expounded. nectanabus tells the queen, in his first interview with her, "a high master in egypt i was"; and about eight hundred lines carry us to the death of nectanabus and the breaking of "bursifal" (bucephalus) by the prince. the episodes of nicolas (who is here king of carthage) and of cleopatra follow; but when the expedition against darius is reached, the mention of "lube" in the french text seems to have induced the english poet to carry his man by tripoli, instead of cilicia, and bring him to the oracle of ammon--indeed in all the later versions of the story the crossing of the purely fantastic callisthenic romance with more or less historical matter is noticeable. the "bishop" of ammon, by the way, assures him that philip is really his father. the insulting presents follow the siege of tyre; the fighting with darius, though of course much mediævalised, is brought somewhat more into accordance with the historic account, though still the granicus does not appear; the return to greece and the capture of thebes have their place; and the athens-aristotle business is also to some extent critically treated. then the last battle with darius comes in: and his death concludes the first part of the piece in about five thousand lines. it is noticeable that the "foray of gaza" is entirely omitted; and indeed, as above remarked, it bears every sign of being a separate poem. the second part deals with "pore"--in other words, with the indian expedition and its wonders. these are copied from the french, but by no means slavishly. the army is, on the whole, even worse treated by savage beasts and men on its way to india than in the original; but the handling, including the candace episodes, follows the french more closely than in the first part. the fighting at "defur," however, like that at gaza, is omitted; and the wilder and more mystical and luxuriant parts of the story--the three fountains, the sirens, the flower-maidens, and the like--are either omitted likewise or handled more prosaically.[ ] [footnote : dr kölbing, who in combination of philological and literary capacity is second among continental students of romance only to m. gaston paris, appears to have convinced himself of the existence of a great unknown english poet who wrote not only _alisaundre_, but _arthour and merlin_, _richard coeur de lion_, and other pieces. i should much like to believe this.] one of the most curious things about this poem is that every division--divisions of which weber made chapters--begins by a short gnomic piece in the following style:-- "day spryng is jolyf tide. he that can his tyme abyde, oft he schal his wille bytyde. loth is grater man to chyde." [sidenote: _characteristics._] the treatment of the alexander story thus well illustrates one way of the mediæval mind with such things--the way of combining at will incongruous stories, of accepting with no, or with little, criticism any tale of wonder that it happened to find in books, of using its own language, applying its own manners, supposing its own clothing, weapons, and so forth to have prevailed at any period of history. and further, it shows how the _geste_ theory--the theory of working out family connections and stories of ancestors and successors--could not fail to be applied to any subject that at all lent itself to such treatment. but, on the other hand, this division of the romances of antiquity does not exhibit the more fertile, the more inventive, the more poetical, and generally the nobler traits of middle-age literature. as will have been noted, there was little invention in the later versions, the callisthenic fictions and the _iter ad paradisum_ being, with a few oriental accretions, almost slavishly relied upon for furnishing out the main story, though the "foray of gaza," the "vows of the peacock," and _florimont_ exhibit greater independence. yet again no character, no taking and lively story, is elaborated. nectanabus has a certain personal interest: but he was given to, not invented by, the romance writers. olympias has very little character in more senses than one: candace is not worked out: and alexander himself is entirely colourless. the fantastic story, and the wonders with which it was bespread, seem to have absorbed the attention of writers and hearers; and nobody seems to have thought of any more. perhaps this was merely due to the fact that none of the more original genius of the time was directed on it: perhaps to the fact that the historical element in the story, small as it was, cramped the inventive powers, and prevented the romancers from doing their best. [sidenote: _the tale of troy._] in this respect the tale of troy presents a remarkable contrast to its great companion--a contrast pervading, and almost too remarkable to be accidental. inasmuch as this part of mediæval dealings with antiquity connects itself with the literary history of two of the very greatest writers of our own country, chaucer and shakespeare; with that of one of the greatest writers of italy, boccaccio; and with some of the most noteworthy work in old french, it has been thoroughly and repeatedly investigated.[ ] but it is so important, and so characteristic of the time with which we are dealing, that it cannot be passed over here, though the later developments must only be referred to in so far as they help us to understand the real originality, which was so long, and still is sometimes, denied to mediæval writers. in this case, as in the other, the first striking point is the fact that the middle ages, having before them what may be called, _mutatis mutandis_, canonical and apocryphal, authentic and unauthentic, ancient and not ancient, accounts of a great literary matter, chose, by an instinct which was not probably so wrong as it has sometimes seemed, the apocryphal in preference to the canonical, the unauthentic in preference to the authentic, the modern in preference to the ancient. [footnote : it would be unfair not to mention, as having preceded that of m. joly by some years, and having practically founded study on the right lines, the handling of mm. moland and d'héricault, _nouvelles françaises du quatorzième siècle_ (bibliothèque elzévirienne. paris, ).] [sidenote: _dictys and dares._] as in the case of the alexander-saga, their origins were the pseudo-callisthenes and the _iter ad paradisum_, so in the tale of troy they were the works of two persons whose literary offspring has obtained for them an amount of attention transcending to a quite ludicrous extent their literary merit--dictys cretensis and dares phrygius, to whom may perhaps be added the less shadowy personage of the grammarian john tzetzes. but, as in the other case also, they were by no means confined to such authorities. if they did not know homer very well at first-hand, they did know him: they knew ovid (who of course represents homer, though not homer only) extremely well: and they knew virgil. but partly from the instinct above referred to, of which more presently, partly from the craze for tracing western europe back to the "thrice-beaten trojans," it pleased them to regard homer as a late and unhistorical calumniator, whose greek prejudices made him bear false witness; and to accept the pretensions of dictys and dares to be contemporaries and eyewitnesses of fact. dictys, a companion of idomeneus, was supposed to represent the greek side, but more fairly than homer; and dares, priest of hephæstus, the trojan. the works of these two worthies, which are both of small compass,--dictys occupies rather more than a hundred, dares rather more than fifty, pages of the ordinary teubner classics,[ ]--exist at present only in latin prose, though, as the greeks were more expert and inventive forgers than the romans, it is possible, if not even highly probable, that both were, and nearly certain that dictys was, originally greek at least in language. dictys, the older pretty certainly, is introduced by a letter to a certain quintus aradius from lucius septimius, who informs "his rufinus" and the world, with a great deal of authority and learning, that the book had been written by dictys in punic letters, which cadmus and agenor had then made of common use in greece; that some shepherds found the manuscript written on linden-bark paper in a tin case at his tomb at gnossus; that their landlord turning the punic letters into greek (which had always been the language), gave it to nero the emperor, who rewarded him richly; and that he, septimius, having by chance got the book into his hands, thought it worth while to translate it into latin, both for the sake of making the true history known and "ut otiosi animi desidiam discuteremus." the dares volume is more ambitious, and purports to be introduced by no less a person than cornelius nepos to no less a person than sallustius crispus, and to have been "faithfully translated" by the former from ms. in the very hand of dares, which he found at athens, in order to correct the late and fabulous authority of homer, who actually makes gods fight with men! [footnote : ed. meister. leipzig, - .] [sidenote: _the dares story._] it will be, of course, obvious to the merest tyro in criticism that these prefaces bear "forgery" on the very face of them. the first is only one of those innumerable variants of the genesis of a fiction which sir walter scott has so pleasantly summarised in one of his introductions; and the phrase quoted about _animi otiosi desidiam_ is a commonplace of mediæval bookmaking. the second, more cleverly arranged, exposes itself to the question how far, putting the difficulty about writing aside, an ancient greek ms. of the kind could possibly have escaped the literary activity of many centuries of athenian wits and scholars, to fall into the hands of cornelius nepos. the actual age and origin of the two have, of course, occupied many modern scholars; and the favourite opinion seems to be that dictys may have been originally written by some greek about the time of nero (the latin translation cannot well be earlier than the fourth century and may be much later), while dares may possibly be as late as the twelfth. neither book is of the very slightest interest intrinsically. dictys (the full title of whose book is _ephemeris belli trojani_) is not only the longer but the better written of the two. it contains no direct "set" at homer; and may possibly preserve traits of some value from the lost cyclic writers. but it was not anything like such a favourite with the middle ages as dares. dictys had contented himself with beginning at the abduction of helen; dares starts his _de excidio trojæ_ with the golden fleece, and excuses the act of paris as mere reprisals for the carrying off of hesione by telamon. antenor having been sent to greece to demand reparation and rudely treated, paris makes a regular raid in vengeance, and so the war begins with a sort of balance of cause for it on the trojan side. before the actual fighting, some personal descriptions of the chief heroes and heroines are given, curiously feeble and strongly tinged with mediæval peculiarities, but thought to be possibly derived from some similar things attributed to the rhetorician philostratus at the end of the third century. and among these a great place is given to troilus and "briseida." nearly half the book is filled with these preliminaries, with an account of the fruitless embassy of ulysses and diomed to troy, and with enumerating the forces and allies of the two parties. but when dares gets to work he proceeds with a rapidity which may be partly due to the desire to contradict homer. the landing and death of protesilaus, avenged to some extent by achilles, the battle in which hector slays patroclus (to whom dares adds meriones), and that at the ships, are all lumped together; and the funerals of protesilaus and patroclus are simultaneously celebrated. palamedes begins to plot against agamemnon. the fighting generally goes much against the greeks; and agamemnon sues for a three years' truce, which is granted despite hector's very natural suspicion of such an uncommonly long time. it is skipped in a line; and then, the fighting having gone against the trojans, they beg for a six months' truce in their turn. this is followed by a twelve days' fight and a thirty days' truce asked by the greeks. then comes andromache's dream, the fruitless attempt to prevent hector fighting, and his death at the hands of achilles. after more truces, palamedes supplants agamemnon, and conducts the war with pretty good success. achilles sees polyxena at the tomb of hector, falls in love with her, demands her hand, and is promised it if he can bring about peace. in the next batch of fighting, palamedes kills deiphobus and sarpedon, but is killed by paris; and in consequence a fresh battle at the ships and the firing of them takes place, achilles abstaining, but ajax keeping up the battle till (natural) night. troilus then becomes the hero of a seven days' battle followed by the usual truce, during which agamemnon tries to coax achilles out of the sulks, and on his refusal holds a great council of war. when next _tempus pugnæ supervenit_ (a stock phrase of the book) troilus is again the hero, wounds everybody, including agamemnon, menelaus, and diomed, and very reasonably opposes a six months' armistice which his father grants. at its end he again bears all before him; but, killing too many myrmidons, he at last excites achilles, who, though at first wounded, kills him at last by wounding his horse, which throws him. memnon recovers the body of troilus, but is himself killed. the death of achilles in the temple of apollo (by ambush, but, of course, with no mention of the unenchanted heel), and of ajax and paris in single fight, leads to the appearance of the amazons, who beat the greeks, till penthesilea is killed by neoptolemus. antenor, Æneas, and others urge peace, and on failing to prevail with priam, begin to parley with the greeks. there is no trojan horse, but the besiegers are treacherously introduced at a gate _ubi extrinsecus portam equi sculptum caput erat_. antenor and Æneas receive their reward; but the latter is banished because he has concealed polyxena, who is massacred when discovered by neoptolemus. helenus, cassandra, and andromache go free: and the book ends with the beautifully precise statements that the war, truces and all, lasted ten years, six months, and twelve days; that , men fell on the greek side, and , on the trojan; that Æneas set out in twenty-two ships ("the same with which paris had gone to greece," says the careful dares), and men, while followed antenor, and helenus and andromache. [sidenote: _its absurdity._] this bald summary is scarcely balder than the book itself, which also, as can be seen from the summary, and would be more fully seen from the book, has no literary merit of any kind. it reads more like an excessively uninspired _précis_ of a larger work than like anything else--a _précis_ in which all the literary merit has, with unvarying infelicity, been omitted. nothing can be more childish than the punctilious euhemerism by which all the miraculous elements of the homeric story are blinked or explained away, unless it be the painstaking endeavour simply to say something different from homer, or the absurd alternation of fighting and truces, in which each party invariably gives up its chance of finishing the war at the precise time at which that chance is most flourishing, and which reads like a humorous travesty of the warfare of some historic periods with all the humour left out. [sidenote: _its capabilities._] nevertheless it is not really disgraceful to the romantic period that it fastened so eagerly on this sorriest of illegitimate epitomes.[ ] very few persons at that time were in case to compare the literary merit of homer--even that of ovid and virgil--with the literary merit of these bald pieces of bad latin prose. moreover, the supernatural elements in the homeric story, though very congenial to the temper of the middle age itself, were presented and ascribed in such a fashion that it was almost impossible for that age to adopt them. putting aside a certain sentimental cult of "venus la déesse d'amors," there was nothing of which the mediæval mind was more tranquilly convinced than that "jubiter," "appollin," and the rest were not mere fond things vainly invented, but actual devils who had got themselves worshipped in the pagan times. it was impossible for a devout christian man, whatever pranks he might play with his own religion, to represent devils as playing the part of saints and of the virgin, helping the best heroes, and obtaining their triumph. nor, audacious as was the faculty of "transfer" possessed by the mediæval genius, was it easy to christianise the story in any other way. it is perhaps almost surprising that, so far as i know or remember, no version exists representing cassandra as a holy and injured nun, making our lady play the part of venus to Æneas, and even punishing the sacrilegious diomed for wounding her. but i do not think i have heard of such a version (though sir walter has gone near to representing something parallel in _ivanhoe_), and it would have been a somewhat violent escapade for even a mediæval fancy. [footnote : the british museum alone (see mr ward's _catalogue of romances_, vol. i.) contains some seventeen separate mss. of dares.] so, with that customary and restless ability to which we owe so much, and which has been as a rule so much slighted, it seized on the negative capacities of the story. dares gives a wretched painting, but a tolerable canvas and frame. each section of his meagre narrative is capable of being worked out by sufficiently busy and imaginative operators into a complete _roman d'aventures_: his facts, if meagre and jejune, are numerous. the raids and reprisals in the cases of hesione and helen suited the demands of the time; and, as has been hinted, the singular interlardings of truce and war, and the shutting up of the latter into so many days' hand-to-hand fighting,--with no strategy, no care for communications, no scientific nonsense of any kind,--were exactly to mediæval taste. [sidenote: _troilus and briseida._] above all, the prominence of new heroes and heroines, about whom not very much was said, and whose _gestes_ the mediæval writer could accordingly fill up at his own will, with the presentation of others in a light different from that of the classical accounts, was a godsend. achilles, as the principal author of the "excidium trojæ" (the title of the dares book, and after it of others), must be blackened; and though dares himself does not contain the worst accusations of the mediæval writers against the unshorn son of the sea-goddess, it clears the way for them by taking away the excuse of the unjust deprivation of briseis. from this to making him not merely a factious partisan, but an unfair fighter, who mobs his enemies half to death with myrmidons before he engages them himself, is not far. on the other hand, troilus, a mere name in the older stories, offers himself as a hero. and for a heroine, the casual mention of the charms of briseida in dares started the required game. helen was too puzzling, as well as too greek; andromache only a faithful wife; cassandra a scolding sorceress; polyxena a victim. briseida had almost a clear record, as after the confusion with chryseis (to be altered in name afterwards) there was very little personality left in her, and she could for that very reason be dealt with as the romancers pleased. in the subsequent and vernacular handling of the story the same difference of alternation is at first perceived as that which appears in the alexander legend. the sobriety of gautier of châtillon's _alexandreis_ is matched and its latinity surpassed by the _bellum trojanum_ of our countryman joseph of exeter, who was long and justly praised as about the best mediæval writer of classical latin verse. but this neighbourhood of the streams of history and fiction ceases much earlier in the trojan case, and for very obvious reasons. the temperament of mediæval poets urged them to fill in and fill out: the structure of the daretic epitome invited them to do so: and they very shortly did it. [sidenote: _the_ roman de troie.] after some controversy, the credit of first "romancing" the tale of troy has been, it would seem justly and finally, assigned to benoît de sainte-more. benoît, whose flourishing time was about , who was a contemporary and rival of wace, and who wrote a chronicle of normandy even longer than his troy-book, composed the latter in more than thirty thousand octosyllabic lines, an expansion of the fifty pages of dares, which stands perhaps almost alone even among the numerous similar feats of mediæval bards. he has helped himself freely with matter from dictys towards the end of his work; but, as we have seen, even this reinforcement could not be great in bulk. expansion, however, so difficult to some writers, was never in the least a stumbling-block to the _trouvère_. it was rather a bottomless pit into which he fell, traversing in his fall lines and pages with endless alacrity of sinning. not that benoît is by any means a person to be contemptuously spoken of. in the first place, as we shall see presently, he was for many hundred years completely and rather impudently robbed of his fame; in the second, he is the literary ancestor of far greater men than himself; and in the third, his verse, though not free from the besetting sin of its kind, and especially of the octosyllabic variety--the sin of smooth but insignificant fluency--is always pleasant, and sometimes picturesque. still there is no doubt that at present the second claim is the strongest with us; and that if benoît de sainte-more had not, through his plagiarist colonna, been the original of boccaccio and chaucer and shakespeare, he would require little more than a bare mention here. [sidenote: _the phases of cressid._] dares, as we have seen, mentions briseida, and extols her beauty and charm: she was, he says, "beautiful, not of lofty stature, fair, her hair yellow and silky, her eyebrows joined, her eyes lively, her body well proportioned, kind, affable, modest, of a simple mind, and pious." he also mightily extols troilus; but he does not intimate any special connection between the two, or tell the story of "cressid," which indeed his followers elaborated in terms not altogether consistent with some of the above laudatory epithets. tzetzes, who with some others gives her the alternative name of hippodamia, alters her considerably, and assigns to her tall stature, a white complexion, black hair, as well as specially comely breasts, cheeks, and nose, skill in dress, a pleasant smile, but a distinct tendency to "arrogance." both these writers, however, with joseph of exeter and others, seem to be thinking merely of the briseis whom we know from homer as the mistress of achilles, and do not connect her with calchas, much less with troilus. what may be said with some confidence is that the confusion of briseida with the daughter of calchas and the assignment of her to troilus as his love originated with benoît de sainte-more. but we must perhaps hesitate a little before assigning to him quite so much credit as has sometimes been allowed him. long before shakespeare received the story in its full development (for though he does not carry it to the bitter end in _troilus and cressida_ itself, the allusion to the "lazar kite of cressid's kind" in _henry v._ shows that he knew it) it had reached that completeness through the hands of boccaccio, chaucer, and henryson, the least of whom was capable of turning a comparatively barren _donnée_ into a rich possession, and who as a matter of fact each added much. we do not find in the norman _trouvère_, and it would be rather wonderful if we did find, the gay variety of the _filostrato_ and its vivid picture of cressid as merely passionate, chaucer's admirable pandarus and his skilfully blended heroine, or the infinite pathos of henryson's final interview. still, all this great and moving romance would have been impossible without the idea of cressid's successive sojourn in troy and the greek camp, and of her successive courtship by troilus and by diomed. and this benoît really seems to have thought of first. his motives for devising it have been rather idly inquired into. for us it shall be sufficient that he did devise it. by an easy confusion with chryses and chryseis--half set right afterwards in the change from briseida to griseida in boccaccio and creseide in chaucer--he made his heroine the daughter of calchas. the priest, a traitor to troy but powerful with the greeks, has left his daughter in the city and demands her--a demand which, with the usual complacency noticed above as characterising the trojans in dares himself, is granted, though they are very angry with calchas. but troilus is already the damsel's lover; and a bitter parting takes place between them. she is sent, gorgeously equipped, to the greeks; and it happens to be diomed who receives her. he at once makes the fullest declarations--for in nothing did the middle age believe more fervently than in the sentiment, "who ever loved that loved not at first sight?" but briseida, with a rather excessive politeness, and leaving him a good deal of hope, informs him that she has already a fair friend yonder. whereat, as is reasonable, he is not too much discouraged. it must be supposed that this is related to troilus, for in the next fight he, after diomed has been wounded, reproaches briseida pretty openly. he is not wrong, for briseida weeps at diomed's wound, and (to the regret and reproof of her historian, and indeed against her own conscience) gives herself to the greek, or determines to do so, on the philosophical principle that troilus is lost to her. achilles then kills troilus himself, and we hear no more of the lady. the volubility of benoît assigns divers long speeches to briseida, in which favourable interpreters have seen the germ of the future cressid; and in which any fair critic may see the suggestion of her. but it is little more than a suggestion. of the full and masterly conception of cressid as a type of woman which was afterwards reached, troilus, and diomed, and pandarus, and the wrath of the gods were essential features. here troilus is a shadow, diomed not much more, pandarus non-existent, the vengeance of love on a false lover unthought of. briseida, though she has changed her name, and parentage, and status, is still, as even the patriotic enthusiasm of mm. moland and d'héricault (the first who did benoît justice) perceives, the briseis of homer, a slave-girl who changes masters, and for her own pleasure as well as her own safety is chiefly anxious to please the master that is near. the vivifying touch was brought by boccaccio, and boccaccio falls out of our story. [sidenote: _the_ historia trojana.] but between benoît and boccaccio there is another personage who concerns us very distinctly. never was there such a case, even in the middle ages, when the absence of printing, of public libraries, and of general knowledge of literature made such things easy, of _sic vos non vobis_ as the _historia trojana_ of guido de columnis, otherwise guido delle colonne, or guido colonna, of messina. this person appears to have spent some time in england rather late in the thirteenth century; and there, no doubt, he fell in with the _roman de troie_. he wrote--in latin, and thereby appealing to a larger audience than even french could appeal to--a troy-book which almost at once became widely popular. the mss. of it occur by scores in the principal libraries of europe; it was the direct source of boccaccio, and with that writer's _filostrato_ of chaucer, and it formed the foundation of almost all the known troy-books of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, benoît being completely forgotten. yet recent investigation has shown that guido not merely adapted benoît in the usual mediæval fashion, but followed him so closely that his work might rather be called translation than adaptation. at any rate, beyond a few details he has added nothing to the story of troilus and cressida as benoît left it, and as, in default of all evidence to the contrary, it is only fair to conclude that he made it. from the date, , of guido delle colonne's version, it follows necessarily that all the vernacular troy-books--our own _destruction of troy_,[ ] the french prose romance of _troilus_,[ ] &c., not to mention lydgate and others--fall like boccaccio and chaucer out of the limits of this volume. nor can it be necessary to enter into detail as to the other classical french romances, the _roman de thèbes_, the _roman d'enéas_, the _roman de jules césar_, _athis and profilias_, and the rest;[ ] while something will be said of the german Æneid of h. von veldeke in a future chapter. the capital examples of the alexandreid and the iliad, as understood by the middle ages, not only must but actually do suffice for our purpose. [footnote : ed. panton and donaldson, e.e.t.s. london, - .] [footnote : ed. moland and d'héricault, _op. cit._] [footnote : the section on "l'epopée antique" in m. petit de julleville's book, more than once referred to, is by m. léopold constans, editor of the _roman de thèbes_, and will be found useful.] [sidenote: _meaning of the classical romance._] and we see from them very well not merely in what light the middle ages regarded the classical stories, but also to what extent the classical stories affected the middle ages. this latter point is of the more importance in that even yet the exact bearing and meaning of the renaissance in this respect is by no means universally comprehended. it may be hoped, if not very certainly trusted, that most educated persons have now got rid of the eighteenth-century notion of mediæval times as being almost totally ignorant of the classics themselves, a notion which careful reading of chaucer alone should be quite sufficient to dispel. the fact of course is, that all through the middle ages the latin classics were known, unequally but very fairly in most cases, while the earlier middle ages at least were by no means ignorant of greek. but although there was by no means total ignorance, there was what is to us a scarcely comprehensible want of understanding. to the average mediæval student, perhaps to any mediæval student, it seems seldom or never to have occurred that the men of whom he was reading had lived under a dispensation so different from his own in law and in religion, in politics and in philosophy, in literature and in science, that an elaborate process of readjustment was necessary in order to get at anything like a real comprehension of them. nor was he, as a rule, able--men of transcendent genius being rather rare, amid a more than respectable abundance of men of talent--to take them, as chaucer did to a great extent, dante more intensely though less widely, and shakespeare (but shakespeare had already felt the renaissance spirit) fully and perfectly, on the broad ground of humanity, so that anachronisms, and faults of costume, matter not one jot to any one but a pedant or a fool. when he came to something in the story--something in sentiment, manners, religion, what not--which was out of the range of his own experience, he changed it into something within the range of his own experience. when the whole story did not lend itself to the treatment which he wished to apply, he changed it, added to it, left out from it, without the slightest scruple. he had no more difficulty in transforming the disciplined tactic of the macedonian phalanx into a series of random _chevauchées_ than in adjusting the much more congenial front-fighting of greeks and trojans to his own ideas; and it cost him little more to engraft a whole brand-new romantic love-story on the tale of troy than to change the historical siege of gaza into a _fuerres de gadres_, of which aimeri of narbonne or raoul de cambrai would have been the appropriate hero. sometimes, indeed, he simply confounded persians and saracens, just as elsewhere he confounded saracens and vikings; and he introduced high priests of heathen divinities as bishops, with the same _sang froid_ with which long afterwards the translators of the bible founded an order of "dukes" in edom. a study of antiquity conducted in such a fashion could hardly have coloured mediæval thought with any real classicism, even if it had been devoted to much more genuine specimens of antiquity than the semi-oriental medley of the pseudo-callisthenes and the bit of bald euhemerism which had better have been devoted to hephæstus than ascribed to his priest. but, by another very curious fact, the two great and commanding examples of the romance of antiquity were executed each under the influence of the flourishing of one of the two mightiest branches of mediæval poetry proper. when alberic and the decasyllabist (whoever he was) wrote, the _chanson de geste_ was in the very prime of its most vigorous manhood, and the _roman d'alixandre_ accordingly took not merely the outward form, but the whole spirit of the _chanson de geste_ itself. and when benoît de sainte-more gave the first shapings of the great story of troilus and cressida out of the lifeless rubbish-heap of dares, it was at the precise minute when also, in hands known or unknown, the greater story of arthur and gawain, of lancelot and guinevere, was shaping itself from materials probably even scantier. even guido of the columns, much more boccaccio, had this story fully before them; and cressida, when at last she becomes herself, has, if nothing of the majesty of guinevere, a good deal of iseult--an iseult more faithless to love, but equally indifferent to anything except love. as candace in _alexander_ has the crude though not unamiable naturalism of a _chanson_ heroine, so cressid--so even briseida to some extent--has the characteristic of the frail angels of arthurian legend. the cup would have spilled wofully in her husband's hand, the mantle would scarcely have covered an inch of her; but though of coarser make, she is of the same mould with the ladies of the round table,--she is of the first creation of the order of romantic womanhood. chapter v. the making of english and the settlement of european prosody. special interest of early middle english. decay of anglo-saxon. early middle english literature. scantiness of its constituents. layamon. the form of the 'brut.' its substance. the 'ormulum': its metre, its spelling. the 'ancren riwle.' the 'owl and the nightingale.' proverbs. robert of gloucester. romances. 'havelok the dane.' 'king horn.' the prosody of the modern languages. historical retrospect. anglo-saxon prosody. romance prosody. english prosody. the later alliteration. the new verse. rhyme and syllabic equivalence. accent and quantity. the gain of form. the "accent" theory. initial fallacies, and final perversities thereof. [sidenote: _special interest of early middle english._] the positive achievements of english literature, during the period with which this volume deals, are not at first sight great; and all the more finished literary production of the time, till the extreme end of it, was in french and latin. but the work done during this time in getting the english language ready for its future duties, in equipping it with grammar and prosody, in preparing, so to speak, for chaucer, is not only of the first importance intrinsically, but has a value which is almost unique in general literary history as an example. nowhere else have we the opportunity of seeing a language and a literature in the process of gestation, or at least of a reformation so great as to be almost equal to new birth. of the stages which turned latin through the romanic vulgar tongues into spanish, italian, portuguese, provençal, french, we have the very scantiest remains; and though the strasburg oaths and the eulalia hymn are no doubt inestimable in their way, they supply exceedingly minute and precarious stepping-stones by which to cross from ausonius to the _chanson de roland_. from the earliest literary stages of the teutonic tongues we have, except in the case of anglo-saxon and icelandic, very little wreckage of time; and anglo-saxon at least presents the puzzling characteristic that its earliest remains are, _coeteris paribus_, nearly as complete and developed as the earliest remains of greek. in german itself, whether high or low, the change from oldest to youngest is nothing like the change from the english of _beowulf_ to the english of browning. and though the same process of primordial change as that which we have seen in english took place certainly in german, and possibly in the romance tongues, it is nowhere traceable with anything like the same clearness or with such gradual development. by the eleventh century at latest in france, by the end of the twelfth in germany, verse had taken, in the first case fully, in the second almost fully, a modern form. in england it was, during the two hundred years from to , working itself steadily, and with ample examples, from pure accent to accentual quantity, and from alliteration to rhyme. of this process, and those similar to it in other countries, we shall give an account which will serve for the whole in the latter part of this chapter; the actual production and gradual transformation of english language and literature generally may occupy us in the earlier part. it is to be hoped that by this time a middle way, tolerably free from molestation, may be taken between those historians of english who would have a great gulf fixed before chaucer, and those who insist upon absolute continuity from cædmon to tennyson. there must surely be something between dismissing (as did the best historian of the subject in the last generation) anglo-saxon as "that nocturnal portion of our literature," between calling it "impossible to pronounce with certainty whether anything in it is artistically good or bad,"[ ] and thinking it proper, as it has sometimes been thought, in an examination in english literature, to give four papers to cædmon, Ælfric, and wulfstan, and one to the combined works of addison, pope, johnson, and burke. extravagances of the latter kind have still, their heyday of reaction not being quite past, a better chance than extravagances of the former. but both may surely be avoided. [footnote : see craik, _history of english literature_, d ed. (london, ), i. .] [sidenote: _decay of anglo-saxon._] the evidence is rendered more easy in the present connection by the fact, recognised by the most competent authorities in first english or anglo-saxon itself, that for some time before the arbitrary line of the conquest the productive powers of the literature had been failing, and the language itself was showing signs of change. no poetry of the first class seems to have been written in it much after the end of the ninth century, little prose of a very good class after the beginning of the eleventh; and its inflexions must in time have given way--were, it is said by some, actually giving way--before the results of the invasion and assimilation of french and latin. the conquest helped; but it did not wholly cause. this, however, is no doubt open to argument, and the argument would have to be conducted mainly if not wholly on philological considerations, with which we do not here meddle. the indisputable literary facts are that the canon of pure anglo-saxon or old-english literature closes with the end of the saxon chronicle in , and that the "semi-saxon," the "first middle english," which then makes its appearance, approximates, almost decade by decade, almost year by year, nearer and nearer to the modern type. and for our purpose, though not for the purpose of a history of english literature proper, the contemporary french and latin writing has to be taken side by side with it. [sidenote: _early middle english literature._] it is not surprising that, although the latin literary production of the time, especially in history, was at least equal to that of any other european country, and though it is at least probable that some of the greatest achievements of literature, french in language, are english in nationality, the vernacular should for long have been a little scanty and a little undistinguished in its yield. periods of moulting, of putting on new skins, and the like, are never periods of extreme physical vigour. and besides, this anglo-saxon itself had (as has been said) been distinctly on the wane as a literary language for more than a century, while (as has not yet been said) it had never been very fertile in varieties of profane literature. this infertility is not surprising. except at rare periods literature without literary competition and comparison is impossible; and the anglo-saxons had absolutely no modern literature to compare and compete with. if any existed, their own was far ahead of it. on the other hand, though the supposed ignorance of latin and even greek in the "dark" ages has long been known to be a figment of ignorance itself, circumstances connected with, though not confined to, the concentration of learning and teaching in the clergy brought about a disproportionate attention to theology. the result was that the completest anglo-saxon library of which we can form any well-based conception would have contained about ten cases of religious to one of non-religious books, and would have held in that eleventh but little poetry, and hardly any prose with an object other than information or practical use. [sidenote: _scantiness of its constituents._] it could not be expected that the slowly changing language should at once change its habits in this respect. and so, as the century immediately before the conquest had seen little but chronicles and homilies, leechdoms and laws, that which came immediately afterwards gave at first no very different products, except that the laws were wanting, for obvious reasons. nay, the first, the largest, and almost the sole work of _belles lettres_ during the first three-fourths of our period, the _brut_ of layamon, is a work of _belles lettres_ without knowing it, and imagines itself to be a sober history, while its most considerable contemporaries, the _ormulum_ and the _ancren riwle_, the former in verse, the latter in prose, are both purely religious. at the extreme end of the period the most important and most certain work, robert of gloucester's, is, again, a history in verse. about the same time we have, indeed, the romances of _havelok_ and _horn_; but they are, like most of the other work of the time, translations from the french. the interesting _poema morale_, or "moral ode," which we have in two forms--one of the meeting-point of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, one fifty years later--is almost certainly older than its earliest extant version, and was very likely pure saxon. only in nicholas of guilford's _owl and nightingale_, about , and perhaps some of the charming _specimens of lyric poetry_, printed more than fifty years ago by mr wright, with a very few other things, do we find pure literature--not the literature of education or edification, but the literature of art and form. [sidenote: _layamon._] yet the whole is, for the true student of literature, full enough of interest, while the best things are not in need of praising by allowance. of layamon mention has already been made in the chapter on the arthurian legend. but his work covers very much more than the arthurian matter, and has interests entirely separate from it. layamon, as he tells us,[ ] derived his information from bede, wace, and a certain albinus who has not been clearly identified. but he must have added a great deal of his own, and if it could be decided exactly _how_ he added it, the most difficult problem of mediæval literature would be solved. thus in the arthurian part, just as we find additions in wace to geoffrey, so we find additions to wace in layamon. where did he get these additions? was it from the uncertain "albinus"? was it, as celtic enthusiasts hold, that, living as he did on severn bank, he was a neighbour of wales, and gathered welsh tradition? or was it from deliberate invention? we cannot tell. [footnote : ed. madden, i. .] again, we have two distinct versions of his _brut_, the later of which is fifty years or thereabouts younger than the earlier. it may be said that almost all mediæval work is in similar case. but then the great body of mediæval work is anonymous; and even the most scrupulous ages have not been squeamish in taking liberties with the text of mr anon. but the author is named in both these versions, and named differently. in the elder he is layamon the son of leovenath, in the younger laweman the son of leuca; and though laweman is a mere variant or translation of layamon, as much can hardly be said of leovenath and leuca. further, the later version, besides the changes of language which were in the circumstances inevitable, omits many passages, besides those in which it is injured or mutilated, and alters proper names entirely at discretion. the only explanation of this, though it is an explanation which leaves a good deal unexplained, is, of course, that the sense both of historical criticism and of the duty of one writer to another was hardly born. the curiosity of the middle ages was great; their literary faculty, though somewhat incult and infantine, was great likewise: and there were such enormous gaps in their positive knowledge that the sharp sense of division between the certain, the uncertain, and the demonstrably false, which has grown up later, could hardly exist. it seems to have been every man's desire to leave each tale a little richer, fuller, handsomer, than he found it: and in doing this he hesitated neither at the accumulation of separate and sometimes incongruous stories, nor at the insertion of bits and scraps from various sources, nor, it would appear, at the addition of what seemed to him possible or desirable, without troubling himself to examine whether there was any ground for considering it actual. [sidenote: _the form of the_ brut.] secondly, layamon has no small interest of form. the language in which the _brut_ is written has an exceedingly small admixture of french words; but it has made a step, and a long one, from anglo-saxon towards english. the verse is still alliterative, still destitute of any fixed number of syllables or syllabic equivalents. but the alliteration is weak and sometimes not present at all, the lines are of less extreme lawlessness in point of length than their older saxon representatives, and, above all, there is a creeping in of rhyme. it is feeble, tentative, and obvious, confined to ostentatious pairs like "brother" and "other," "might" and "right," "fare" and "care." but it is a beginning: and we know that it will spread. [sidenote: _its substance._] in the last comparison, that of matter, layamon will not come out ill even if he be tried high. the most obvious trial is with the work of chrestien de troyes, his earlier, though not much earlier, contemporary. here the frenchman has enormous advantages--the advantage of an infinitely more accomplished scheme of language and metre, that of some two centuries of finished poetical work before him, that of an evidently wider knowledge of literature generally, and perhaps that of a more distinctly poetical genius. and yet layamon can survive the test. he is less, not more, subject to the _cliché_, the stereotyped and stock poetical form, than chrestien. if he is far less smooth, he has not the monotony which accompanies and, so to speak, dogs the "skipping octosyllable"; and if he cannot, as chrestien can, frame a set passage or show-piece, he manages to keep up a diffused interest, and in certain instances--the story of rouwènne (rowena), the tintagel passage, the speech of walwain to the emperor of rome--has a directness and simple appeal which cannot be slighted. we feel that he is at the beginning, while the other in respect of his own division is nearly at the end: that he has future, capabilities, opportunities of development. when one reads chrestien or another earlier contemporary, benoît de sainte-more, the question is, "what can come after this?" when one reads layamon the happier question is, "what will come after this?" [sidenote: _the_ ormulum. _its metre._] the _ormulum_ and the _ancren riwle_ appear to be--the former exactly and the latter nearly of the same date as layamon, all being near to . but though they were "good books," their interest is by no means merely one of edification. that of the _ormulum_[ ] is, indeed, almost entirely confined to its form and language; but it so happens that this interest is of the kind that touches literature most nearly. orm or ormin, who gives us his name, but of whom nothing else is known, has left in ten thousand long lines or twenty thousand short couplets a part only of a vast scheme of paraphrase and homiletic commentary on the four gospels (the "four-in-hand of aminadab," as he calls them, taking up an earlier conceit), on the plan of taking a text for each day from its gospel in the calendar. as we have only thirty-two of these divisions, it is clear that the work, if completed, was much larger than this. orm addresses it to walter, his brother in the flesh as well as spiritually: the book seems to be written in an anglian or east anglian dialect, and it is at least an odd coincidence that the names orm and walter occur together in a durham ms. but whoever orm or ormin was, he did two very remarkable things. in the first place, he broke entirely with alliteration and with any-length lines, composing his poem in a metre which is either a fifteen-syllabled iambic tetrameter catalectic, or else, as the reader pleases, a series of distichs in iambic dimeters, alternately acatalectic and catalectic. he does not rhyme, but his work, in the couplet form which shows it best, exhibits occasionally the alternation of masculine and feminine endings. this latter peculiarity was not to take hold in the language; but the quantified or mainly syllabic arrangement was. it was natural that ormin, greatly daring, and being almost the first to dare, should neither allow himself the principle of equivalence shortly to distinguish english prosody from the french, which, with latin, he imitated, nor should further hamper his already difficult task with rhyme. but his innovation was great enough, and his name deserves--little positive poetry as there is in his own book--high rank in the hierarchy of british poets. but for him and others like him that magnificent mixed harmony, which english almost alone of languages possesses, which distinguishes it as much from the rigid syllabic bondage of french as from the loose jangle of merely alliterative and accentual verse, would not have come in, or would have come in later. we might have had langland, but we should not have had chaucer: we should have had to console ourselves for the loss of surrey and wyatt with ingenious extravagances like gawain douglas's eighth prologue; and it is even possible that when the reaction did come, as it must have come sooner or later, we might have been bound like the french by the rigid syllable which orm himself adopted, but which in those early days only served to guide and not to fetter. [footnote : ed. white and holt, vols. oxford, .] [sidenote: _its spelling._] his second important peculiarity shows that he must have been an odd and crotchety creature, but one with sense in his crotchets. he seems to have been annoyed by mispronunciation of his own and other work: and accordingly he adopts (with full warning and explanation) the plan of invariably doubling the consonant after every _short_ vowel without exception. this gives a most grotesque air to his pages, which are studded with words like "nemmnedd" (named), "forrwerrpenn" (to despise), "tunderrstanndenn" (to understand), and so forth. but, in the first place, it fixes for all time, in a most invaluable manner, the pronunciation of english at that time; and in the second, it shows that orm had a sound understanding of that principle of english which has been set at nought by those who would spell "traveller" "traveler." he knew that the tendency, and the, if not warned, excusable tendency, of an english tongue would be to pronounce this trav_ee_ler. it is a pity that knowledge which existed in the twelfth century should apparently have become partial ignorance close to the beginning of the twentieth. [sidenote: _the_ ancren riwle.] the _ancren riwle_[ ] has no oddities of this kind, and nothing particularly noticeable in its form, though its easy pleasant prose would have been wonderful at the time in any other european nation. even french prose was only just beginning to take such form, and had not yet severed itself from poetic peculiarities to anything like the same extent. but then the unknown author of the _ancren riwle_ had certainly four or five, and perhaps more, centuries of good sound saxon prose before him: while st bernard (if he wrote french prose), and even villehardouin, had little or nothing but latin. i have called him unknown, and he neither names himself nor is authoritatively named by any one; while of the guesses respecting him, that which identifies him with simon of ghent is refuted by the language of the book, while that which assigns it to bishop poore has no foundation. but if we do not know who wrote the book, we know for whom it was written--to wit, for the three "anchoresses" or irregular nuns of a private convent or sisterhood at tarrant keynes in dorsetshire. [footnote : ed. morton, for the camden society. london, . this edition is, i believe, not regarded as quite satisfactory by philology: it is amply adequate for literature.] later this nunnery, which lasted till the dissolution, was taken under the cistercian rule; but at first, and at the time of the book, it was free, the author advising the inmates, if anybody asked, to say that they were under "the rule of st james"--_i.e._, the famous definition, by that apostle, of pure religion and undefiled. the treatise, which describes itself, or is described in one of its mss., as "one book to-dealed into eight books," is of some length, but singularly pleasing to read, and gives evidence of a very amiable and sensible spirit in its author, as well as of a pretty talent for writing easy prose. if he never rises to the more mystical and poetical beauties of mediæval religion, so he never descends to its ferocities and its puerilities. the rule, the "lady-rule," he says, is the inward; the outward is only adopted in order to assist and help the inward: therefore it may and should vary according to the individual, while the inward cannot. the outward rule of the anchoresses of tarrant keynes was by no means rigorous. they were three in number; they had lay sisters (practically lady's-maids) as well as inferior servants. they are not to reduce themselves to bread-and-water fasting without special direction; they are not to be ostentatious in alms-giving; they may have a pet cat; haircloth and hedgehog-skins are not for them; and they are not to flog themselves with briars or leaded thongs. ornaments are not to be worn; but a note says that this is not a positive command, all such things belonging merely to the external rule. also they may wash just as often as it is necessary, or as they like!--an item which, absurd as is the popular notion of the dirt of the middle ages, speaks volumes for the sense and taste of this excellent anonym. this part is the last or eighth "dole," as the sections are termed; the remaining seven deal with religious service, private devotion, the _wesen_ or nature of anchorites, temptation, confession, penance, penitence, and the love of god. although some may think it out of fashion, it is astonishing how much sense, kindliness, true religion, and useful learning there is in this monitor of the anchoresses of tarrant keynes, which place a man might well visit in pilgrimage to do him honour. every now and then, rough as is his vehicle of speech--a transition medium, endowed neither with the oak-and-rock strength of anglo-saxon nor with the varied gifts of modern english--he can rise to real and true eloquence, as where he speaks of the soul and "the heavy flesh that draweth her downwards, yet through the highship [nobleness] of her, it [the flesh] shall become full light--yea, lighter than the wind is, and brighter than the sun is, if only it follow her and draw her not too hard to its own low kind." but though such passages, good in phrase and rhythm, as well as noble in sense, are not rare, the pleasant humanity of the whole book is the best thing in it. m. renan oddly enough pronounced _ecclesiastes_, that voice of the doom of life, to be "le seul livre aimable" which judaism had produced. the ages of st francis and of the _imitation_ do not compel us to look about for a _seul livre aimable_, but it may safely be said that there is none more amiable in a cheerful human way than the _ancren riwle_. it would serve no purpose here to discuss in detail most of the other vernacular productions of the first half of the thirteenth century in english.[ ] they are almost without exception either religious--the constant rehandling of the time cannot be better exemplified than by the fact that at least two paraphrases, one in prose, one in verse, of one of the "doles" of the _ancren riwle_ itself exist--or else moral-scientific, such as the _bestiary_,[ ] so often printed. one of the constantly recurring version-paraphrases of the scriptures, however--the so-called _story of genesis and exodus_,[ ] supposed to date from about the middle--has great interest, because here we find (whether for the first time or not he would be a rash man who should say, but certainly for almost, if not quite, the first) the famous "christabel" metre--iambic dimeter, rhymed with a wide licence of trisyllabic equivalence. this was to be twice revived by great poets, with immense consequences to english poetry--first by spenser in the _kalendar_, and then by coleridge himself--and was to become one of the most powerful, varied, and charming of english rhythms. that this metre, the chief battle-ground of fighting between the accent-men and the quantity-men, never arose till after rhymed quantitative metre had met accentual alliteration, and had to a great extent overcome it, is a tell-tale fact, of which more hereafter. and it is to be observed also that in this same poem it is possible to discover not a few very complete and handsome decasyllables which would do no discredit to chaucer himself. [footnote : substantial portions of all the work mentioned in this chapter will be found in messrs morris and skeat's invaluable _specimens of early english_ (oxford, part i. ed. , ; part ii. ed. , ). these include the whole of the _moral ode_ and of _king horn_. separate complete editions of some are noted below.] [footnote : wright, _reliquiæ antiquæ_, i. - .] [footnote : ed. morris, e.e.t.s., london, .] [sidenote: _the_ owl and the nightingale.] [sidenote: _proverbs._] but the _owl and the nightingale_[ ] is another kind of thing. in the first place, it appears to be (though it would be rash to affirm this positively of anything in a form so popular with the french _trouvères_ as the _débat_) original and not translated. it bears a name, that of nicholas of guildford, who seems to be the author, and assigns himself a local habitation at portesham in dorsetshire. although of considerable length (nearly two thousand lines), and written in very pure english with few french words, it manages the rhymed octosyllabic couplet (which by this time had become the standing metre of france for everything but historical poems, and for some of these) with remarkable precision, lightness, and harmony. moreover, the owl and the nightingale conduct their debate with plenty of mother-wit, expressed not unfrequently in proverbial form. indeed proverbs, a favourite form of expression with englishmen at all times, appear to have been specially in favour just then; and the "proverbs of alfred"[ ] (supposed to date from this very time), the "proverbs of hendyng"[ ] a little later, are not likely to have been the only collections of the kind. the alfred proverbs are in a rude popular metre like the old alliteration much broken down; those of hendyng in a six-line stanza (soon to become the famous ballad stanza) syllabled, though sometimes catalectically, , and rhymed _a a b c c b_, the proverb and the _coda_ "quod hendyng" being added to each. the _owl and the nightingale_ is, however, as we might expect, superior to both of these in poetical merit, as well as to the so-called _moral ode_ which, printed by hickes in , was one of the first middle english poems to gain modern recognition. [footnote : about lines of this are given by morris and skeat. completely edited by (among others) f.h. stratmann. krefeld, .] [footnote : ed. morris, _an old english miscellany_. london, .] [footnote : see _reliquiæ antiquæ_, i. - .] [sidenote: _robert of gloucester._] as the dividing-point of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries approaches, the interest of literary work increases, and requires less and less allowance of historical and accidental value. this allowance, indeed, is still necessary with the verse chronicle of robert of gloucester,[ ] the date of which is fixed with sufficient certainty at . this book has been somewhat undervalued, in point of strict literary merit, from a cause rather ludicrous but still real. it will almost invariably be found that those mediæval books which happen to have been made known before the formal beginning of scholarship in the modern languages, are underrated by modern scholars, who not unnaturally put a perhaps excessive price upon their own discoveries or fosterlings. robert of gloucester's work, with the later but companion englishing of peter of langtoft by robert manning of brunne, was published by hearne in the early part of the last century. the contemporaries of that publication thought him rude, unkempt, "gothick": the moderns have usually passed him by for more direct _protégés_ of their own. yet there is not a little attraction in robert. to begin with, he is the first in english, if not the first in any modern language, to attempt in the vernacular a general history, old as well as new, new as well as old. and the opening of him is not to be despised-- "engeland is a well good land, i ween of each land the best, yset in the end of the world, as all in the west: the sea goeth him all about, he stands as an isle, his foes he dares the less doubt but it be through guile of folk of the self land, as men hath y-seen while." [footnote : edited with langtoft, in vols., by hearne, oxford, ; and reprinted, london, . also more lately in the rolls series.] and in the same good swinging metre he goes on describing the land, praising its gifts, and telling its story in a downright fashion which is very agreeable to right tastes. like almost everybody else, he drew upon geoffrey of monmouth for his early history: but from at least the time of the conqueror (he is strongly prejudiced in the matter of harold) he represents, if not what we should call solid historical knowledge, at any rate direct, and for the time tolerably fresh, historical tradition, while as he approaches his own time he becomes positively historical, and, as in the case of the oxford town-and-gown row of , the first barons' wars, the death of the earl-marshal, and such things, is a vigorous as well as a tolerably authoritative chronicler. in the history of english prosody he, too, is of great importance, being another landmark in the process of consolidating accent and quantity, alliteration and rhyme. his swinging verses still have the older tendency to a trochaic rather than the later to an anapæstic rhythm; but they are, so to speak, on the move, and approaching the later form. he is still rather prone to group his rhymes instead of keeping the couplets separate: but as he is not translating from _chanson de geste_ form, he does not, as robert of brunne sometimes does, fall into complete _laisses_. i have counted as many as twenty continuous rhymes in manning, and there may be more: but there is nothing of that extent in the earlier robert. [sidenote: _romances._] verse history, however, must always be an awkward and unnatural form at the best. the end of the thirteenth century had something better to show in the appearance of romance proper and of epic. when the study of any department of old literature begins, there is a natural and almost invariable tendency to regard it as older than it really is; and when, at the end of the last century, the english verse romances began to be read, this tendency prevailed at least as much as usual. later investigation, besides showing that, almost without exception, they are adaptations of french originals, has, partly as a consequence of this, shown that scarcely any that we have are earlier than the extreme end of the thirteenth century. among these few that are, however, three of exceptional interest (perhaps the best three except _gawaine and the green knight_ and _sir launfal_) may probably be classed--to wit, _horn_, _havelok_, and the famous _sir tristram_. as to the last and best known of these, which from its inclusion among sir walter scott's works has received attention denied to the rest, it may or may not be the work of thomas the rhymer. but whether it is or not, it can by no possibility be later than the first quarter of the fourteenth century, while the most cautious critics pronounce both _havelok the dane_ and _king horn_ to be older than .[ ] [footnote : _tristram_, for editions _v._ p. : _havelok_, edited by madden, , and again by prof. skeat, e.e.t.s., . _king horn_ has been repeatedly printed--first by ritson, _ancient english metrical romances_ (london, ), ii. , and appendix; last by prof. skeat in the _specimens_ above mentioned.] [sidenote: havelok the dane.] it is, moreover, not a mere accident that these three, though the authors pretty certainly had french originals before them, seem most likely to have had yet older english or anglo-saxon originals of the french in the case of _horn_ and _havelok_, while the tristram story, as is pointed out in the chapter on the arthurian legend, is the most british in tone of all the divisions of that legend. _havelok_ and _horn_ have yet further interest because of the curious contrast between their oldest forms in more ways than one. _havelok_ is an english equivalent, with extremely strong local connections and identifications, of the homelier passages of the french _chansons de geste_. the hero, born in denmark, and orphan heir to a kingdom, is to be put away by his treacherous guardian, who commits him to grim the fisherman to be drowned. havelok's treatment is hard enough even on his way to the drowning; but as supernatural signs show his kingship to grim's wife, and as the fisherman, feigning to have performed his task, meets with very scant gratitude from his employer, he resolves to escape from the latter's power, puts to sea, and lands in england at the place afterwards to be called from him grimsby. havelok is brought up simply as a rough fisher-boy; but he obtains employment in lincoln castle as porter to the kitchen, and much rough horse-play of the _chanson_ kind occurs. now it so happens that the heiress of england, goldborough, has been treated by her guardian with as much injustice though with less ferocity; and the traitor seeks to crown his exclusion of her from her rights by marrying her to the sturdy scullion. when the two rights are thus joined, they of course prevail, and the two traitors, after a due amount of hard fighting, receive their doom, godard the dane being hanged, and godric the englishman burnt at the stake. this rough and vigorous story is told in rough and vigorous verse--octosyllabic couplets, with full licence in shortening, but with no additional syllables except an occasional double rhyme--in very sterling english, and with some, though slight, traces of alliteration. [sidenote: king horn.] _horn_ (_king horn_, _horn-child and maiden rimnilde_, &c.) is somewhat more courtly in its general outlines, and has less of the folk-tale about it; but it also has connections with denmark, and it turns upon treachery, as indeed do nearly all the romances. horn, son of a certain king murray, is, in consequence of a raid of heathen in ships, orphaned and exiled in his childhood across the sea, where he finds an asylum in the house of king aylmer of westerness. his love for aylmer's daughter rimenhild and hers for him (he is the most beautiful of men), the faithfulness of his friend athulf (who has to undergo the very trying experience of being made violent love to by rimenhild under the impression that he is horn), and the treachery of his friend fikenild (who nearly succeeds in making the princess his own), defray the chief interest of the story, which is not very long. the good steward athelbrus also plays a great part, which is noticeable, because the stewards of romances are generally bad. the rhymed couplets of this poem are composed of shorter lines than those of _havelok_. they allow themselves the syllabic licence of alliterative verse proper, though there is even less alliteration than in _havelok_, and they vary from five to eight syllables, though five and six are the commonest. the poem, indeed, in this respect occupies a rather peculiar position. yet it is all the more valuable as showing yet another phase of the change. the first really charming literature in english has, however, still to be mentioned: and this is to be found in the volume--little more than a pamphlet--edited fifty years ago for the percy society (march , ) by thomas wright, under the title of _specimens of lyric poetry composed in england in the reign of edward the first_, from ms. harl. in the british museum. the first three poems are in french, of the well-known and by this time far from novel _trouvère_ character, of which those of thibaut of champagne are the best specimens. the fourth-- "middel-erd for mon wes mad," is english, and is interesting as copying not the least intricate of the _trouvère_ measures--an eleven-line stanza of eight sevens or sixes, rhymed _ab, ab, ab, ab, c, b, c_; but moral-religious in tone and much alliterated. the fifth, also english, is anapæstic tetrameter heavily alliterated, and mono-rhymed for eight verses, with the stanza made up to ten by a couplet on another rhyme. it is not very interesting. but with vi. the chorus of sweet sounds begins, and therefore, small as is the room for extract here, it must be given in full:-- "bytuene mershe and avoril when spray beginneth to springe, the little foul hath hire wyl on hyre lud to synge: ich libbe in love-longinge for semlokest of alle thynge, he may me blisse bringe icham in hire banndoun. an hendy hap ichabbe y-hent, ichot from hevine it is me sent, from alle wymmen my love is lent ant lyht on alisoun. on hew hire her is fayr ynoh hire browe bronne, hire eye blake; with lovsom chere he on me loh; with middel small ant wel y-make; bott he me wille to hire take, for to buen hire owen make, long to lyven ichulle forsake, ant feye fallen a-doun. an hendy hap, &c. nihtes when i wenke ant wake, for-thi myn wonges waxeth won; levedi, al for thine sake longinge is ylent me on. in world is non so wytor mon that al hire bounté telle con; heir swyre is whittere than the swon ant fayrest may in toune. an hendy hap, &c. icham for wouyng al for-wake, wery so water in wore lest any reve me my make ychabbe y-[y]yrned [y]ore. betere is tholien whyle sore then mournen evermore. geynest under gore, herkene to my roune. an hendy hap, &c." the next, "with longyng y am lad," is pretty, though less so: and is in ten-line stanzas of sixes, rhymed _a a b, a a b, b a a b_. those of viii. are twelve-lined in eights, rhymed _ab, ab, ab, ab, c, d, c, d_; but it is observable that there is some assonance here instead of pure rhyme. ix. is in the famous romance stanza of six or rather twelve lines, _à la_ _sir thopas_; x. in octaves of eights alternately rhymed with an envoy quatrain; xi. (a very pretty one) in a new metre, rhymed _a a a b a, b_. and this variety continues after a fashion which it would be tedious to particularise further. but it must be said that the charm of "alison" is fully caught up by-- "lenten ys come with love to toune, with blosmen ant with bryddes roune, that al this blisse bringeth; dayes-eyes in this dales, notes suete of nytengales, ilk foul song singeth;" by a sturdy praise of women which charges gallantly against the usual mediæval slanders; and by a piece which, with "alison," is the flower of the whole, and has the exquisite refrain-- "blow, northerne wynd, send thou me my suetyng, blow, northerne wynd, blou, blou, blou"-- here is tennysonian verse five hundred years before tennyson. the "cry" of english lyric is on this northern wind at last; and it shall never fail afterwards. [sidenote: _the prosody of the modern languages._] [sidenote: _historical retrospect._] this seems to be the best place to deal, not merely with the form of english lyric in itself, but with the general subject of the prosody as well of english as of the other modern literary languages. a very great[ ] deal has been written, with more and with less learning, with ingenuity greater or smaller, on the origins of rhyme, on the source of the decasyllabic and other staple lines and stanzas; and, lastly, on the general system of modern as opposed to ancient scansion. much of this has been the result of really careful study, and not a little of it the result of distinct acuteness; but it has suffered on the whole from the supposed need of some new theory, and from an unwillingness to accept plain and obvious facts. these facts, or the most important of them, may be summarised as follows: the prosody of a language will necessarily vary according to the pronunciation and composition of that language; but there are certain general principles of prosody which govern all languages possessing a certain kinship. these general principles were, for the western branches of the aryan tongues, very early discovered and formulated by the greeks, being later adjusted to somewhat stiffer rules--to compensate for less force of poetic genius, or perhaps merely because licence was not required--by the latins. towards the end of the classical literary period, however, partly the increasing importance of the germanic and other non-greek and non-latin elements in the empire, partly those inexplicable organic changes which come from time to time, broke up this system. rhyme appeared, no one knows quite how, or why, or whence, and at the same time, though the general structure of metres was not very much altered, the quantity of individual syllables appears to have undergone a complete change. although metres quantitative in scheme continued to be written, they were written, as a rule, with more or less laxity; and though rhyme was sometimes adapted to them in latin, it was more frequently used with a looser syllabic arrangement, retaining the divisional characteristics of the older prosody, but neglecting quantity, the strict rules of elision, and so forth. [footnote : it is sufficient to mention here guest's famous _english rhythms_ (ed. skeat, ), a book which at its first appearance in was no doubt a revelation, but which carries things too far; dr schipper's _grundriss der englischen metrik_ (wien, ), and for foreign matters m. gaston paris's chapter in his _littérature française au moyen age_. i do not agree with any of them, but i have a profound respect for all.] [sidenote: _anglo-saxon prosody._] on the other hand, some of the new teutonic tongues which were thus brought into contact with latin, and with which latin was brought into contact, had systems of prosody of their own, based on entirely different principles. the most elaborate of these probably, and the only one from which we have distinct remains of undoubtedly old matter in considerable quantities, is anglo-saxon, though icelandic runs it close. a detailed account of the peculiarities of this belongs to the previous volume: it is sufficient to say here that its great characteristic was alliteration, and that accent played a large part, to the exclusion both of definite quantity and of syllabic identity or equivalence. [sidenote: _romance prosody._] while these were the states of things with regard to latin on the one hand, and to the tongues most separated from latin on the other, the romance languages, or daughters of latin, had elaborated or were elaborating, by stages which are almost entirely hidden from us, middle systems, of which the earliest, and in a way the most perfect, is that of provençal, followed by northern french and italian, the dialects of the spanish peninsula being a little behindhand in elaborate verse. the three first-named tongues seem to have hit upon the verse of ten or eleven syllables, which later crystallised itself into ten for french and eleven for italian, as their staple measure.[ ] efforts have been made to father this directly on some classical original, and some authorities have even been uncritical enough to speak of the connection--this or that--having been "proved" for these verses or others. no such proof has been given, and none is possible. what is certain, and alone certain, is that whereas the chief literary metre of the last five centuries of latin had been dactylic and trisyllabic, this, the chief metre of the daughter tongues, and by-and-by almost their only one, was disyllabic--iambic, or trochaic, as the case may be, but generally iambic. rhyme became by degrees an invariable or almost invariable accompaniment, and while quantity, strictly speaking, almost disappeared (some will have it that it quite disappeared from french), a syllabic uniformity more rigid than any which had prevailed, except in the case of lyric measures like the alcaic, became the rule. even elision was very greatly restricted, though cæsura was pretty strictly retained, and an additional servitude was imposed by the early adoption in french of the fixed alternation of "masculine" and "feminine" rhymes--that is to say, of rhymes with, and rhymes without, the mute _e_. [footnote : _vide_ dante, _de vulgari eloquio_.] [sidenote: _english prosody._] [sidenote: _the later alliteration._] but the prosody of the romance tongues is perfectly simple and intelligible, except in the one crux of the question how it came into being, and what part "popular" poetry played in it. we find it, almost from the first, full-blown: and only minor refinements or improvements are introduced afterwards. with english prosody it is very different.[ ] as has been said, the older prosody itself, with the older verse, seems to have to a great extent died out even before the conquest, and what verse was written in the alliterative measures afterwards was of a feeble and halting kind. even when, as the authors of later volumes of this series will have to show, alliterative verse was taken up with something like a set purpose during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, its character was wholly changed, and though some very good work was written in it, it was practically all literary exercise. it frequently assumed regular stanza-forms, the lines also frequently fell into regular quantitative shapes, such as the heroic, the alexandrine, and the tetrameter. above all, the old strict and accurate combination of a limited amount of alliteration, jealously adjusted to words important in sense and rhythm, was exchanged for a profusion of alliterated syllables, often with no direct rhythmical duty to pay, and constantly leading to mere senseless and tasteless jingle, if not to the positive coining of fantastic or improper locutions to get the "artful aid." [footnote : what is said here of english applies with certain modifications to german, though the almost entire loss of old german poetry and the comparatively late date of middle make the process less striking and more obscure, and the greater talent of the individual imitators of french interferes more with the process of insensible shaping and growth. german prosody, despite the charm of its lyric measures, has never acquired the perfect combination of freedom and order which we find in english, as may be seen by comparing the best blank verse of the two.] [sidenote: _the new verse._] meanwhile the real prosody of english had been elaborated, in the usual blending fashion of the race, by an intricate, yet, as it happens, an easily traceable series of compromises and naturalisations. by the end of the twelfth century, as we have seen, rhyme was creeping in to supersede alliteration, and a regular arrangement of elastic syllabic equivalents or strict syllabic values was taking the place of the irregular accented lengths. it does not appear that the study of the classics had anything directly to do with this: it is practically certain that the influence on the one hand of latin hymns and the church services, and on the other of french poetry, had very much. [sidenote: _rhyme and syllabic equivalence._] rhyme is to the modern european ear so agreeable, if not so indispensable, an ornament of verse, that, once heard, it is sure to creep in, and can only be expelled by deliberate and unnatural crotchet from any but narrative and dramatic poetry. on the other hand, it is almost inevitable that when rhyme is expected, the lines which it tips should be reduced to an equal or at any rate an equivalent length. otherwise the expectation of the ear--that the final ring should be led up to by regular and equable rhythm--is baulked. if this is not done, as in what we call doggerel rhyme, an effect of grotesque is universally produced, to the ruin of serious poetic effect. with these desiderata present, though unconsciously present, before them, with the latin hymn-writers and the french poets for models, and with church music perpetually starting in their memories cadences, iambic or trochaic, dactylic or anapæstic, to which to set their own verse, it is not surprising that english poets should have accompanied the rapid changes of their language itself with parallel rapidity of metrical innovation. quantity they observed loosely--quantity in modern languages is always loose: but it does not follow that they ignored it altogether. [sidenote: _accent and quantity._] those who insist that they did ignore it, and who painfully search for verses of so many "accents," for "sections," for "pauses," and what not, are confronted with difficulties throughout the whole course of english poetry: there is hardly a page of that brilliant, learned, instructive, invaluable piece of wrong-headedness, dr guest's _english rhythms_, which does not bristle with them. but at no time are these difficulties so great as during our present period, and especially at the close of it. let any man who has no "prize to fight," no thesis to defend, take any characteristic piece of anglo-saxon poetry and "alison," place them side by side, read them aloud together, scan them carefully with the eye, compare each separately and both together with as many other examples of poetic arrangement as he likes. he must, i think, be hopelessly blinded by prejudice if he does not come to the conclusion that there is a gulf between the systems of which these two poems are examples--that if the first is "accentual," "sectional," and what not, then these same words are exactly _not_ the words which ought to be applied to the second.[ ] and he will further see that with "alison" there is not the slightest difficulty whatever, but that, on the contrary, it is the natural and all but inevitable thing to do to scan the piece according to classical laws, allowing only much more licence of "common" syllables--common in themselves and by position--than in latin, and rather more than in greek. [footnote : of course there is plenty of alliteration in "alison." that ornament is too grateful to the english ear ever to have ceased or to be likely to cease out of english poetry. but it has ceased to possess any _metrical_ value; it has absolutely nothing to do with the _structure_ of the line.] [sidenote: _the gain of form._] yet another conclusion may perhaps be risked, and that is that this change of prosody was either directly caused by, or in singular coincidence was associated with, a great enlargement of the range and no slight improvement of the quality of poetry. anglo-saxon verse at its best has grandeur, mystery, force, a certain kind of pathos. but it is almost entirely devoid of sweetness, of all the lighter artistic attractions, of power to represent other than religious passion, of adaptability to the varied uses of lyric. all these additional gifts, and in no slight measure, have now been given; and there is surely an almost fanatical hatred of form in the refusal to connect the gain with those changes, in vocabulary first, in prosody secondly, which have been noted. for there is not only the fact, but there is a more than plausible reason for the fact. the alliterative accentual verse of indefinite length is obviously unsuited for all the lighter, and for some of the more serious, purposes of verse. unless it is at really heroic height (and at this height not even shakespeare can keep poetry invariably) it must necessarily be flat, awkward, prosaic, heavy, all which qualities are the worst foes of the muses. the new equipments may not have been indispensable to the poet's soaring--they may not be the greater wings of his song, the mighty pinions that take him beyond space and time into eternity and the infinite. but they are most admirable _talaria_, ankle-winglets enabling him to skim and scud, to direct his flight this way and that, to hover as well as to tower, even to run at need as well as to fly. that a danger was at hand, the danger of too great restriction in the syllabic direction, has been admitted. the greatest poet of the fourteenth century in england--the greatest, for the matter of that, from the beginning till the sixteenth--went some way in this path, and if chaucer's english followers had been men of genius we might have been sorely trammelled. fortunately lydgate and occleve and hawes showed the dangers rather than the attractions of strictness, and the contemporary practice of alliterative irregulars kept alive the appetite for liberty. but at this time--at our time--it was restriction, regulation, quantification, metrical arrangement, that english needed; and it received them. * * * * * [sidenote: _the "accent" theory._] these remarks are of course not presented as a complete account, even in summary, of english, much less of european prosody. they are barely more than the heads of such a summary, or than indications of the line which the inquiry might, and in the author's view should, take. perhaps they may be worked out--or rather the working out of them may be published--more fully hereafter. but for the present they may possibly be useful as a protest against the "accent" and "stress" theories which have been so common of late years in regard to english poetry, and which, though not capable of being applied in quite the same fashion to the romance languages, have had their counterparts in attempts to decry the application of classical prosody (which has never been very well understood on the continent) to modern tongues. no one can speak otherwise than respectfully of dr guest, whose book is certainly one of the most patient and ingenious studies of the kind to be found in any literature, and whose erudition, at a time when such erudition needed far greater efforts than now, cannot be too highly praised. but it is a besetting sin or disease of englishmen in all matters, after pooh-poohing innovation, to go blindly in for it; and i cannot but think that dr guest's accentual theory, after being for years mainly neglected, has, for years again, been altogether too greedily swallowed. it is not of course a case necessarily of want of scholarship, or want of ear, for there are few better scholars or poets than mr robert bridges, who, though not a mere guestite, holds theories of prosody which seem to me even less defensible than guest's. but it is, i think, a case of rather misguided patriotism, which thinks it necessary to invent an english prosody for english poems. [sidenote: _initial fallacies._] this is surely a mistake. allowances in degree, in shade, in local colour, there must of course be in prosody as in other things. the developments, typical and special, of english prosody in the nineteenth century cannot be quite the same as those of greek two thousand years ago, or of french to-day. but if, as i see not the slightest reason for doubting, prosody is not an artificially acquired art but a natural result of the natural desires, the universal organs of humanity, it is excessively improbable that the prosodic results of nations so nearly allied to each other, and so constantly studying each other's work, as greeks, romans, and modern europeans, should be in any great degree different. if quantity, if syllabic equivalence and so forth, do not display themselves in anglo-saxon or in icelandic, it must be remembered that the poetry of these nations was after all comparatively small, rather isolated, and in the conditions of extremely early development--a childish thing to which there is not the slightest rhyme or reason for straining ourselves to assimilate the things of manhood. that accent modified english prosody nobody need deny; there is no doubt that the very great freedom of equivalence--which makes it, for instance, at least theoretically possible to compose an english heroic line of five tribrachs--and the immense predominance of common syllables in the language, are due in some degree to a continuance of accentual influence. [sidenote: _and final perversities thereof._] but to go on from this, as dr guest and some of his followers have done, to the subjection of the whole invaluable vocabulary of classical prosody to a sort of _præmunire_, to hold up the hands in horror at the very name of a tribrach, and exhibit symptoms of catalepsy at the word catalectic--to ransack the dictionary for unnatural words or uses of words like "catch," and "stop," and "pause," where a perfectly clear and perfectly flexible terminology is ready to your hand--this does seem to me in another sense a very childish thing indeed, and one that cannot be too soon put away. it is no exaggeration to say that the extravagances, the unnatural contortions of scansion, the imputations of irregularity and impropriety on the very greatest poets with which dr guest's book swarms, must force themselves on any one who studies that book thoroughly and impartially. when theory leads to the magisterial indorsement of "gross fault" on some of the finest passages of shakespeare and milton, because they "violate" dr guest's privy law of "the final pause"; when we are told that "section ," as dr guest is pleased to call that admirable form of "sixes," the anapæst followed by two iambs,[ ] one of the great sources of music in the ballad metre, is "a verse which has very little to recommend it"; when one of shakespeare's secrets, the majestic full stop before the last word of the line, is black-marked as "opposed to every principle of accentual rhythm," then the thing becomes not so much outrageous as absurd. prosody respectfully and intelligently attempting to explain how the poets produce their best things is useful and agreeable: when it makes an arbitrary theory beforehand, and dismisses the best things as bad because they do not agree therewith, it becomes a futile nuisance. and i believe that there is no period of our literature which, when studied, will do more to prevent or correct such fatuity than this very period of early middle english. [footnote : his instance is burns's-- "like a rogue | for for | gerie." it is a pity he did not reinforce it with many of the finest lines in _the ancient mariner_.] chapter vi. middle high german poetry. position of germany. merit of its poetry. folk-epics: the 'nibelungenlied.' the 'volsunga saga.' the german version. metres. rhyme and language. 'kudrun.' shorter national epics. literary poetry. its four chief masters. excellence, both natural and acquired, of german verse. originality of its adaptation. the pioneers: heinrich von veldeke. gottfried of strasburg. hartmann von aue. 'erec der wanderÆre' and 'iwein.' lyrics. the "booklets." 'der arme heinrich.' wolfram von eschenbach. 'titurel.' 'willehalm.' 'parzival.' walther von der vogelweide. personality of the poets. the minnesingers generally. [sidenote: _position of germany._] it must have been already noticed that one main reason for the unsurpassed literary interest of this present period is that almost all the principal european nations contribute, in their different ways, elements to that interest. the contribution is not in all cases one of positive literary production, of so much matter of the first value actually added to the world's library. but in some cases it is; and in the instance to which we come at present it is so in a measure approached by no other country except france and perhaps iceland. nor is germany,[ ] as every other country except iceland may be said to be, wholly a debtor or vassal to france herself. partly she is so; of the three chief divisions of middle high german poetry (for prose here practically does not count), the folk-epic, the "art-epic," as the germans themselves not very happily call it, and the lyric--the second is always, and the third to no small extent, what might punningly be called in copyhold of france. but even the borrowed material is treated with such intense individuality of spirit that it almost acquires independence; and part of the matter, as has been said, is not borrowed at all. [footnote : the most accessible _history of german literature_ is that of scherer (english translation, vols., oxford, ), a book of fair information and with an excellent bibliography, but not very well arranged, and too full of extra-literary matter. carlyle's great _nibelungenlied_ essay (_essays_, vol. iii.) can never be obsolete save in unimportant matters; that which follows on _early german literature_ is good, but less good. mr gosse's _northern studies_ ( ) contains a very agreeable paper on walther von der vogelweide. the wagnerites have naturally of late years dealt much with wolfram von eschenbach, but seldom from a literary point of view.] [sidenote: _merit of its poetry._] it has been pointed out that for some curious reason french literary critics, not usually remarkable for lack of national vanity, have been by no means excessive in their laudations of the earlier literature of their country. the opposite is the case with those of germany, and the rather extravagant patriotism of some of their expressions may perhaps have had a bad effect on some foreign readers. it cannot, for instance, be otherwise than disgusting to even rudimentary critical feeling to be told in the same breath that the first period of german literature was "richer in inventive genius than any that followed it," and that "nothing but fragments of a single song[ ] remain to us" from this first period--fragments, it may be added, which, though interesting enough, can, in no possible judgment that can be called judgment, rank as in any way first-rate poetry. so, too, the habit of comparing the _nibelungenlied_ to the _iliad_ and _kudrun_ to the _odyssey_ (parallels not far removed from the thucydides-and-tennyson order) may excite resentment. but the middle high german verse of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries is in itself of such interest, such variety, such charm, that if only it be approached in itself, and not through the medium of its too officious ushers, its effect on any real taste for poetry is undoubted. [footnote : _hildebrand and hadubrand._] the three divisions above sketched may very well be taken in the order given. the great folk-epics just mentioned, with some smaller poems, such as _könig rother_, are almost invariably anonymous; the translators or adaptors from the french--gottfried von strasburg, hartmann von aue, wolfram von eschenbach, and others--are at least known by name, if we do not know much else about them; and this is also the case with the lyric poets, especially the best of them, the exquisite singer known as walter of the bird-meadow. [sidenote: _folk-epics_--_the_ nibelungenlied.] [sidenote: _the_ volsunga saga.] it was inevitable that the whole literary energy of a nation which is commentatorial or nothing, should be flung on such a subject as the _nibelungenlied_;[ ] the amount of work expended on the subject by germans during the century in which the poem has been known is enormous, and might cause despair, if happily it were not for the most part negligible. the poem served as a principal ground in the battle--not yet at an end, but now in a more or less languid condition--between the believers in conglomerate epic, the upholders of the theory that long early poems are always a congeries of still earlier ballads or shorter chants, and the advocates of their integral condition. the authorship of the poem, its date, and its relation to previous work or tradition, with all possible excursions and alarums as to sun-myths and so forth, have been discussed _ad nauseam_. literary history, as here understood, need not concern itself much about such things. it is sufficient to say that the authorship of the _lied_ in its present condition is quite unknown; that its date would appear to be about the centre of our period, or, in other words, not earlier than the middle of the twelfth century or later than the middle of the thirteenth, and that, as far as the subject goes, we undoubtedly have handlings of it in icelandic (the so-called _volsunga saga_), and still earlier verse-dealings in the elder edda, which are older, and probably much older, than the german poem.[ ] they are not only older, but they are different. as a volsung story, the interest is centred on the ancestor of sigurd (sigfried in the later poem), on his acquisition of the hoard of the dwarf andvari by slaying the dragon fafnir, its guardian, and on the tale of his love for the amazon brynhild; how by witchcraft he is beguiled to wed instead gudrun the daughter of giuki, while gunnar, gudrun's brother, marries brynhild by the assistance of sigurd himself; how the sisters-in-law quarrel, with the result that gudrun's brothers slay sigurd, on whose funeral-pyre brynhild (having never ceased to love him and wounded herself mortally), is by her own will burnt; and how gudrun, having married king atli, brynhild's brother, achieves vengeance on her own brethren by his means. a sort of _coda_ of the story tells of the third marriage of gudrun to king jonakr, of the cruel fate of swanhild, her daughter by sigurd (who was so fair that when she gazed on the wild horses that were to tread her to death they would not harm her, and her head had to be covered ere they would do their work), of the further fate of swanhild's half-brothers in their effort to avenge her, and of the final _threnos_ and death of gudrun herself. [footnote : ed. bartsch. th ed. leipzig, .] [footnote : for the verse originals see vigfusson and powell's _corpus poeticum boreale_ (oxford, ), vol. i. the verse and prose alike will be found conveniently translated in a cheap little volume of the "camelot library," _the volsunga saga_, by w. morris and e. magnusson (london, ).] the author of the _nibelungenlied_ (or rather the "nibelungen-_noth_," for this is the older title of the poem, which has a very inferior sequel called _die klage_) has dealt with the story very differently. he pays no attention to the ancestry of sifrit (sigurd), and little to his acquisition of the hoard, diminishes the part of brynhild, stripping it of all romantic interest as regards sifrit, and very largely increases the importance of the revenge of gudrun, now called kriemhild. only sixteen of the thirty-nine "aventiuren" or "fyttes" (into which the poem in the edition here used is divided) are allotted to the part up to and including the murder of sifrit; the remaining twenty-three deal with the vengeance of kriemhild, who is herself slain just when this vengeance is complete, the after-piece of her third marriage and the fate of swanhild being thus rendered impossible. among the idler parts of nibelungen discussions perhaps the idlest are the attempts made by partisans of icelandic and german literature respectively to exalt or depress these two handlings, each in comparison with the other. there is no real question of superiority or inferiority, but only one of difference. the older handling, in the _volsunga saga_ to some extent, but still more in the eddaic songs, has perhaps the finer touches of pure clear poetry in single passages and phrases; the story of sigurd and brynhild has a passion which is not found in the german version; the defeat of fafnir and the treacherous regin is excellent; and the wild and ferocious story of sinfiötli, with which the saga opens, has unmatched intensity, well brought out in mr morris's splendid verse-rendering, _the story of sigurd the volsung_.[ ] [footnote : th edition. london, .] [sidenote: _the german version._] but every poet has a perfect right to deal with any story as he chooses, if he makes good poetry of it; and the poet of the _nibelungenlied_ is more than justified in this respect. by curtailing the beginning, cutting off the _coda_ above mentioned altogether, and lessening the part and interest of brynhild, he has lifted kriemhild to a higher, a more thoroughly expounded, and a more poetical position, and has made her one of the greatest heroines of epic, if not the greatest in all literature. the gudrun of the norse story is found supplying the loss of one husband with the gain of another to an extent perfectly consonant with icelandic ideas, but according to less insular standards distinctly damaging to her interest as a heroine; and in revenging her brothers on atli, after revenging sigurd on her brothers by means of atli, she completely alienates all sympathy except on a ferocious and pedantic theory of blood-revenge. the kriemhild of the german is quite free from this drawback; and her own death comes just when and as it should--not so much a punishment for the undue bloodthirstiness of her revenge as an artistic close to the situation. there may be too many episodic personages--dietrich of bern, for instance, has extremely little to do in this galley. but the strength, thoroughness, and in its own savage way charm of kriemhild's character, and the incomparable series of battles between the burgundian princes and etzel's men in the later cantos--cantos which contain the very best poetical fighting in the history of the world--far more than redeem this. the _nibelungenlied_ is a very great poem; and with _beowulf_ (the oldest, but the least interesting on the whole), _roland_ (the most artistically finished in form), and the _poem of the cid_ (the cheerfullest and perhaps the fullest of character), composes a quartette of epic with which the literary story of the great european literary nations most appropriately begins. in bulk, dramatic completeness, and a certain _furia_, the _nibelungenlied_, though the youngest and probably the least original, is the greatest of the four. [sidenote: _metres._] the form, though not finished with the perfection of the french decasyllabic, is by no means of a very uncouth description. the poem is written in quatrains, rhymed couplet and couplet, not alternately, but evidently intended for quatrains, inasmuch as the sense frequently runs on at the second line, but regularly stops at the fourth. the normal line of which these quatrains are composed is a thirteen-syllabled one divided by a central pause, so that the first half is an iambic dimeter catalectic, and the second an iambic dimeter hypercatalectic. "von einer isenstangen: des gie dem helde not." the first half sometimes varies from this norm, though not very often, the alteration usually taking the form of the loss of the first syllable, so that the half-line consists of three trochees. the second half is much more variable. sometimes, in the same way as with the first, a syllable is dropped at the opening, and the half-line becomes similarly trochaic. sometimes there is a double rhyme instead of a single, making seven syllables, though not altering the rhythm; and sometimes this is extended to a full octosyllable. but this variety by no means results in cacophony or confusion; the general swing of the metre is well maintained, and maintains itself in turn on the ear. [sidenote: _rhyme and language._] in the rhymes, as in those of all early rhymed poems, there is a certain monotony. just as in the probably contemporary layamon the poet is tempted into rhyme chiefly by such easy opportunities as "other" and "brother," "king" and "thing," so here, though rhyme is the rule, and not, as there, the exception, certain pairs, especially "wip" and "lip" ("wife" and "body"), "sach" and "sprach," "geben" and "geleben," "tot" and "not," recur perhaps a little too often for the ear's perfect comfort. but this is natural and extremely pardonable. the language is exceedingly clear and easy--far nearer to german of the present day than layamon's own verse, or the prose of the _ancren riwle_, is to english prose and verse of the nineteenth century; the differences being, as a rule, rather matters of spelling or phrase than of actual vocabulary. it is very well suited both to the poet's needs and to the subject; there being little or nothing of that stammer--as it may be called--which is not uncommon in mediæval work, as if the writer were trying to find words that he cannot find for a thought which he cannot fully shape even to himself. in short, there is in the particular kind, stage, and degree that accomplishment which distinguishes the greater from the lesser achievements of literature. [sidenote: kudrun.] _kudrun_[ ] or _gudrun_--it is a little curious that this should be the name of the original joint-heroine of the _nibelungenlied_, of the heroine of one of the finest and most varied of the icelandic sagas, the _laxdæla_, and of the present poem--is far less known to general students of literature than its companion. nor can it be said that this comparative neglect is wholly undeserved. it is an interesting poem enough; but neither in story nor in character-interest, in arrangement nor in execution, can it vie with the _nibelungen_, of which in formal points it has been thought to be a direct imitation. the stanza is much the same, except that there is a much more general tendency to arrange the first couplet in single masculine rhyme and the second in feminine, while the second half of the fourth line is curiously prolonged to either ten or eleven syllables. the first refinement may be an improvement: the second certainly is not, and makes it very difficult to a modern ear to get a satisfactory swing on the verse. the language, moreover (though this is a point on which i speak with some diffidence), has a slightly more archaic cast, as of intended archaism, than is the case with the _nibelungen_. [footnote : ed. bartsch. th ed. leipzig, .] as for matter, the poem has the interest, always considerable to english readers, of dealing with the sea, and the shores of the sea; and, like the _nibelungenlied_, it seems to have had older forms, of which some remains exist in the norse. but there is less coincidence of story: and the most striking incident in the norse--an unending battle, where the combatants, killed every night, come alive again every day--is in the german a merely ordinary "battle of wulpensand," where one side has the worst, and cloisters are founded for the repose of the dead. on the other hand, _kudrun_, while rationalised in some respects and christianised in others, has the extravagance, not so much primitive as carelessly artificial, of the later romances. romance has a special charter to neglect chronology; but the chronology here is exceptionally wanton. after the above-mentioned battle of wulpensand, the beaten side resigns itself quite comfortably to wait till the sons of the slain grow up: and to suit this arrangement the heroine remains in ill-treated captivity--washing clothes by the sea-shore--for fifteen years or so. and even thus the climax is not reached; for gudrun's companion in this unpleasant task, and apparently (since they are married at the same time) her equal, or nearly so, in age, has in the exordium of the poem also been the companion of gudrun's grandmother in durance to some griffins, from whom they were rescued by gudrun's grandfather. one does not make peddling criticisms of this kind on any legend that has the true poetic character of power--of sweeping the reader along with it; but this i, at least, can hardly find in _kudrun_. it consists of three or perhaps four parts: the initial adventures of child hagen of ireland with the griffins who carry him off; the wooing of his daughter hilde by king hetel, whose ambassadors, wate, morunc, and horant, play a great part throughout the poem; the subsequent wooing of _her_ daughter gudrun, and her imprisonment and ill-usage by gerlind, her wooer's mother; her rescue by her lover herwig after many years, and the slaughter of her tyrants, especially gerlind, which "wate der alte" makes. there is also a generally happy ending, which, rather contrary to the somewhat ferocious use and wont of these poems, is made to include hartmuth, gudrun's unsuccessful wooer, and his sister ortrun. the most noteworthy character, perhaps, is the above-mentioned wate (or _wade_), who is something like hagen in the _nibelungenlied_ as far as valour and ferocity go, but is more of a subordinate. gudrun herself has good touches--especially where in her joy at the appearance of her rescuers she flings the hated "wash" into the sea, and in one or two other passages. but she is nothing like such a _person_ as brynhild in the volsung story or kriemhild in the _nibelungenlied_. even the "wash" incident and the state which, in the teeth of her enemies, she takes upon her afterwards--the finest thing in the poem, though it frightens some german critics who see beauties elsewhere that are not very clear to eyes not native--fail to give her this personality. a better touch of nature still, though a slight one, is her lover herwig's fear, when he meets with a slight mishap before the castle of her prison, that she may see it and reproach him with it after they are married. but on the whole, _kudrun_, though an excellent story of adventure, is not a great poem in the sense in which the _nibelungenlied_ is one. [sidenote: _shorter national epics._] besides these two long poems (the greater of which, the _nibelungenlied_, connects itself indirectly with others through the personage of dietrich[ ]) there is a group of shorter and rather older pieces, attributed in their present forms to the twelfth century, and not much later than the german translation of the _chanson de roland_ by a priest named conrad, which is sometimes put as early as , and the german translation (see chapter iv.) of the _alixandre_ by lamprecht, which may be even older. among these smaller epics, poems on the favourite mediæval subjects of solomon and marcolf, st brandan, &c., are often classed, but somewhat wrongly, as they belong to a different school. properly of the group are _könig rother_, _herzog ernst_, and _orendel_. all these suggest distinct imitation of the _chansons_, _orendel_ inclining rather to the legendary and travelling kind of _jourdains de blaivies_ or _huon_, _herzog ernst_ to the more feudal variety. _könig rother_,[ ] the most important of the batch, is a poem of a little more than five thousand lines, of rather irregular length and rhythm, but mostly very short, rhymed, but with a leaning towards assonance. the strong connection of these poems with the _chansons_ is also shown by the fact that rother is made grandfather of charlemagne and king of rome. whether he had anything to do with the actual lombard king rother of the seventh century is only a speculative question; the poem itself seems to be bavarian, and to date from about . the story is one of wooing under considerable difficulties, and thus in some respects at least nearer to a _roman d'aventures_ than a _chanson_. [footnote : the very name of this remarkable personage seems to have exercised a fascination over the early german mind, and appears as given to others (wolfdietrich, hugdietrich) who have nothing to do with him of verona.] [footnote : ed. von bahder. halle, .] [sidenote: _literary poetry._] it will depend on individual taste whether the reader prefers the so-called "art-poetry" which broke out in germany, almost wholly on a french impulse, but with astonishing individuality and colour of national and personal character, towards the end of the twelfth century, to the folk-poetry, of which the greater examples have been mentioned hitherto, whether he reverses the preference, or whether, in the mood of the literary student proper, he declines to regard either with preference, but admires and delights in both.[ ] on either side there are compensations for whatever loss may be urged by the partisans of the other. it may or may not be an accident that the sons of adoption are more numerous than the sons of the house: it is not so certain that the one group is to be on any true reckoning preferred to the other. [footnote : the subjects of the last paragraph form, it will be seen, a link between the two, being at least probably based on german traditions, but influenced in form by french.] [sidenote: _its four chief masters._] in any case the german literary poetry (a much better phrase than _kunst-poesie_, for there is plenty of art on both sides) forms a part, and, next to its french originals, perhaps the greatest part, of that extraordinary and almost unparalleled blossoming of literature which, starting from france, overspread the whole of europe at one time, the last half or quarter of the twelfth century, and the first quarter of the thirteenth. four names, great and all but of the greatest--hartmann von aue, gottfried of strasburg, wolfram von eschenbach, and walther von der vogelweide--illustrate it as far as germany is concerned. another, somewhat earlier than these, and in a way their master, eilhart von oberge, is supposed or rather known to have dealt with the tristram story before gottfried; and heinrich von veldeke, in handling the Æneid, communicated to germany something of a directly classical, though more of a french, touch. we have spoken of the still earlier work of conrad and lamprecht, while in passing must be mentioned other things fashioned after french patterns, such as the _kaiserchronik_, which is attributed to bavarian hands. the period of flourishing of the literary poetry proper was not long-- to would cover very nearly the whole of it, and, here, as elsewhere, it is impossible to deal with every individual, or even with the majority of individuals. but some remarks in detail, though not in great detail, on the four principals above referred to, will put the german literary "state" of the time almost as well as if all the battalions and squadrons were enumerated. hartmann, gottfried, and wolfram, even in what we have of them, lyric writers in part, were chiefly writers of epic or romance; walther is a song-writer pure and simple. [sidenote: _excellence, both natural and acquired, of german verse._] one thing may be said with great certainty of the division of literature to which we have come, that none shows more clearly the natural aptitude of the people who produced it for poetry. it is a familiar observation from beginners in german who have any literary taste, that german poetry reads naturally, german prose does not. in verse the german disencumbers himself of that gruesome clumsiness which almost always besets him in the art he learnt so late, and never learnt to any perfection. to "say" is a trouble to him, a trouble too often unconquerable; to sing is easy enough. and this truth, true of all centuries of german literature, is never truer than here. translated or adapted verse is not usually the most cheerful department of poetry. the english romances, translated or adapted from the french, at times on the whole later than these, have been unduly abused; but they are certainly not the portion of the literature of his country on which an englishman would most pride himself. even the home-grown and, as i would fain believe, home-made legend of arthur, had to wait till the fifteenth century before it met, and then in prose, a worthy master in english. [sidenote: _originality of its adaptation._] but the german adapters of french at the meeting of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries are persons of very different calibre from the translators of _alexander_ and the other english-french romances, even from those who with far more native talent englished _havelok_ and _horn_. if i have spoken harshly of german admiration of _kudrun_, i am glad to make this amends and to admit that gottfried's _tristan_ is by far the best of all the numerous rehandlings of the story which have come down to us. if we must rest hartmann von aue's chief claims on the two _büchlein_, on the songs, and on the delightful _armer heinrich_, yet his _iwein_ and his _erec_ can hold their own even with two of the freshest and most varied of chrestien's original poems. no one except the merest pedant of originality would hesitate to put _parzival_ above _percevale le gallois_, though wolfram von eschenbach may be thought to have been less fortunate with _willehalm_. and though in the lyric, the debt due to both troubadour and _trouvère_ is unmistakable, it is equally unmistakable what mighty usury the minnesingers have paid for the capital they borrowed. the skill both of northern and southern frenchmen is seldom to seek in lyric: we cannot give them too high praise as fashioners of instruments for other men to use. the cheerful bird-voice of the _trouvère_, the half artificial but not wholly insincere intensity of his brethren of the _langue d'oc_, will never miss their meed. but for real "cry," for the diviner elements of lyric, we somehow wait till we hear it in "under der linden an der heide, da unser zweier bette was, da muget ir vinden schone beide gebrochen bluomen unde gras. vor dem walde in einem tal, tandaradei! schone sanc diu nahtegal."[ ] [footnote : walther's ninth _lied_, opening stanza.] at last we are free from the tyranny of the iambic, and have variety beyond the comparative freedom of the trochee. the blessed liberty of trisyllabic feet not merely comes like music, but is for the first time complete music, to the ear. [sidenote: _the pioneers. heinrich von veldeke._] historians arrange the process of borrowing from the french and adjusting prosody to the loans in, roughly speaking, three stages. the first of these is represented by lamprecht's _alexander_ and conrad's _roland_; while the second and far more important has for chief exponents an anonymous rendering of the universally popular _flore et blanchefleur_,[ ] the capital example of a pure love-story in which love triumphs over luck and fate, and differences of nation and religion. of this only fragments survive, and the before-mentioned first german version of the tristan story by eilhart von oberge exists only in a much altered form of the fifteenth century. but both, as well as the work in lyric and narrative of heinrich von veldeke, date well within the twelfth century, and the earliest of them may not be much younger than its middle. it was heinrich who seems to have been the chief master in form of the greater poets mentioned above, and now to be noticed as far as it is possible to us. we do not know, personally speaking, very much about them, though the endless industry of their commentators, availing itself of not a little sheer guesswork, has succeeded in spinning various stories concerning them; and the curious incident of the _wartburg-krieg_ or minstrels' tournament, though reported much later, very likely has sound traditional foundations. but it is not very necessary to believe, for instance, that gottfried von strasburg makes an attack on wolfram von eschenbach. and generally the best attitude is that of an editor of the said gottfried (who himself rather fails to reck his own salutary rede by proceeding to redistribute the ordinary attribution of poems), "ich bekenne dass ich in diesen dingen skeptischer natur bin." [footnote : found in every language, but _originally_ french.] [sidenote: _gottfried of strasburg._] if, however, even gottfried's own authorship of the _tristan_[ ] is rather a matter of extremely probable inference than of certain knowledge, and if the lives of most of the poets are very little known, the poems themselves are fortunately there, for every one who chooses to read and to form his own opinion about them. the palm for work of magnitude in every sense belongs to gottfried's _tristan_ and to wolfram's _parzival_, and as it happens--as it so often happens--the contrasts of these two works are of the most striking and interesting character. the tristram story, as has been said above, despite its extreme popularity and the abiding hold which it has exercised on poets as well as readers, is on the whole of a lower and coarser kind than the great central arthurian legend. the philtre, though it supplies a certain excuse for the lovers, degrades the purely romantic character of their affection in more than compensating measure; the conduct of iseult to the faithful brengwain, if by no means unfeminine, is exceedingly detestable; and if tristram was nearly as good a knight as lancelot, he certainly was not nearly so good a lover or nearly so thorough a gentleman. but the attractions of the story were and are all the greater, we need not say to the vulgar, but to the general; and gottfried seems to have been quite admirably and almost ideally qualified to treat them. his french original is not known, for the earlier french versions of this story have perished or only survive in fragments; and there is an almost inextricable coil about the "thomas" to whom gottfried refers, and who used to be (though this has now been given up) identified with no less a person than thomas the rhymer, thomas of erceldoune himself. but we can see, as clearly as if we had parallel texts, that gottfried treated his original as all real and sensible poets do treat their originals--that is to say, that he took what he wanted, added what he chose, and discarded what he pleased. in his handling of the french octosyllable he at once displays that impatience of the rigidly syllabic system of prosody which teutonic poetry of the best kind always shows sooner or later. at first the octosyllables are arranged in a curious and not particularly charming scheme of quatrains, not only mono-rhymed, but so arranged that the very same words occur in alternate places, or in , , and , --"man," "kan," "man," "kan"; "list," "ist," "ist," "list,"--the latter order being in this interesting, that it suggests the very first appearance of the _in memoriam_ stanza. but gottfried was much too sensible a poet to think of writing a long poem--his, which is not complete, and was continued by ulrich von turheim, by an anon, and by heinrich von freiberg, extends to some twenty thousand lines--in such a measure as this. he soon takes up the simple octosyllabic couplet, treated, however, with great freedom. the rhymes are sometimes single, sometimes double, occasionally even triple. the syllables constantly sink to seven, and sometimes even to six, or extend themselves, by the admission of trisyllabic feet, to ten, eleven, if not even twelve. thus, once more, the famous "christabel" metre is here, not indeed in the extremely mobile completeness which coleridge gave it, nor even with quite such an indulgence in anapæsts as spenser allows himself in "the oak and the brere," but to all intents and purposes fully constituted, if not fully developed. [footnote : ed. bechstein. d ed., vols. leipzig, .] and gottfried is quite equal to his form. one may feel, indeed, and it is not unpleasant to feel, that evidence of the "young hand," which consists in digressions from the text, of excursus and ambages, essays, as it were, to show, "here i am speaking quite for myself, and not merely reading off book." but he tells the story very well--compare, for instance, the crucial point of the substitution of brengwain for iseult in him and in the english _sir tristrem_, or the charming account of the "minnegrotte" in the twenty-seventh song, with the many other things of the kind in french, english, and german of the time. also he has constant little bursts, little spurts, of half-lyrical cry, which lighten the narrative charmingly. "diu wise isôt, diu schoene isôt, diu liuhtet alse der morgenrot," is the very thing the want of which mars the pleasantly flowing but somewhat featureless octosyllables of his french models. in the famous passage[ ] where he has been thought to reflect on wolfram, he certainly praises other poets without stint, and shows himself a generous as well as a judicious critic. how hartmann von aue hits the meaning of a story! how loud and clear rings the crystal of his words! did not heinrich von veldeke "imp the first shoot on teutish tongues" (graft french on german poetry)? with what a lofty voice does the nightingale of the bird-meadow (walther) warble across the heath! nor is it unpleasant to come shortly afterwards to our old friends apollo and the camoenæ, the nine "sirens of the ears"--a slightly mixed reminiscence, but characteristic of the union of classical and romantic material which communicates to the middle ages so much of their charm. indeed nowhere in this pisgah sight of literature would it be pleasanter to come down and expatiate on the particular subject than in the case of these middle high german poets. [footnote : _tristan_, th song, l. and onwards. the crucial passage is a sharp rebuke of "finders [_vindære_, _trouvères_] of wild tales," or one particular such who plays tricks on his readers and utters unintelligible things. it _may_ be wolfram: it also may not be.] [sidenote: _hartmann von aue._] hartmann von aue,[ ] the subject of gottfried's highest eulogy, has left a bulkier--at least a more varied--poetical baggage than his eulogist, whose own legacy is not small. it will depend a good deal on individual taste whether his actual poetical powers be put lower or higher. we have of his, or attributed to him, two long romances of adventure, translations or adaptations of the _chevalier au lyon_ and the _erec et Énide_ of chrestien de troyes; a certain number of songs, partly amatory, partly religious, two curious pieces entitled _die klage_ and _büchlein_, a verse-rendering of a subject which was much a favourite, the involuntary incest and atonement of st gregory of the rock; and lastly, his masterpiece, _der arme heinrich_. [footnote : ed. bech. d ed., vols. leipzig, .] [sidenote: erec der wanderære _and_ iwein.] in considering the two arthurian adventure-stories, it is fair to remember that in gottfried's case we have not the original, while in hartmann's we have, and that the originals here are two of the very best examples in their kind and language. that hartmann did not escape the besetting sin of all adapters, and especially of all mediæval adapters, the sin of amplification and watering down, is quite true. it is shown by the fact that while chrestien contents himself in each case with less than seven thousand lines (and he has never been thought a laconic poet), hartmann extends both in practically the same measure (though the licences above referred to make the lines often much shorter than the french, while hartmann himself does not often make them much longer)--in the one case to over eight thousand lines, in the other to over ten. but it would not be fair to deny very considerable merits to his versions. they are readable with interest after the french itself: and in the case of _erec_ after the _mabinogion_ and the _idylls of the king_ also. it cannot be said, however, that in either piece the poet handles his subject with the same appearance of mastery which belongs to gottfried: and this is not to be altogether accounted for by the fact that the stories themselves are less interesting. or rather it may be said that his selection of these stories, good as they are in their way, when greater were at his option, somewhat "speaks him" as a poet. [sidenote: _lyrics._] the next or lyrical division shows hartmann more favourably, though still not exactly as a great poet. the "frauenminne," or profane division, of these has something of the artificial character which used very unjustly to be charged against the whole love-poetry of the middle ages, and which certainly does affect some of it. there is nowhere the "cry" that we find in the best of gottfried's "nightingales"--the lyric poets as opposed to the epic. he does not seem to have much command of trisyllabic measures, and is perhaps happiest in the above-mentioned mono-rhymed quatrain, apparently a favourite measure then, which he uses sometimes in octosyllables, but often also in decasyllables. i do not know, and it would probably be difficult to say, what was the first appearance of the decasyllable, which in german, as in english, was to become on the whole the staple measure of non-lyrical poetry and the not infrequent medium of lyrical. but this must be fairly early, and certainly is a good example. the "gottesminne," or, as our own old word has it, the "divine" poems, are very much better. hartmann himself was a crusader, and there is nothing merely conventional in his few lays from the crusading and pilgrim standpoint. indeed the very first words, expressing his determination after his lord's death to leave the world to itself, have a better ring than anything in his love-poetry; and the echo is kept up in such simple but true sayings as this about "christ's flowers" (the badge of the cross):-- "min froude wart nie sorgelos unz an die tage daz ich mir krystes bluomon kos die ich hie trage." [sidenote: _the "booklets."_] the two curious booklets or complaints (for each bore the title of _büchlein_ in its own day, and each is a _klage_) and the _gregorius_ touch the lyric on one side and the adventure poems on the other. _gregorius_, indeed, is simply a _roman d'aventures_ of pious tendency; and there cannot be very much doubt that it had a french original. it extends to some four thousand lines, and does not show any poetical characteristics very different from those of _erec_ and _iwein_, though they are applied to different matter. in size the two "booklets" stand in a curiously diminishing ratio to _erec_ with its ten thousand verses, _iwein_ with its eight, and _gregorius_ with its four; for _die klage_ has a little under two thousand, and the _büchlein_ proper a little under one. _die klage_ is of varied structure, beginning with octosyllables, of which the first-- "minne waltet grozer kraft"-- has a pleasant trochaic cadence: continuing after some sixteen hundred lines (if indeed it be a continuation and not a new poem) in curious long _laisses_, rather than stanzas, of eights and sevens rhymed on one continuous pair of single and double rhymes, _cit unde: ant ende_, &c. the _büchlein_ proper is all couplets, and ends less deplorably than its beginning-- "owê, owê, unde owê!"-- might suggest. it is, however, more serious than the _klage_, which is really a _débat_ (as the technical term in french poetry then went) between body and soul, and of no unusual kind. [sidenote: der arme heinrich.] fortunately for hartmann, he has left another work, _der arme heinrich_, which is thought to be his last, and is certainly his most perfect. it is almost a pity that longfellow, in his adaptation of it, did not stick closer to the original; for pleasant as _the golden legend_ is, it is more of a pastiche and mosaic than _der arme heinrich_, one of the simplest, most direct, and most touching of mediæval poems. heinrich (also von aue) is a noble who, like sir isumbras and other examples of the no less pious than wise belief of the middle ages in nemesis, forgets god and is stricken for his sin with leprosy. he can only recover by the blood of a pure maiden; and half despairing of, half revolting at, such a cure, he gives away all his property but one farm, and lives there in misery. the farmer's daughter learns his doom and devotes herself. heinrich refuses for a time, but yields: and they travel to salerno, where, as the sacrifice is on the point of completion, heinrich sees the maiden's face through a crack in the doctor's room-wall, feels the impossibility of allowing her to die, and stops the crime. he is rewarded by a cure as miraculous as was his harm; recovers his fortune, and marries the maiden. a later termination separates them again; but this is simply the folly and bad taste of a certain, and only a certain, perversion of mediæval sentiment, the crowning instance of which is found in _guy of warwick_. hartmann himself was no such simpleton; and (with only an infinitesimal change of a famous sentence) we may be sure that as he was a good lover so he made a good end to his story. [sidenote: _wolfram von eschenbach._] [sidenote: titurel.] although german writers may sometimes have mispraised or over-praised their greatest mediæval poet, it certain that we find in wolfram von eschenbach[ ] qualities which, in the thousand years between the fall and the renaissance of classical literature, can be found to anything like the same extent in only two known writers, the italian dante and the englishman langland; while if he is immensely dante's inferior in poetical quality, he has at least one gift, humour, which dante had not, and is far langland's superior in variety and in romantic charm. he displays, moreover, a really curious contrast to the poets already mentioned, and to most of the far greater number not mentioned. it is in wolfram first that we come across, in anything like noticeable measure, that mastery of poetical mysticism which is the pride, and justly the pride, of the german muse. gottfried and hartmann are rather practical folk. hartmann has at best a pious and gottfried a profane fancy; of the higher qualities of imagination there is little or nothing in them; and not much in the vast crowd of the minnesingers, from the chief "nightingale" walther downwards. wolfram, himself a minnesinger (indeed the term is loosely applied to all the poets of this time, and may be very properly claimed by gottfried and hartmann, though the former has left no lyric), has left us few but very remarkable _aubades_, in which the commonplace of the morning-song, with its disturbance of lovers, is treated in no commonplace way. but his fame rests on the three epics, _parzival_, _titurel_, and _willehalm_. it is practically agreed that _parzival_ represents the flourishing time, and _willehalm_ the evening, of his work; there is more critical disagreement about the time of composition of _titurel_, which, though it was afterwards continued and worked up by another hand, exists only in fragments, and presents a very curious difference of structure as compared both with _parzival_ (with which in subject it is connected) and with _willehalm_. both these are in octosyllables: _titurel_ is in a singular and far from felicitous stanza, which stands to that of _kudrun_ much as the _kudrun_ stanza does to that of the _nibelungen_. here there are none but double rhymes; and not merely the second half of the fourth, but the second half of the second line "tails out" in the manner formerly described. the consequence is, that while in _kudrun_ it is, as was remarked, difficult to get any swing on the metre, in _titurel_ it is simply impossible; and it has been thought without any improbability that the fragmentary condition of the piece is due to the poet's reasonable discontent with the shackles he had imposed on himself. the substance is good enough, and would have made an interesting chapter in the vast working up of the percevale story which wolfram probably had in his mind. [footnote : complete works. ed. lachmann. berlin, . _parzival und titurel._ vols. ed. bartsch. leipzig, .] [sidenote: willehalm.] _willehalm_, on the other hand, is not only in form but in substance a following of the french, and of no less a french poem than the _battle of aliscans_, which has been so fully dealt with above. it is interesting to compare advocates of the two, and see how german critics usually extol the improvements made by the german poet, while the french sneer at his preachments and waterings-down. but we need say nothing more than that if wolfram's fame rested on _willehalm_, the notice of him here would probably not go beyond a couple of lines. [sidenote: parzival.] _parzival_, however, is a very different matter. it has of late years received adventitious note from the fact of its selection by wagner as a libretto; but it did not need this, and it was the admiration of every fit reader long before the opera appeared. the percevale story, it may be remembered, lies somewhat outside of the main arthurian legend, which, however, had hardly taken full form when wolfram wrote. it has been strongly fought for by the celticists as traceable originally to the welsh legend of peredur; but it is to be observed that neither in this form nor in the english version (which figures among the thornton romances) does the graal make any figure. in the huge poem, made huger by continuators, of chrestien de troyes, percival becomes a graal-seeker; and on the whole it would appear that, as observed before, he in point of time anticipates galahad and the story which works the graal thoroughly into the main arthurian tale. according to wolfram (but this is a romantic commonplace), chrestien was culpably remiss in telling the story, and his deficiencies had to be made up by a certain provençal named kyot. unfortunately there are no traces elsewhere of any such person, or of any version, in provençal or otherwise, between chrestien's and wolfram's. the two, however, stand far enough apart to have admitted of more than one intermediary; or rather no number of intermediaries could really have bridged the chasm, which is one of spirit rather than of matter. in _percevale le gallois_, though the graal exists, and though the adventures are rather more on the outside of the strictly arthurian cycle than usual, we are still in close relations with that cycle, and the general tone and handling are similar (except in so far as chrestien is a better _trouvère_ than most) to those of fifty other poems. in _parzival_ we are translated into another country altogether. arthur appears but seldom, and though the link with the round table is maintained by the appearances of gawain, who as often, though not always, plays to percevale the part of light to serious hero, here almost only, and here not always, are we in among "kenned folk." the graal mountain, montsalvatsch, is even more in fairyland than the "enchanted towers of carbonek"; the magician klingschor is a more shadowy person far than merlin. "cundrie la sorziere diu unsueze und doch diu fiere" is a much more weird personage than morgane or nimue, though she may also be more "unsweet." part of this unfamiliar effect is no doubt due to wolfram's singular fancy for mutilating and torturing his french names, to his admixture of new characters and adventures, and especially to the almost entirely new genealogy which he introduces. in the pedigree, containing nearly seventy names, which will be found at the end of bartsch's edition, not a tithe will be familiar to the reader of the english and french romances; and that reader will generally find those whom he does know provided with new fathers and mothers, daughters and wives. but these would be very small matters if it were not for other differences, not of administration but of spirit. there may have been something too much of the attempt to credit wolfram with anti-dogmatic views, and with a certain protestant preference of simple repentance and amendment to the performance of stated rites and penances. what is unmistakable is the way in which he lifts the story, now by phrase, now by verse effect, now by the indefinable magic of sheer poetic handling, out of ordinary ways into ways that are not ordinary. there may perhaps be allowed to be a certain want of "architectonic" in him. he has not made of parzival and condwiramurs, of gawain and orgeluse, anything like the complete drama which we find (brought out by the genius of malory, but existing before) in the french-english arthurian legend. but any one who knows the origins of that legend from _erec et Énide_ to _durmart le gallois_, and from the _chevalier au lyon_ to the _chevalier as deux espées_, must recognise in him something higher and larger than can be found in any of them, as well as something more human, if even in the best sense more fairy-tale like, than the earlier and more western legends of the graal as we have them in _merlin_ and the other french books. here again, not so much for the form as for the spirit, we find ourselves driven to the word "great"--a great word, and one not to be misused as it so often is. [sidenote: _walther von der vogelweide._] yet it may be applied in a different sense, though without hesitation, to our fourth selected name, walther von der vogelweide,[ ] a name in itself so agreeable that one really has to take care lest it raise an undue prejudice in his favour. perhaps a part of his greatness belongs to him as the chief representative of a class, not, as in wolfram's case, because of individual merit,--a part also to his excellence of form, which is a claim always regarded with doubt and dislike by some, though not all. it is nearly a quarter of a century since the present writer first possessed himself of and first read the delectable volume in which franz pfeiffer opened his series of german classics of the middle ages with this singer; and every subsequent reading, in whole or in part, has only increased his attraction. there are some writers--not many--who seem to defy criticism by a sort of native charm, and of these walther is one. if we listen to some grave persons, it is a childish thing to write a poem, as he does his second _lied_, in stanzas every one of which is mono-rhymed on a different vowel. but as one reads "diu werlt was gelf, röt unde blâ,"[ ] one only prays for more such childishness. is there a better song of may and maidens than "so diu bluomen uz dem grase dringent"? where the very phrase is romance and nature itself, and could never be indulged in by a "classical" poet, who would say (very justly), "flowers grow in beds, not grass; and if in the latter, they ought to be promptly mown and rolled down." how intoxicating, after deserts of iambs, is the dactylic swell of "wol mich der stunde, daz ich sie erkande"! how endearing the drooping cadence of "bin ich dir unmære des enweiz ich niht; ich minne dich"! how small the change which makes a jewel out of a commonplace in "si hat ein _kûssen_ daz ist rot"! [footnote : ed. bartsch. th ed. leipzig, .] [footnote : "diu werlt was gelf, röt unde blâ, grüen, in dem walde und anderswâ kleine vogele sungen dâ. nû schriet aber den nebelkrâ. pfligt s'iht ander varwe? jâ, s'ist worden bleich und übergrâ: des rimpfet sich vil manic brâ." similar stanzas in _e_, _i_, _o_, _u_ follow in order.] but to go through the nearly two hundred pieces of walther's lyric would be here impossible. his _leich_, his only example of that elaborate kind, the most complicated of the early german lyrical forms, is not perhaps his happiest effort; and his _sprüche_, a name given to short lyrical pieces in which the minnesingers particularly delighted, and which correspond pretty nearly, though not exactly, to the older sense of "epigram," seldom, though sometimes, possess the charm of the _lieder_ themselves. but these _lieder_ are, for probable freedom from indebtedness and intrinsic exquisiteness of phrase and rhythm, unsurpassed, perhaps unequalled. to compare walther to petrarch, and to talk of the one being superior or inferior to the other, is to betray hopeless insensibility to the very rudiments of criticism. they are absolutely different,--the one the embodiment of stately form and laboured intellectual effort--of the classical spirit; the other the mouthpiece of the half-inarticulate, all-suggesting music that is at once the very soul and the very inseparable garment of romance. some may like one better, others the other; the more fortunate may enjoy both. but the greatest of all gulfs is the gulf fixed between the classical and the romantic; and few there are, it seems, who can cross it. [sidenote: _personality of the poets._] perhaps something may be expected as to the personality of these poets, a matter which has had too great a place assigned to it in literary history. luckily, unless he delights in unbridled guessing, the historian of mediæval literature is better entitled to abstain from it than any other. but something may perhaps be said of the men whose work has just been discussed, for there are not uninteresting shades of difference between them. in germany, as in france, the _trouvère-jongleur_ class existed; the greater part of the poetry of the twelfth century, including the so-called small epics, _könig rother_ and the rest, is attributed to them, and they were the objects of a good deal of patronage from the innumerable nobles, small and great, of the empire. on the other hand, though some men of consequence were poets, the proportion of these is, on the whole, considerably less than in france proper or in provence. the german noble was not so much literary as a patron of literature, like that landgrave hermann of thuringia, whose court saw the fabulous or semi-fabulous "war of the wartburg," with wolfram von eschenbach and heinrich von ofterdingen as chief champions. indeed this court was the main resort of german poets and minstrels till saint elizabeth of hungary in the next generation proved herself a rather "sair sanct" for literature, which has since returned her good for evil. to return to our four selected poets. gottfried is supposed to have been neither noble, nor even directly attached to a noble household, nor a professional minstrel, but a burgher of the town which gives him his name--indeed a caution is necessary to the effect that the _von_ of these early designations, like the _de_ of their french originals, is by no means, as a rule, a sign of nobility. hartmann von aue, though rather attached to than a member of the noble family of the same name from which he has taken the hero of _der arme heinrich_, seems to have been admitted to knightly society, was a crusader, and appears to have been of somewhat higher rank than gottfried, whom, however, he resembled in this point, that both were evidently men of considerable education. we rise again in status, though probably not in wealth, and certainly not in education, when we come to wolfram von eschenbach. he was of a family of northern bavaria or middle franconia; he bore (for there are diversities on this heraldic point) two axe-blades argent on a field gules, or a bunch of five flowers argent springing from a water-bouget gules; and he is said by witnesses in to have been described on his tombstone as a knight. but he was certainly poor, had not received much education, and he was attached in the usual guest-dependant fashion of the time to the margrave of vohburg (whose wife, elizabeth of bavaria, received his poetical declarations) and to hermann of thuringia. he was a married man, and had a daughter. lastly, walther von der vogelweide appears to have been actually a "working poet," as we may say--a _trouvère_, who sang his own poems as he wandered about, and whose surname was purely a decorative one. he lived, no doubt, by gifts; indeed, the historians are proud to record that a bishop gave him a fur coat precisely on the th of november . he was probably born in austria, lived at vienna with duke frederic of babenberg for some time, and held poetical offices in the households of several other princes, including the emperor frederick ii., who gave him an estate at last. it should be said that there are those who insist that he also was of knightly position, and was vogelweide of that ilk, inasmuch as we find him called "herr," the supposed mark of distinction of a gentleman at the time. such questions are of importance in their general bearing on the question of literature at given dates, not in respect of individual persons. it must be evident that no word which, like "herr," is susceptible of general as well as technical meanings, can be absolutely decisive in such a case, unless we find it in formal documents. also, after frederick's gift walther would have been entitled to it, though he was not before. at any rate, the entirely wandering life, and the constant relationship to different protectors, which are in fact the only things we know about him, are more in accordance with the notion of a professional minstrel than with that of a man who, like wolfram, even if he had no estate and was not independent of patronage, yet had a settled home of his own, and was buried where he was born. [sidenote: _the minnesingers generally._] the introduction of what may be called a representative system into literary history has been here rendered necessary by the fact that the school-resemblance so common in mediæval writers is nowhere more common than among the minnesingers,[ ] and that the latter are extraordinarily numerous, if not also extraordinarily monotonous. one famous collection contains specimens of poets, and even this is not likely to include the whole of those who composed poetry of the kind before minnesong changed (somewhere in the thirteenth century or at the beginning of the fourteenth, but at times and in manners which cannot be very precisely fixed) into meistersong. the chief lyric poets before walther were heinrich von veldeke, his contemporary and namesake heinrich von morungen, and reinmar von hagenau, whom gottfried selects as walther's immediate predecessor in "nightingaleship": the chief later ones, neidhart von regenthal, famous for dance-songs; tannhäuser, whose actual work, however, is of a mostly burlesque character, as different as possible from, and perhaps giving rise by very contrast to, the beautiful and terrible legend which connects his name with the venus-berg (though heine has managed in his version to combine the two elements); ulrich von lichtenstein, half an apostle, half a caricaturist of _frauendienst_ on the provençal model; and, finally, frauenlob or heinrich von meissen, who wrote at the end of our period and the beginning of the next for nearly fifty years, and may be said to be the link between minnesong and meistersong. [footnote : the standard edition or _corpus_ of their work is that of von der hagen, in three large vols. leipzig, .] so also in the other departments of poetry, harbingers, contemporaries, and continuators, some of whom have been mentioned, most of whom it would be impossible to mention, group round the greater masters, and as in france, so here, the departments themselves branch out in an almost bewildering manner. germany, as may be supposed, had its full share of that "poetry of information" which constitutes so large a part of mediæval verse, though here even more than elsewhere such verse is rarely, except by courtesy, poetry. families of later handlings, both of the folk epic and the literary romances, exist, such as the _rosengarten_, the _horny siegfried_, and the story of wolfdietrich in the one class; _wigalois_ and _wigamur_, and a whole menagerie of poems deriving from the _chevalier au lyon_, on the other. with the general growth, half epidemic, half directly borrowed from france, of abstraction and allegory (_vide_ next chapter), satire made its way, and historians generally dwell on the "frau welt" of konrad von wurzburg in the middle of the thirteenth century, in which wirent von grafenburg (a well-known poet among the literary school, the author of _wigalois_) is brought face to face with an incarnation of the world and its vanity. volumes on volumes of moral poetry date from the thirteenth century, and culminate in the somewhat well-known _renner_[ ] of hugo von trimberg, dating from the very last year of our period: perhaps the most noteworthy is the _bescheidenheit_ of freidank, a crusader _trouvère_ who accompanied frederick ii. to the east. but in all this germany is only following the general habit of the age, and to a great extent copying directly. even in those greater writers who have been here noticed there is, as we have seen, not a little imitation; but the national and individual peculiarities more than excuse this. the national epics, with the _nibelungenlied_ at their head, the arthurian stories transformed, of which in different ways _tristan_ and _parzival_, but especially the latter, are the chief, and the minnesong,--these are the great contributions of germany during the period, and they are great indeed. [footnote : on this see the last passage, except the conclusion on _reynard the fox_, of carlyle's essay on "early german literature" noted above. of the great romances, as distinguished from the _nibelungen_, carlyle did not know much, and he was not quite in sympathy either with their writers or with the minnesingers proper. but the life-philosopher of _reynard_ and the _renner_ attracted him.] chapter vii. the 'fox,' the 'rose,' and the minor contributions of france. the predominance of france. the rise of allegory. lyric. the "romance" and the "pastourelle." the "fabliaux." their origin. their licence. their wit. definition and subjects. effect of the "fabliaux" on language. and on narrative. conditions of "fabliau"-writing. the appearance of irony. fables proper. 'reynard the fox.' order of texts. place of origin. the french form. its complications. unity of spirit. the rise of allegory. the satire of 'renart.' the fox himself. his circle. the burial of renart. the 'romance of the rose.' william of lorris and jean de meung. the first part. its capital value. the rose-garden. "danger." "reason." "shame" and "scandal." the later poem. "false-seeming." contrast of the parts. value of both, and charm of the first. marie de france and ruteboeuf. drama. adam de la halle. "robin et marion." the "jeu de la feuillie." comparison of them. early french prose. laws and sermons. villehardouin. william of tyre. joinville. fiction. 'aucassin et nicolette.' [sidenote: _the predominance of france._] the contributions of france to european literature mentioned in the three chapters (ii.-iv.) which deal with the three main sections of romance, great as we have seen them to be, by no means exhausted the debt which literature owes to her during this period. it is indeed not a little curious that the productions of this time, long almost totally ignored in france itself, and even now rather grudgingly acknowledged there, are the only periodic set of productions that justify the claim, so often advanced by frenchmen, that their country is at the head of the literary development of europe. it was not so in the fourteenth century, when not only chaucer in england, but dante, petrarch, and boccaccio in italy, attained literary heights to which none of their french contemporaries even approached. it was not so in the fifteenth, when france, despite villon and others, was the very school of dulness, and even england, with the help of the scottish poets and malory, had a slight advantage over her, while she was far outstripped by italy. it was not so in the sixteenth, when italy hardly yet fell behind, and spain and england far outwent her: nor, according to any just estimate, in the seventeenth. in the eighteenth her pale correctness looks faint enough, not merely beside the massive strength of england, but beside the gathering force of germany: and if she is the equal of the best in the nineteenth, it is at the very most a bare equality. but in the twelfth and thirteenth france, if not paris, was in reality the eye and brain of europe, the place of origin of almost every literary form, the place of finishing and polishing, even for those forms which she did not originate. she not merely taught, she wrought--and wrought consummately. she revived and transformed the fable; perfected, if she did not invent, the beast-epic; brought the short prose tale to an exquisite completeness; enlarged, suppled, chequered, the somewhat stiff and monotonous forms of provençal lyric into myriad-noted variety; devised the prose-memoir, and left capital examples of it; made attempts at the prose history; ventured upon much and performed no little in the vernacular drama; besides the vast performance, sometimes inspired from elsewhere but never as literature copied, which we have already seen, in her fostering if not mothering of romance. when a learned and enthusiastic icelander speaks of his patrimony in letters as "a native literature which, in originality, richness, historical and artistic worth, stands unrivalled in modern europe," we can admire the patriot but must shake our heads at the critic. for by dr vigfusson's own confession the strength of icelandic literature consists in the sagas, and the sagas are the product of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. at that very time france, besides the _chansons de geste_--as native, as original, as the sagas, and if less rich, far more artistic in form--france has to show the great romances proper, which iceland herself, like all the world, copied, a lyric of wonderful charm and abundance, the vast comic wealth of the _fabliaux_, and the _fox_-epic, prose not merely of laws and homilies and rudimentary educational subjects, but of every variety, drama, history, philosophy, allegory, dream. [sidenote: _the rise of allegory._] to give an account of these various things in great detail would not merely be impossible here, but would injure the scheme and thwart the purpose of this history. we must survey them in the gross, or with a few examples--showing the lessons taught and the results achieved, from the lyric, which was probably the earliest, to the drama and the prose story, which were pretty certainly the latest of the french experiments. but we must give largest space to the singular growth of allegory. this, to some extent in the beast-epic, to a far greater in one of the most epoch-making of european books, the _romance of the rose_, set a fashion in europe which had hardly passed away in three hundred years, and which, latterly rather for the worse, but in the earlier date not a little for the better, coloured not merely the work directly composed in imitation of the great originals, but all literary stuff of every kind, from lyric to drama, and from sermons to prose tales. [sidenote: _lyric._] it has been said elsewhere that the shaping of a prosody suitable for lyric was the great debt which europe owes to the language of provence. and this is not at all inconsistent with the undoubted critical fact that in a _corpus lyricorum_ the best songs of the northern tongues would undoubtedly rank higher, according to all sound canons of poetical criticism, than the best lyrics of the southern. for, as it happens, we have lyrics in at least two most vigorous northern tongues before they had gone to school to southern prosody, and we can see at once the defects in them. the scanty remains of anglo-saxon lyric and the more copious remains of icelandic display, with no little power and pathos, and plenty of ill-organised "cry," an almost total lack of ability to sing. every now and then their natural genius enables them to hit, clumsily and laboriously, on something--the refrain of the _complaint of deor_, the stepped stanzas of the _lesson of loddfafni_--resembling the more accomplished methods of more educated and long-descended literatures. but the poets are always in a robinson crusoe condition, and worse: for robinson had at least seen the tools and utensils he needed, if he did not know how to make them. the scôps and scalds were groping for the very pattern of the tools themselves. the _langue d'oc_, first of all vernacular tongues, borrowed from latin, as latin had borrowed from greek, such of the practical outcomes of the laws of lyric harmony in aryan speech as were suitable to itself; and passed the lesson on to the _trouvères_ of the north of france--if indeed these did not work out the transfer for themselves almost independently. and as there was much more northern admixture, and in particular a less tyrannous softness of vowel-ending in the _langue d'oïl_, this second stage saw a great increase of suppleness, a great emancipation from monotony, a wonderful freshness and wealth of colour and form. it has been said, and i see no reason to alter the saying, that the french tongue in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries was actually better suited for lyrical poetry, and did actually produce lyrical poetry, as far as prosody is concerned, of a fresher, freer, more spontaneous kind, from the twelfth century to the beginning of the fifteenth than has ever been the case since.[ ] [footnote : this is not inconsistent with allowing that no single french lyric poet is the equal of walther von der vogelweide, and that the exercises of all are hampered by the lack--after the earliest examples--of trisyllabic metres.] m. alfred jeanroy has written a learned and extensive monograph on _les origines de la poesie lyrique en france_, which with m. gaston raynaud's _bibliographie des chansonniers français_, and his collection of _motets_ of our present period, is indispensable to the thorough student of the subject.[ ] but for general literary purposes the two classics of the matter are, and are long likely to be, the charming _romancero français_[ ] which m. paulin paris published in the very dawn of the study of mediæval literature in france, and the admirable _romanzen und pastourellen_[ ] which herr karl bartsch collected and issued a quarter of a century ago. here as elsewhere the piecemeal system of publication which has been the bane of the whole subject is to be regretted, for with a little effort and a little division of labour the entire _corpus_ of french lyric from the tenth to the fourteenth century might have been easily set before the public. but the two volumes above mentioned will enable the reader to judge its general characteristics with pretty absolute sureness; and if he desires to supplement them with the work of a single author, that of thibaut of champagne or navarre,[ ] which is easily accessible, will form an excellent third. [footnote : m. jeanroy, as is also the case with other writers of monographs mentioned in this chapter, has contributed to m. petit de julleville's _histoire_ (_v._ p. ) on his subject.] [footnote : paris, .] [footnote : leipzig, .] [footnote : rheims, .] [sidenote: _the_ romance _and the_ pastourelle.] in this northern lyric--that is to say, northern as compared with provençal[ ]--we find all or almost all the artificial forms which are characteristic of provençal itself, some of them no doubt rather sisters than daughters of their analogues in the _langue d'oc_. indeed, at the end of our present period, and still more later, the ingenuity of the _trouvères_ seems to have pushed the strictly formal, strictly artificial part of the poetry of the troubadours to almost its furthest possible limits in varieties of _triolet_ and _rondeau_, _ballade_ and _chant royal_. but the _romances_ and the _pastourelles_ stand apart from these, and both are recognised by authorities among the troubadours themselves as specially northern forms. the differentia of each is in subject rather than in form, the "romance" in this sense being a short love-story, with little more than a single incident in it sometimes, but still always possessing an incident; the _pastourelle_, a special variety of love-story of the kind so curiously popular in all mediæval languages, and so curiously alien from modern experience, where a passing knight sees a damsel of low degree, and woos her at once, with or without success, or where two personages of the shepherd kind sue and are sued with evil hap or good. in other words, the "romance" is supremely presented in english, and in the much-abused fifteenth century, by the _nut-browne maid_, the "pastourelle" by henryson's _robene and makyne_. perhaps there is nothing quite so good as either in the french originals of both; certainly there is nothing like the union of metrical felicity, romantic conduct, sweet but not mawkish sentiment, and never-flagging interest in the anonymous masterpiece which the ever-blessed arnold preserved for us in his _chronicle_. but the diffused merits--the so-to-speak "class-merits"--of the poems in general are very high indeed: and when the best of the other lyrics--_aubades_, _débats_, and what not--are joined to them, they supply the materials of an anthology of hardly surpassed interest, as well for the bubbling music of their refrains and the trill of their metre, as for the fresh mirth and joy of living in their matter. the "german paste in our composition," as another arnold had it, and not only that, may make us prefer the german examples; but it must never be forgotten that but for these it is at least not improbable that those would never have existed. [footnote : this for convenience' sake is postponed to chap. viii.] to select capital examples from so large a body is no easy task. one or two, indeed, have "made fortune," the most famous of them being the great _aubade_ (chief among its kind, as "en un vergier sotz folha d'albespi" is among the provençal albas), which begins-- "gaite de la tor, gardez entor les murs, si deus vos voie;"[ ] and where the _gaite_ (watcher) answers (like a cornish watcher of the pilchards)-- "hu! et hu! et hu! et hu!" [footnote : _romancero français_, p. .] then there is the group, among the oldest and the best of all, assigned to audefroy le bâtard--a most delectable garland, which tells how the loves of gerard and fair isabel are delayed (with the refrain "et joie atent gerars"), and how the joy comes at last; of "belle ydoine" and her at first ill-starred passion for "li cuens [the count] garsiles"; of béatrix and guy; of argentine, whose husband better loved another; of guy the second, who _aima emmelot de foi_--all charming pieces of early verse. and then there are hundreds of others, assigned or anonymous, in every tone, from the rather unreasonable request of the lady who demands-- "por coi me bast mes maris? laysette!" immediately answering her own question by confessing that he has found her embracing her lover, and threatening further justification; through the less impudent but still not exactly correct morality of "henri and aiglentine," to the blameless loves of roland and "bele erembors" and the _moniage_ of "bele doette" after her lover's death, with the words-- "tant mar i fustes, cuens do, frans de nature, por vostre aor vestrai je la haire ne sur mon cors n'arai pelice vaire." this conduct differs sufficiently from that of the unnamed heroine of another song, who in the sweetest and smoothest of verse bids her husband never to mind if she stays with her lover that night, for the night is very short, and he, the husband, shall have her back to-morrow! and besides the morality, perverse or touching, the quaint manners, the charming unusual names or forms of names, oriour, oriolanz, ysabiaus, aigline,--there are delightful fancies, borrowed often since:-- "li rossignox est mon père, qui chante sur la ramée el plus haut boscage; la seraine ele est ma mère, qui chante en la mer salée el plus haut rivage." something in the very sound of the language keeps for us the freshness of the imagery--the sweet-briar and the hawthorn, the mavis and the oriole--which has so long become _publica materies_. it is not withered and hackneyed by time and tongues as, save when genius touches it, it is now. the dew is still on all of it; and, thanks to the dead language, the dead manners, it will always be on. all is just near enough to us for it to be enjoyed, as we cannot enjoy antiquity or the east; and yet the "wall of glass" which seven centuries interpose, while hiding nothing, keeps all intact, unhackneyed, strange, _fresh_. there may be better poetry in the world than these twelfth and thirteenth century french lyrics: there is certainly higher, grander, more respectable. but i doubt whether there is any sweeter or, in a certain sense, more poignant. the nightingale and the mermaid were justified of their children. it is little wonder that all europe soon tried to imitate notes so charming, and in some cases, though other languages were far behind french in development, tried successfully. our own "alison,"[ ] the first note of true english lyric, is a "romance" of the most genuine kind; the songs of walther von der vogelweide, of which we have also spoken, though they may rise higher, yet owe their french originals service, hold of them, would either never or much later have come into existence but for them. an astonishing privilege for a single nation to have enjoyed, if only for a short time; a privilege almost more astonishing in its reception than even in itself. france could point to the _chansons_ and to the _romances_, to audefroy le bastard and chrestien of troyes, to villehardouin and thibaut, to william of lorris and john of meung, to the _fabliaux_ writers and the cyclists of _renart_, in justification of her claims. she shut them up; she forgot them; she sneered at them whenever they were remembered; and she appointed as her attorneys in the court of parnassus nicolas boileau-despréaux and françois arouet de voltaire! [footnote : see p. .] [sidenote: _the_ fabliaux.] no more curious contrast, but also none which could more clearly show the enormous vigour and the unique variety of the french genius at this time, can be imagined than that which is presented by the next division to which we come--the division occupied by the celebrated poems, or at least verse-compositions, known as _fabliaux_. these, for reasons into which it is perhaps better not to inquire too closely, have been longer and better known than any other division of old french poetry. they were first collected and published a hundred and forty years ago by barbazan; they were much commented on by le grand d'aussy in the last years of the last century, were again published in the earlier years of the present by méon, and recently have been re-collected, divested of some companions not strictly of their kind, and published in an edition desirable in every respect by m. anatole de montaiglon and m. gaston raynaud.[ ] since this collection m. bédier has executed a monograph upon them which stands to the subject much as that of m. jeanroy does to the lyrics. but a great deal of it is occupied by speculations, more interesting to the folk-lorist than to the student of literature, as to the origin of the stories themselves. this, though a question of apparently inexhaustible attraction to some people, must not occupy us very long here. it shall be enough to say that many of these subjects are hardy perennials which meet us in all literatures, and the existence of which is more rationally to be accounted for by the supposition of a certain common form of story, resulting partly from the conditions of human life and character, partly from the conformation of the human intellect, than by supposing deliberate transmission and copying from one nation to another. for this latter explanation is one of those which, as has been said, only push ignorance further back; and in fact, leave us at the last with no alternative except that which we might have adopted at the first. [footnote : vols. paris, - .] [sidenote: _their origin._] that, however, some assistance may have been given to the general tendency to produce the same forms by the literary knowledge of earlier, especially eastern, collections of tales is no extravagant supposition, and is helped by the undoubted fact that actual translations of such collections--_dolopathos_, the _seven sages of rome_,[ ] and so forth--are found early in french, and chiefly at second-hand from the french in other languages. but the general tendency of mankind, reinforced and organised by a certain specially literary faculty and adaptability in the french genius, is on the whole sufficient to account for the _fabliau_. [footnote : for these see the texts and editorial matter of _dolopathos_, ed. brunet and de montaiglon (bibliothèque elzévirienne), paris, ; and of _le roman des sept sages_, ed. g. paris (_soc. des anc. textes_), paris, . the english _seven sages_ (in weber, vol. iii.) has been thought to be of the thirteenth century. the _gesta romanorum_ in any of its numerous forms is probably later.] [sidenote: _their licence._] it presents, as we have said, the most striking and singular contrast to the lyric poems which we have just noticed. the technical morality of these is extremely accommodating, indeed (in its conventional and normal form) very low. but it is redeemed by an exquisite grace and charm, by true passion, and also by a great decency and accomplishment of actual diction. coarse language--very rare in the romances, though there are a few examples of it--is rarer still in the elaborate formal lyric of the twelfth and thirteenth century in french. in the _fabliaux_, which are only a very little later, and which seem not to have been a favourite form of composition very long after the fourteenth century had reached its prime, coarseness of diction, though not quite invariable, is the rule. not merely are the subjects, in the majority of cases, distinctly "broad," but the treatment of them is broader still. in a few instances it is very hard to discern any wit at all, except a kind similar to that known much later in england as "selling bargains"; and almost everywhere the words which, according to a famous classical french tag, _bravent l'honnêteté_, in latin, the use of which a roman poet has vaunted as _romana simplicitas_, and which for some centuries have been left alone by regular literature in all european languages till very recently,--appear to be introduced on purpose as part of the game. in fact, it is in the _fabliau_ that the characteristic which mr matthew arnold selected as the opprobrium of the french in life and literature practically makes its first appearance. and though the "lubricity" of these poems is free from some ugly features which appear after the italian wars of the late fifteenth century, it has never been more frankly destitute of shamefacedness. [sidenote: _their wit._] it would, however, be extremely unfair to let it be supposed that the _fabliaux_ contain nothing but obscenity, or that they can offer attractions to no one save those whom obscenity attracts. as in those famous english followings of them, where chaucer considerably reduced the licence of language, and still more considerably increased the dose of wit--the reeve's and miller's sections of the _canterbury tales_--the lack of decency is very often accompanied by no lack of sense. and a certain proportion, including some of the very best in a literary point of view, are not exposed to the charge of any impropriety either of language or of subject. [sidenote: _definition and subjects._] there is, indeed, no special reason why the _fabliau_ should be "improper" (except for the greater ease of getting a laugh) according to its definition, which is capable of being drawn rather more sharply than is always the case with literary kinds. it is a short tale in verse--almost invariably octosyllabic couplets--dealing, for the most part from the comic point of view, with incidents of ordinary life. this naturally admits of the widest possible diversity of subject: indeed it is only by sticking to the condition of "ordinary life" that the _fabliau_ can be differentiated from the short romance on one side and the allegoric beast-fable on the other. even as it is, its most recent editors have admitted among their examples not a few which are simple _jeux d'esprit_ on the things of humanity, and others which are in effect short romances and nothing else. of these last is the best known of all the non-rabelaisian _fabliaux_, "le vair palefroi," which has been englished by leigh hunt and shortly paraphrased by peacock, while examples of the former may be found without turning very long over even one of m. m. de montaiglon and raynaud's pretty and learned volumes. a very large proportion, as might be expected, draw their comic interest from satire on priests, on women, or on both together; and this very general character of the _fabliaux_ (which, it must be remembered, were performed or recited by the very same _jongleurs_ who conducted the publication of the _chansons de geste_ and the romances) was no doubt partly the result and partly the cause of the persistent dislike and disfavour with which the church regarded the profession of jonglerie. it is, indeed, from the _fabliaux_ themselves that we learn much of what we know about the _jongleurs_; and one of not the least amusing[ ] deals with the half-clumsy, half-satiric boasts of two members of the order, who misquote the titles of their _répertoire_, make by accident or intention ironic comments on its contents, and in short do _not_ magnify their office in a very modern spirit of humorous writing. [footnote : "les deux bordeors [bourders, jesters] ribaux."] every now and then, too, we find, in the half-random and wholly scurrile slander of womankind, a touch of real humour, of the humour that has feeling behind it, as here, where a sufficiently ribald variation on the theme of the "ephesian matron" ends-- "por ce teng-je celui à fol qui trop met en fame sa cure; fame est de trop foible nature, de noient rit, de noient pleure, fame aime et het en trop poi d'eure: tost est ses talenz remuez, qui fame croit, si est desvès." so too, again, in "la housse partie," a piece which perhaps ranks next to the "vair palefroi" in general estimation, there is neither purely romantic interest, as in the palfrey, nor the interest of "the pity of it," as in the piece just quoted; but an ethical purpose, showing out of the mouth of babes and sucklings the danger of filial ingratitude. but, as a general rule, there is little that is serious in these frequently graceless but generally amusing compositions. there is a curious variety about them, and incidentally a crowd of lively touches of common life. the fisherman of the seine starts for his day's work or sport with oar and tackle; the smith plies the forge; the bath plays a considerable part in the stories, and we learn that it was not an unknown habit to eat when bathing, which seems to be an unwise attempt to double luxuries. a short sketch of mediæval catering might be got out of the _fabliaux_, where figure not merely the usual dainties--capons, partridges, pies well peppered--but eels salted, dried, and then roasted, or more probably grilled, as we grill kippered salmon. here we have a somewhat less grimy original--perhaps it was actually the original--of skelton's "tunning of elinor rumming"; and in many places other patterns, the later reproductions of which are well known to readers of boccaccio and the _cent nouvelles nouvelles_ of la fontaine and his followers. title after title--"du prestre crucifié," "du prestre et d'alison," &c.--tells us that the clergy are going to be lampooned. sometimes, where the fun is no worse than childish, it is childish enough--plays on words, jokes on english mispronunciation of french, and so forth. but it very seldom, though it is sometimes intolerably nasty, approaches the sheer drivel which appears in some english would-be comic writing of the middle ages, or the very early renaissance--such, for instance, as most of that in the prose "pleasant historie of thomas of reading,"[ ] which the late mr thoms was pleased to call a romance. yet the actual stuff of "thomas of reading" is very much of the nature of the _fabliaux_ (except of course the tragical part, which happens to be the only good part), and so the difference of the handling is noteworthy. so it is also in english verse-work of the kind--the "hunting of the hare"[ ] and the like--to take examples necessarily a little later than our time. [footnote : _early english prose romances_ ( d ed., london, ), i. . the text of this is only deloney's and sixteenth century, but much of the matter must be far earlier.] [footnote : weber, iii. .] [sidenote: _effect of the_ fabliaux _on language._] for in these curious compositions the _esprit gaulois_ found itself completely at home; indeed some have held that here it hit upon its most characteristic and peculiar development. the wonderful faculty for expression--for giving, if not the supreme, yet the adequate and technically masterly dress to any kind of literary production--which has been the note of french literature throughout, and which was never more its note than at this time, enabled the language, as we have seen and shall see, to keep as by an easy sculling movement far ahead of all its competitors. but in other departments, with one or two exceptions, the union of temper and craft, of inspiration and execution, was not quite perfect. here there was no misalliance. as the language lost the rougher, fresher music which gives such peculiar attraction to the _chansons_, as it disused itself to the varied trills, the half-inarticulate warblings which constitute the charm of the lyrics, so it acquired the precision, the flexibility, the _netteté_, which satiric treatment of the follies and evil chances of life, the oddities of manners and morals, require. it became bright, if a little hard, easy, if a little undistinguished, capable of slyness, of innuendo, of "malice," but not quite so capable as it had been of the finer and vaguer suggestions and aspirations. [sidenote: _and on narrative._] above all, these _fabliaux_ served as an exercise-ground for the practice in which french was to become almost if not quite supreme, the practice of narrative. in the longer romances, which for a century or a century and a half preceded the _fabliaux_, the art of narration, as has been more than once noticed, was little attended to, and indeed had little scope. the _chansons_ had a common form, or something very like it, which almost dispensed the _trouvère_ from devoting much pains to the individual conduct of the story. the most abrupt transitions were accustomed, indeed expected; minor incidents received very little attention; the incessant fighting secured the attention of the probable hearers by itself; the more grandiose and striking incidents--the crowning of prince louis and the indignation of william at his sister's ingratitude, for instance--were not "engineered" or led up to in any way, but left to act in mass and by assault. [sidenote: _conditions of_ fabliau-_writing._] the smaller range and more delicate--however indelicate--argument of the _fabliaux_ not only invited but almost necessitated a different kind of handling. the story had to draw to point in (on an average) two or three hundred lines at most--there are _fabliaux_ of a thousand lines, and _fabliaux_ of thirty or forty, but the average is as just stated. the incidents had to be adjusted for best effect, neither too many nor too few. the treatment had to be mainly provocative--an appeal in some cases by very coarse means indeed to very coarse nerves, in others by finer devices addressed to senses more tickle o' the sere. and so grew up that unsurpassed and hardly matched product the french short story, where, if it is in perfection, hardly a word is thrown away, and not a word missed that is really wanted. [sidenote: _the appearance of irony._] the great means for doing this in literature is irony; and irony appears in the _fabliaux_ as it had hardly done since lucian. take, for instance, this opening of a piece, the rest of which is at least as irreverent, considerably less quotable, but not much less pointed:-- "quant dieus ot estoré lo monde, si con il est à la reonde, et quanque il convit dedans, trois ordres establir de genz, et fist el siecle demoranz chevalers, clers et laboranz. les chevalers toz asena as terres, et as clers dona les aumosnes et les dimages; puis asena les laborages as laborenz, por laborer. qant ce ot fet, sanz demeler d'iluec parti, et s'en ala." what two orders were left, and how the difficulty of there being nothing left for them was got over, may be found by the curious in the seventy-sixth _fabliau_ of the third volume of the collection so often quoted. but the citation given will show that there is nothing surprising in the eighteenth-century history, literary or poetical, of a country which could produce such a piece, certainly not later than the thirteenth. even voltaire could not put the thing more neatly or with a more complete freedom from superfluous words. [sidenote: _fables proper._] it will doubtless have been observed that the _fabliau_--though the word is simply _fabula_ in one of its regular romance metamorphoses, and though the method is sufficiently Æsopic--is not a "fable" in the sense more especially assigned to the term. yet the mediæval languages, especially french and latin, were by no means destitute of fables properly so called. on the contrary, it would appear that it was precisely during our present period that the rather meagre Æsopisings of phædrus and babrius were expanded into the fuller collection of beast-stories which exists in various forms, the chief of them being the _ysopet_ (the name generally given to the class in romance) of _marie de france_, the somewhat later _lyoner ysopet_ (as its editor, dr förster, calls it), and the original of this latter, the latin elegiacs of the so-called _anonymus neveleti_.[ ] the collection of marie is interesting, at least, because of the author, whose more famous lais, composed, it would seem, at the court of henry iii. of england about the meeting of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and forming a sort of offshoot less of the substance of the arthurian story than of its spirit, are among the most delightful relics of mediæval poetry. but the lyons book perhaps exhibits more of the characteristic which, evident enough in the _fabliau_ proper, discovers, after passing as by a channel through the beast-fable, its fullest and most famous form in the world-renowned _romance of reynard the fox_, one of the capital works of the middle ages, and with the sister but contrasted _romance of the rose_, as much the distinguishing literary product of the thirteenth century as the romances proper--carlovingian, arthurian, and classical--are of the twelfth. [footnote : works of marie; ed. roquefort, paris, ; or ed. warnke, halle, . the _lyoner ysopet_, with the _anonymus_; ed. förster, heilbronn, .] [sidenote: reynard the fox.] not, of course, that the antiquity of the reynard story itself[ ] does not mount far higher than the thirteenth century. no two things are more remarkable as results of that comparative and simultaneous study of literature, to which this series hopes to give some little assistance, than the way in which, on the one hand, a hundred years seem to be in the middle ages but a day, in the growth of certain kinds, and on the other a day sometimes appears to do the work of a hundred years. we have seen how in the last two or three decades of the twelfth century the great arthurian legend seems suddenly to fill the whole literary scene, after being previously but a meagre chronicler's record or invention. the growth of the reynard story, though to some extent contemporaneous, was slower; but it was really the older of the two. before the middle of this century, as we have seen, there was really no arthurian story worthy the name; it would seem that by that time the reynard legend had already taken not full but definite form in latin, and there is no reasonable reason for scepticism as to its existence in vernacular tradition, though perhaps not in vernacular writing, for many years, perhaps for more than one century, earlier. [footnote : _roman du_ (should be _de_) _renart_: ed. méon and chabaille, vols., paris, - ; ed. martin, vols. text and critical observations, strasburg, - . _reincke de vos_, ed. prien, halle, , with a valuable bibliography. _reinaert_, ed. martin, paderborn, . _reinardus vulpes_, ed. mone, stuttgart, . _reinhart fuchs_, ed. grimm, berlin, . on the _story_ there is perhaps nothing better than carlyle, as quoted _supra_.] [sidenote: _order of texts._] it was not to be expected but that so strange, so interesting, and so universally popular a story as that of king noble and his not always loving subjects, should have been made, as usual, the battle-ground of literary fancy and of that general tendency of mankind to ferocity, which, unluckily, the study of _belles lettres_ does not seem very appreciably to soften. assisted by the usual fallacy of antedating mss. in the early days of palæographic study, and by their prepossessions as germans, some early students of the reynard story made out much too exclusive and too early claims, as to possession by right of invention, for the country in which reynard has no doubt, for the last four centuries or so, been much more of a really popular hero than anywhere else. investigation and comparison, however, have had more healing effects here than in other cases; and since the acknowledgment of the fact that the very early middle high german version of henry the glichezare, itself of the end of the twelfth century, is a translation from the french, there has not been much serious dispute about the order of the reynard romances as we actually have them. that is to say, if the latin _isengrimus_--the oldest _reinardus vulpes_--of or thereabouts is actually the oldest _text_, the older branches of the french _renart_ pretty certainly come next, with the high german following a little later, and the low german _reincke de vos_ and the flemish _reinaert_ a little later still. the southern romance nations do not seem--indeed the humour is essentially northern--to have adopted reynard with as much enthusiasm as they showed towards the romances; and our english forms were undoubtedly late adaptations from foreign originals. [sidenote: _place of origin._] if, however, this account of the texts may be said to be fairly settled, the same cannot of course be said as to the origin of the story. here there are still champions of the german claim, whose number is increased by those who stickle for a definite "low" german origin. some french patriots, with a stronger case than they generally have, still maintain the story to be purely french in inception. i have not myself seen any reason to change the opinion i formed some fifteen years ago, to the effect that it seems likely that the original language of the epic is french, but french of a walloon or picard dialect, and that it was written somewhere between the seine and the rhine. the character and accomplishment of the story, however, are matters of much more purely literary interest than the rather barren question of the probable--it is not likely that it will ever be the proved--date or place of origin of this famous thing. the fable in general, and the beast-fable in particular, are among the very oldest and most universal of the known forms of literature. a fresh and special development of it might have taken place in any country at any time. it did, as a matter of fact, take place somewhere about the twelfth century or earlier, and somewhere in the central part of the northern coast district of the old frankish empire. [sidenote: _the french form._] as usual with mediæval work, when it once took hold on the imagination of writers and hearers, the bulk is very great, especially in the french forms, which, taking them altogether, cannot fall much short of a hundred thousand lines. this total, however, includes developments--_le couronnement renart_, _renart le nouvel_, and, later than our present period, a huge and still not very well-known thing called _renart le contrefait_, which are distinct additions to the first conception of the story. yet even that first conception is not a story in the single sense. its thirty thousand lines or thereabouts are divided into a considerable number of what are called _branches_, attributed to authors sometimes anonymous, sometimes named, but never, except in the one case of _renart le bestourné_, known.[ ] and it is always difficult and sometimes impossible to determine in what relation these branches stand to the main trunk, or which of them _is_ the main trunk. the two editors of the _roman_, méon and herr martin, arrange them in different orders; and i do not think it would be in the least difficult to make out a good case for an order, or even a large number of orders, different still.[ ] [footnote : this, which is not so much a branch as an independent _fabliau_, is attributed to ruteboeuf, _v. infra_.] [footnote : the teutonic versions are consolidated into a more continuous story. but of the oldest high german version, that of the glichezare, we have but part, and _reincke de vos_ does not reach seven thousand verses. the french forms are therefore certainly to be preferred.] by comparison, however, with the versions in other languages, it seems not very doubtful that the complaint of isengrim the wolf as to the outrages committed by reynard on the complainant's personal comfort, and the honour of hersent his wife--a complaint laid formally before king noble the lion--forms, so far as any single thing can be said to form it, the basis and beginning of the reynard story. the multiplication of complaints by other beasts, the sufferings inflicted by reynard on the messengers sent to summon him to court, and his escapes, by mixture of fraud and force, when he is no longer able to avoid putting in an appearance, supply the natural continuation. [sidenote: _its complications._] but from this, at least in the french versions, the branches diverge, cross, and repeat or contradict each other with an altogether bewildering freedom. sometimes, for long passages together, as in the interesting fytte, "how reynard hid himself among the skins,"[ ] the author seems to forget the general purpose altogether, and to devote himself to something quite different--in this case the description of the daily life and pursuits of a thirteenth-century sportsman of easy means. often the connection with the general story is kept only by the introduction of the most obvious and perfunctory devices--an intrigue with dame hersent, a passing trick played on isengrim, and so forth. [footnote : méon, iii. ; martin, ii. .] [sidenote: _unity of spirit._] [sidenote: _the rise of allegory._] nevertheless the whole is knit together, to a degree altogether unusual in a work of such magnitude, due to many different hands, by an extraordinary unity of tone and temper. this tone and this temper are to some extent conditioned by the rise of allegory, the great feature, in succession to the outburst of romance, of our present period. we do not find in the original _renart_ branches the abstracting of qualities and the personification of abstractions which appear in later developments, and which are due to the popularity of the _romance of the rose_, if it be not more strictly correct to say that the popularity of the _romance of the rose_ was due to the taste for allegory. jacquemart giélée, the author of _renart le nouvel_, might personify _renardie_ and work his beast-personages into knights of tourney; the clerk of troyes, who later wrote _renart le contrefait_, might weave a sort of encyclopædia into his piece. but the authors of the "ancien renart" knew better. with rare lapses, they exhibit wonderful art in keeping their characters beasts, while assigning to them human arts; or rather, to put the matter with more correctness, they pass over the not strictly beast-like performances of renart and the others with such entire unconcern, with such a perfect freedom from tedious after-thought of explanation, that no sense of incongruity occurs. the illustrations of méon's _renart_, which show us the fox painfully clasping in his forelegs a stick four times his own length, show the inferiority of the nineteenth century. renart may beat _le vilain_ (everybody beats the poor _vilain_) as hard as he likes in the old french text; it comes all naturally. a neat copper-plate engraving, in the best style of sixty or seventy years ago, awakes distrust. [sidenote: _the satire of_ renart.] the general fable is so familiar that not much need be said about it. but it is, i think, not unfair to say that the german and flemish versions, from the latter of which caxton's and all later english forms seem to be copied, are, if better adjusted to a continuous story, less saturated with the quintessence of satiric criticism of life than the french _renart_. the fault of excessive coarseness of thought and expression, which has been commented on in the _fabliaux_, recurs here to the fullest extent; but it is atoned for and sweetened by an even greater measure of irony. as to the definite purposes of this irony it would not be well to be too sure. the passage quoted on a former page will show with what completely fearless satire the _trouvères_ treated church and state, god and man. it is certain that they had no love of any kind for the clergy, who were not merely their rivals but their enemies; and it is not probable they had much for the knightly order, who were their patrons. but it is never in the very least degree safe to conclude, in a mediæval writer, from that satire of abuses, which is so frequent, to the distinct desire of reform or revolution, which is so rare. the satire of the _renart_--and it is all the more delightful--is scarcely in the smallest degree political, is only in an interesting archæological way of the time ecclesiastical or religious; but it is human, perennial, contemptuous of mere time and circumstance, throughout. [sidenote: _the fox himself._] it cannot, no doubt, be called kindly satire--french satire very rarely is. renart, the only hero, though a hero sometimes uncommonly hard bested, is a furred and four-footed jonathan wild. he appears to have a creditable paternal affection for masters rovel, percehaie, and the other cubs; and despite his own extreme licence of conjugal conduct, only one or two branches make dame hermeline, his wife, either false to him or ill-treated by him. in these respects, as in the other that he is scarcely ever outwitted, he has the advantage of jonathan. but otherwise i think our great eighteenth-century _maufès_ was a better fellow than renart, because he was much less purely malignant. i do not think that jonathan often said his prayers; but he probably never went to bed, as reynard did upon the hay-mow, after performing his devotions in a series of elaborate curses upon all his enemies. the fox is so clever that one never dislikes him, and generally admires him; but he is entirely compact of all that is worst, not merely in beast-nature but in humanity. and it is a triumph of the writers that, this being so, we at once can refrain from disliking him, and are not tempted to like him illegitimately. [sidenote: _his circle._] the _trouvères_ did not trouble themselves to work out any complete character among the many whom they grouped round this great personage; but they left none without touches of vivification and verisimilitude. the female beasts--dame fière or orgueilleuse, the lioness, hersent, the she-wolf, hermeline, the vixen, and the rest--are too much tinged with that stock slander of feminine character which was so common in the middle ages. and each is rather too much of a type, a fault which may be also found with their lords. yet all of these--bruin and brichemer, coart and chanticleer, tybert and primaut, hubert and roonel--have the liveliest touches, not merely of the coarsely labelling kind, but of the kind that makes a character alive. and, save as concerns the unfortunate capons and _gelines_ whom renart consumes, so steadily and with such immunity, it cannot be said that their various misfortunes are ever incurred without a valid excuse in poetical justice. isengrim, the chief of them all, is an especial case in point. although he is chief constable, he is just as much of a rascal and a malefactor as renart himself, with the additional crime of stupidity. one is disposed to believe that, if domiciliary visits were made to their various abodes, malpertuis would by no means stand alone as a bad example of a baronial abode. renart is indeed constantly spoken of as noble's "baron." yet it would be a great mistake to take this epic, as it has been sometimes taken, for a protest against baronial suppression. a sense of this, no doubt, counts--as do senses of many other oppressions that are done under the sun. but it is the satire on life as a whole that is uppermost; and that is what makes the poem, or collection of poems, so remarkable. it is hard, coarse, prosaic except for the range and power of its fancy, libellous enough on humanity from behind its stalking-brutes. but it is true, if an exaggeration of the truth; and its constant hugging of the facts of life supplies the strangest possible contrast to the graceful but shadowy land of romance which we have left in former chapters. we all know the burial-scene of launcelot--later, no doubt, in its finest form, but in suggestion and spirit of the time with which we are dealing. let us now consider briefly the burial-scene of renart. [sidenote: _the burial of renart._] when méon, the excellent first editor of the collection, put, as was reason, the branch entitled "la mort renart" last, he was a little troubled by the consideration that several of the beasts whom in former branches renart himself has brought to evil ends reappear and take part in his funeral. but this scarcely argued a sufficient appreciation of the true spirit of the cycle. the beasts, though perfectly lively abstractions, are, after all, abstractions in a way, and you cannot kill an abstraction. nay, the author, with a really grand final touch of the pervading satire which is the key of the whole, gives us to understand at the last that renart (though he has died not once, but twice, in the course of the _fytte_) is not really dead at all, and that when dame hermeline persuades the complaisant ambassadors to report to the lion-king that they have seen the tomb with renart inscribed upon it, the fact was indeed true but the meaning false, inasmuch as it was another renart altogether. indeed the true renart is clearly immortal. nevertheless, as it is his mission, and that of his poets, to satirise all the things of life, so must death also be satirised in his person and with his aid. the branch, though it is probably not a very early one, is of an admirable humour, and an uncompromising truth after a fashion, which makes the elaborate realism and pessimism of some other periods look singularly poor, thin, and conventional. the author, for the keeping of his story, begins by showing the doomed fox more than a little "failed"--the shadow of fate dwelling coldly beforehand on him. he is badly mauled at the opening (though, it is true, he takes vengeance for it) by monks whose hen-roost he is robbing, and when he meets coart the hare, _sur son destrier_, with a _vilain_ whom he has captured (this is a mark of lateness, some of the verisimilitude of the early time having been dropped), he plays him no tricks. nay, when isengrim and he begin to play chess he is completely worsted by his ancient butt, who at last takes, in consequence of an imprudent stake of the penniless fox, a cruel but appropriate vengeance for his former wrongs. renart is comforted to some extent by his old love, queen fière the lioness; but pain, and wounds, and defeat have brought him near death, and he craves a priest. bernard the ass, court-archpriest, is ready, and admonishes the penitent with the most becoming gravity and unction. the confession, as might be expected, is something impudent; and the penitent very frankly stipulates that if he gets well his oath of repentance is not to stand good. but it looks as if he were to be taken at the worse side of his word, and he falls into a swoon which is mistaken for death. the queen laments him with perfect openness; but the excellent noble is a philosophic husband as well as a good king, and sets about the funeral of renart ("jamais si bon baron n'avai," says he) with great earnestness. hermeline and her orphans are fetched from malpertuis, and the widow makes heartrending moan, as does cousin grimbart when the news is brought to him. the vigils of the dead are sung, and all the beasts who have hated renart, and whom he has affronted in his lifetime, assemble in decent mourning and perform the service, with the ceremony of the most well-trained choir. afterwards they "wake" the corpse through the night a little noisily; but on the morrow the obsequies are resumed "in the best and most orgilous manner," with a series of grave-side speeches which read like a designed satire on those common in france at the present day. a considerable part of the good archpriest's own sermon is unfortunately not reproducible in sophisticated times; but every one can appreciate his tender reference to the deceased's prowess in daring all dangers-- "pur avoir vostre ventre plaine, et pour porter à hermeline vostre fame, coc ou geline chapon, ou oie, ou gras oison"-- for, as he observes in a sorrowful parenthesis, "anything was in season if _you_ could only get hold of it." brichemer the stag notes how reynard had induced the monks to observe their vows by making them go to bed late and get up early to watch their fowls. but when bruin the bear has dug his grave, and holy water has been thrown on him, and bruin is just going to shovel the earth--behold! reynard wakes up, catches chanticleer (who is holding the censer) by the neck, and bolts into a thick pleached plantation. still, despite this resurrection, his good day is over, and a levée _en masse_ of the lion's people soon surrounds him, catches him up, and forces him to release chanticleer, who, nothing afraid, challenges him to mortal combat on fair terms, beats him, and leaves him for dead in the lists. and though he manages to pay rohart the raven and his wife (who think to strip his body) in kind, he reaches malpertuis dead-beat; and we feel that even his last shift and the faithful complaisance of grimbart will never leave him quite the same fox again. the defects which distinguish almost all mediæval poetry are no doubt discoverable here. there is some sophistication of the keeping in the episodes of coart and chanticleer, and the termination is almost too audacious in the sort of choice of happy or unhappy ending, triumph or defeat for the hero, which it leaves us. yet this very audacity suits the whole scheme; and the part dealing with the death (or swoon) and burial is assuredly one of the best things of its kind in french, almost one of the best things in or out of it. the contrast between the evident delight of the beasts at getting rid of renart and their punctilious discharge of ceremonial duties, the grave parody of rites and conventions, remind us more of swift or lucian than of any french writer, even rabelais or voltaire. it happened that some ten or twelve years had passed between the time when the present writer had last opened _renart_ (except for mere reference now and then) and the time when he refreshed his memory of it for the purposes of the present volume. it is not always in such cases that the second judgment exactly confirms the first; but here, not merely in the instance of this particular branch but almost throughout, i can honestly say that i put down the _roman de renart_ with even a higher idea of its literary merit than that with which i had taken it up. [sidenote: _the_ romance of the rose.] the second great romance which distinguishes the thirteenth century in france stands, as we may say, to one side of the _roman de renart_ as the _fabliaux_ do to the other side. but, though complex in fewer pieces, the _roman de la rose_[ ] is, like the _roman de renart_, a complex, not a single work; and its two component parts are distinguished from one another by a singular change of tone and temper. it is the later and larger part of the _rose_ which brings it close to _renart_: the smaller and earlier is conceived in a spirit entirely different, though not entirely alien, and one which, reinforcing the satiric drift of the _fabliaux_ and _renart_ itself, influenced almost the entire literary production in _belles lettres_ at least, and sometimes out of them, for more than two centuries throughout europe. [footnote : ed. michel. paris, . one of the younger french scholars, who, under the teaching of m. gaston paris, have taken in hand various sections of mediæval literature, m. langlois, has bestowed much attention on the _rose_, and has produced a monograph on it, _origines et sources du roman de la rose_. paris, .] at no time probably except in the middle ages would jean de meung, who towards the end of the thirteenth century took up the scheme which william of lorris had left unfinished forty years earlier, have thought of continuing the older poem instead of beginning a fresh one for himself. and at no other time probably would any one, choosing to make a continuation, have carried it out by putting such entirely different wine into the same bottle. of william himself little is known, or rather nothing, except that he must have been, as his continuator certainly was, a native of the loire district; so that the _rose_ is a product of central, not, like _renart_, of northern france, and exhibits, especially in the lorris portion, an approximation to provençal spirit and form. the use of personification and abstraction, especially in relation to love-matters, had not been unknown in the troubadour poetry itself and in the northern verse, lyrical and other, which grew up beside or in succession to it. it rose no doubt partly, if not wholly, from the constant habit in sermons and theological treatises of treating the seven deadly sins and other abstractions as entities. every devout or undevout frequenter of the church in those times knew "accidia"[ ] and avarice, anger and pride, as bodily rather than ghostly enemies, furnished with a regular uniform, appearing in recognised circumstances and companies, acting like human beings. and these were by no means the only sacred uses of allegory. [footnote : "sloth" is a rather unhappy substitute for _accidia_ ([greek: akêdeia]), the gloomy and impious despair and indifference to good living and even life, of which sloth itself is but a partial result.] [sidenote: _william of lorris and jean de meung._] when william of lorris, probably at some time in the fourth decade of the thirteenth century, set to work to write the _romance of the rose_, he adjusted this allegorical handling to the purposes of love-poetry with an ingenious intricacy never before attained. it has been the fashion almost ever since the famous romance was rescued from the ignorant and contemptuous oblivion into which it had fallen, to praise jean de meung's part at the expense of that due to william of lorris. but this is hard to justify either on directly æsthetic or on historical principles of criticism. in the first place, there can be no question that, vitally as he changed the spirit, jean de meung was wholly indebted to his predecessor for the form--the form of half-pictorial, half-poetic allegory, which is the great characteristic of the poem, and which gave it the enormous attraction and authority that it so long possessed. in the second place, clever as jean de meung is, and more thoroughly in harmony as he may be with the _esprit gaulois_, his work is on a much lower literary level than that of his predecessor. jean de meung in the latter and larger part of the poem simply stuffs into it stock satire on women, stock learning, stock semi-pagan morality. he is, it is true, tolerably actual; he shares with the _fabliau_-writers and the authors of _renart_ a firm grasp on the perennial rascalities and meannesses of human nature. the negative commendation that he is "no fool" may be very heartily bestowed upon him. but he is a little commonplace and more than a little prosaic. there is amusement in him, but no charm: and where (that is to say, in large spaces) there is no amusement, there is very little left. nor, except for the inappropriate exhibition of learning and the strange misuse of poetical (at least of verse) allegory, can he be said to be eminently characteristic of his own time. his very truth to general nature prevents that; while his literary ability, considerable as it is, is hardly sufficient to clothe his universally true reflections in a universally acceptable form. [sidenote: _the first part._] the first four thousand and odd lines of the romance, on the other hand--for beyond them it is known that the work of william of lorris does not go--contain matter which may seem but little connected with criticism of life, arranged in a form completely out of fashion. but they, beyond all question, contain also the first complete presentation of a scheme, a mode, an atmosphere, which for centuries enchained, because they expressed, the poetical thought of the time, and which, for those who can reach the right point of view, can develop the right organs of appreciation, possess an extraordinary, indeed a unique charm. i should rank this first part of the _roman de la rose_ high among the books which if a man does not appreciate he cannot even distantly understand the middle ages; indeed there is perhaps no single one which on the serious side contains such a master-key to their inmost recesses. [sidenote: _its capital value._] to comprehend a gothic cathedral the _rose_ should be as familiar as the _dies iræ_. for the spirit of it is indeed, though faintly "decadent," even more the mediæval spirit than that of the arthurian legend, precisely for the reason that it is less universal, less of humanity generally, more of this particular phase of humanity. and as it is opposed to, rather than complementary of, the religious side of the matter in one direction, so it opposes and completes the satirical side, of which we have heard so much in this chapter, and the purely fighting and adventurous part, which we have dealt with in others, not excluding by any means in this half-reflective, half-contrasting office, the philosophical side also. yet when men pray and fight, when they sneer and speculate, they are constrained to be very like themselves and each other. they are much freer in their dreams: and the _romance of the rose_, if it has not much else of life, is like it in this way--that it too is a dream. as such it quite honestly holds itself out. the author lays it down, supporting himself with the opinion of another "qui ot nom macrobes," that dreams are quite serious things. at any rate he will tell a dream of his own, a dream which befell him in his twentieth year, a dream wherein was nothing "qui avenu trestout ne soit si com le songes racantoit." and if any one wishes to know how the romance telling this dream shall be called-- "ce est li rommanz de la rose, ou l'ars d'amorz est tote enclose." [sidenote: _the rose-garden._] the poem itself opens with a description of a dewy morn in may, a description then not so hackneyed as, chiefly from this very instance, it afterwards became, and in itself at once "setting," so to speak, the frame of gracious decorative imagery in which the poet works. he "threaded a silver needle" (an odd but not unusual mediæval pastime was sewing stitches in the sleeve) and strolled, _cousant ses manches_, towards a river-bank. then, after bathing his face and seeing the bright gravel flashing through the water, he continued his stroll down-stream, till he saw in front of him a great park (for this translates the mediæval _verger_ much better than "orchard"), on the wall of which were portrayed certain images[ ]--hatred, felony, villainy, covetousness, avarice, envy, sadness, old age, hypocrisy, and poverty. these personages, who strike the allegoric and personifying note of the poem, are described at varying length, the last three being perhaps the best. despite these uninviting figures, the lover (as he is soon called) desires violently to enter the park; but for a long time he can find no way in, till at length dame oyseuse (idleness) admits him at a postern. she is a very attractive damsel herself; and she tells the lover that delight and all his court haunt the park, and that he has had the ugly images made, apparently as skeletons at the feast, to heighten, not to dash, enjoyment. entering, the lover thinks he is in the earthly paradise, and after a time he finds the fair company listening to the singing of dame lyesse (pleasure), with much dancing, music, and entertainment of _jongleurs_ and _jongleresses_ to help pass the time. [footnote : "seven" says the verse chapter-heading, which is a feature of the poem; but the actual text does not mention the number, and it will be seen that there were in fact _ten_. the author of the headings was no doubt thinking of the seven deadly sins.] courtesy asks him to join in the _karole_ (dance), and he does so, giving full description of her, of lyesse, of delight, and of the god of love himself, with his bow-bearer sweet-glances, who carries in each hand five arrows--in the right beauty, simpleness, frankness, companionship, fair-seeming; in the left pride, villainy,[ ] shame, despair, and "new-thought"--_i.e._, fickleness. other personages--sometimes with the same names, sometimes with different--follow in the train; cupid watches the lover that he may take shot at him, and the tale is interrupted by an episode giving the story of narcissus. meanwhile the lover has seen among the flowers of the garden one rose-bud on which he fixes special desires. the thorns keep him off; and love, having him at vantage, empties the right-hand quiver on him. he yields himself prisoner, and a dialogue between captive and captor follows. love locks his heart with a gold key; and after giving him a long sermon on his duties, illustrated from the round table romances and elsewhere, vanishes, leaving him in no little pain, and still unable to get at the rose. suddenly in his distress there appears to him "un valet buen et avenant bel-acueil se faisoit clamer," and it seems that he was the son of courtesy. [footnote : _vilenie_ is never an easy word to translate: it means general misconduct and disagreeable behaviour.] [sidenote: _"danger."_] bialacoil (to give him his chaucerian[ ] englishing) is most obliging, and through his help the lover has nearly reached the rose, when an ugly personage named danger in turn makes his appearance. up to this time there is no very important difficulty in the interpretation of the allegory; but the learned are not at one as to what "danger" means. the older explanation, and the one to which i myself still incline as most natural and best suiting what follows, is that danger is the representative of the beloved one's masculine and other guardians--her husband, father, brother, mother, and so forth. others, however, see in him only subjective obstacles--the coyness, or caprice, or coquettishness of the beloved herself. but these never troubled a true lover to any great extent; and besides they seem to have been provided for by the arrows in the left hand of love's bow-bearer, and by shame (_v. infra_). at any rate danger's proceedings are of a most kill-joy nature. he starts from his hiding-place-- "grans fu, et noirs et hericiés, s'ot les iex rouges comme feus, le nés froncié, le vis hideus, et s'escrie comme forcenés." [footnote : i am well aware of everything that has been said about and against the chaucerian authorship of the english _rose_. but until the learned philologists who deny that authorship in whole or in part agree a little better among themselves, they must allow literary critics at least to suspend their judgment.] he abuses bialacoil for bringing the lover to the rose, and turns the lover out of the park, while bialacoil flies. [sidenote: _"reason."_] to the disconsolate suitor appears reason, and does not speak comfortable words. she is described as a middle-aged lady of a comely and dignified appearance, crowned, and made specially in god's image and likeness. she tells him that if he had not put himself under the guidance of idleness, love would not have wounded him; that besides danger, he has made her own daughter shame his foe, and also male-bouche (scandal, gossip, evil-speaking), the third and most formidable guardian of the rose. he ought never to have surrendered to love. in the service of that power "il a plus poine que n'ont hermite ne blanc moine; la poine en est démesurée, et la joie a courte durée." the lover does not take this sermon well. he is love's: she may go about her business, which she does. he bethinks him that he has a companion, amis (the friend), who has always been faithful; and he will go to him in his trouble. indeed love had bidden him do so. the friend is obliging and consoling, and says that he knows danger. his bark is worse than his bite, and if he is spoken softly to he will relent. the lover takes the advice with only partial success. danger, at first robustious, softens so far as to say that he has no objection to the lover loving, only he had better keep clear of his roses. the friend represents this as an important point gained; and as the next step pity and frankness go as his ambassadresses to danger, who allows bialacoil to return to him and take him once more to see the rose, more beautiful than ever. he even, assisted by venus, is allowed to kiss his love. [sidenote: _"shame" and "scandal."_] this is very agreeable: but it arouses the two other guardians of whom reason has vainly warned him, shame and evil-speaking, or scandal. the latter wakes jealousy, fear follows, and fear and shame stir up danger. he keeps closer watch, jealousy digs a trench round the rose-bush and builds a tower where bialacoil is immured: and the lover, his case only made worse by the remembered savour of the rose on his lips,[ ] is left helpless outside. but as the rubric of the poem has it-- "cyendroit trespassa guillaume de lorris, et n'en fist plus pseaulme." [footnote : "car ge suis a greignor meschief por la joie que j'ai perdue. que s'onques ne l'éussi éue." dante undoubtedly had this in his mind when he wrote the immortal _nessun maggior dolore_. all this famous passage, l. _sq._, is admirable.] [sidenote: _the later poem._] [sidenote: _"false-seeming."_] the work which forty years later jean de meung (some say at royal suggestion) added to the piece, so as to make it five times its former length, has been spoken of generally already, and needs less notice in detail. jean de meung takes up the theme by once more introducing reason, whose remonstrances, with the lover's answers, take nearly half as much room as the whole story hitherto. then reappears the friend, who is twice as long-winded as reason, and brings the tale up to more than ten thousand lines already. at last love himself takes some pity of his despairing vassal, and besieges the tower where bialacoil is confined. this leads to the introduction of the most striking and characteristic figure of the second part, _faux-semblant_, a variety of reynard. bialacoil is freed: but danger still guards the rose. love, beaten, invokes the help of his mother, who sends nature and genius to his aid. they talk more than anybody else. but venus has to come herself before danger is vanquished and the lover plucks the rose. [sidenote: _contrast of the parts._] the appeal of this famous poem is thus twofold, though the allegorical form in which the appeal is conveyed is the same. in the first part all the love-poetry of troubadour and _trouvère_ is gathered up and presented under the guise of a graceful dreamy symbolism, a little though not much sicklied o'er with learning. in the second the satiric tendency of the _fabliaux_ and _renart_ is carried still further, with an admixture of not often apposite learning to a much greater extent. narcissus was superfluous where william of lorris introduced him, but pygmalion and his image, inserted at great length by jean de meung, when after twenty thousand lines the catastrophe is at length approaching, are felt to be far greater intruders. [sidenote: _value of both, and charm of the first._] the completeness of the representation of the time given by the poem is of course enormously increased by this second part, and the individual touches, though rather lost in the wilderness of "skipping octosyllables," are wonderfully sharp and true at times. yet to some judgments at any rate the charm of the piece will seem mostly to have vanished when bialacoil is once shut up in his tower. in mere poetry jean de meung is almost infinitely the inferior of william of lorris: and though the latter may receive but contemptuous treatment from persons who demand "messages," "meanings," and so forth, others will find message and meaning enough in his allegorical presentation of the perennial quest, of "the way of a man with a maid," and more than enough beauty in the pictures with which he has adorned it. he is indeed the first great word-painter of the middle ages, and for long--almost to the close of them--most poets simply copied him, while even the greatest used him as a starting-point and source of hints.[ ] also besides pictures he has music--music not very brilliant or varied, but admirably matching his painting, soft, dreamy, not so much monotonous as uniform with a soothing uniformity. few poets deserve better than william of lorris the famous hyperbole which greek furnished in turn to latin and to english. he is indeed "softer than sleep," and, as soft sleep is, laden with gracious and various visions. [footnote : the following of the rose would take a volume, even treated as the poem itself is here. the english version has been referred to: italian naturalised it early in a sonnet cycle, _il fiore_. every country welcomed it, but the actual versions are as nothing to the imitations and the influence.] [sidenote: _marie de france and ruteboeuf._] the great riches of french literature at this time, and the necessity of arranging this history rather with a view to "epoch-making" kinds and books than to interesting individual authors, make attention to many of these latter impossible here. thus marie de france[ ] yields to few authors of our two centuries in charm and interest for the reader; yet for us she must be regarded chiefly as one of the practitioners of the fable, and as the chief practitioner of the _lai_, which in her hands is merely a subdivision of the general romance on a smaller scale. so, again, the _trouvère_ ruteboeuf, who has been the subject of critical attention, a little disproportionate perhaps, considering the vast amount of work as good as his which has hardly any critical notice, but still not undeserved, must serve us rather as an introducer of the subject of dramatic poetry than as an individual, though his work is in the bulk of it non-dramatic, and though almost all of it is full of interest in itself. [footnote : see note above, p. .] ruteboeuf[ ] (a name which seems to be a professional _nom de guerre_ rather than a patronymic) was married in , and has devoted one of his characteristic poems, half "complaints," half satires, to this not very auspicious event. for the rest, it is rather conjectured than known that his life must have filled the greater part, if not the whole, of the last two-thirds of the thirteenth century, thus including the dates of both parts of the _rose_ within it. the tendencies of the second part of the great poem appear in ruteboeuf more distinctly than those of the earlier, though, like both, his work shows the firm grip which allegory was exercising on all poetry, and indeed on all literature. he has been already referred to as having written an outlying "branch" of _renart_; and not a few of his other poems--_le dit des cordeliers_, _frère denise_, and others--are of the class of the _fabliaux_: indeed ruteboeuf may be taken as the type and chief figure to us of the whole body of _fabliau_-writing _trouvères_. besides the marriage poem, we have others on his personal affairs, the chief of which is speakingly entitled "la pauvreté ruteboeuf." but he has been even more, and even more justly, prized as having left us no small number of historical or political poems, not a few of which are occupied with the decay of the crusading spirit. the "complainte d'outremer," the "complainte de constantinoble," the "débat du croisé et du décroisé" tell their own tale, and contain generous, if perhaps not very long-sighted or practical, laments and indignation over the decadence of adventurous piety. others are less religious; but, on the whole, ruteboeuf, even in his wilder days, seems to have been (except for that dislike of the friars, in which he was not alone) a religiously minded person, and we have a large body of poems, assigned to his later years, which are distinctly devotional. these deal with his repentance, with his approaching death, with divers lives of saints, &c. but the most noteworthy of them, as a fresh strand in the rope we are here weaving, is the miracle-play of _théophile_. it will serve as a text or starting-point on which to take up the subject of the drama itself, with no more about ruteboeuf except the observation that the varied character of his work is no doubt typical of that of at least the later _trouvères_ generally. they were practically men of letters, not to say journalists, of all work that was likely to pay; and must have shifted from romance to drama, from satire to lyric, just as their audience or their patrons might happen to demand, as their circumstances or their needs might happen to dictate. [footnote : ed. jubinal, d ed., paris, ; or ed. kressner, wolfenbüttel, .] [sidenote: _drama._] the obscure but not uninteresting subject of the links between the latest stages of classical drama and the earliest stages of mediæval belong to the first volume of this series; indeed by the eleventh century (or before the period, properly speaking, of this book opens) the vernacular drama, as far as the sacred side of it is concerned, was certainly established in france, although not in any other country. but it is not quite certain whether we actually possess anything earlier than the twelfth century, even in french, and it is exceedingly doubtful whether what we have in any other vernacular is older than the fourteenth. the three oldest mystery plays wherein any modern language makes its appearance are those of _the ten virgins_,[ ] mainly in latin, but partly in a dialect which is neither quite french nor quite provençal; the mystery of _daniel_, partly latin and partly french; and the mystery of _adam_,[ ] which is all french. the two latter, when first discovered, were as usual put too early by their discoverers; but it is certain that they are not younger than the twelfth century, while it is all but certain that the _ten virgins_ dates from the eleventh, if not even the tenth. in the thirteenth we find, besides ruteboeuf's _théophile_, a _saint nicolas_ by another very well-known _trouvère_, jean bodel of arras, author of many late and probably rehandled _chansons_, and of the famous classification of romance which has been adopted above. [footnote : ed. monmerqué et michel, _théâtre français au moyen age_. paris, . this also contains _théophile_, _saint nicolas_, and the plays of adam de la halle.] [footnote : ed. luzarches, tours, ; ed. palustre, paris, .] it was probably on the well-known principle of "not letting the devil have all the best tunes" that the church, which had in the patristic ages so violently denounced the stage, and which has never wholly relaxed her condemnation of its secular use, attempted at once to gratify and sanctify the taste for dramatic performances by adopting the form, and if possible confining it to pious uses. but there is a school of literary historians who hold that there was no direct adoption of a form intentionally dramatic, and that the modern sacred drama--the only drama for centuries--was simply an expansion of or excrescence from the services of the church herself, which in their antiphonal character, and in the alternation of monologue and chorus, were distinctly dramatic in form. this, however, is one of those numerous questions which are only good to be argued, and can never reach a conclusion; nor need it greatly trouble those who believe that all literary forms are more or less natural to man, and that man's nature will therefore, example or no example, find them out and practise them, in measure and degree according to circumstances, sooner or later. at any rate, if there was any hope in the mind of any ecclesiastical person at any time of confining dramatic performances to sacred subjects, that hope was doomed to disappointment, and in france at least to very speedy disappointment. the examples of mystery or miracle plays which we have of a date older than the beginning of the fourteenth century are not numerous, but it is quite clear that at an early time the necessity for interspersing comic interludes was recognised; and it is needless to say to any one who has ever looked even slightly at the subject that these interludes soon became a regular part of the performance, and exhibited what to modern ideas seems a very indecorous disregard of the respect due to the company in which they found themselves. the great bible mysteries, no less and no more than the miracle plays of the virgin[ ] and the saints, show this characteristic throughout, and the fool's remark which pleased lamb, "hazy weather, master noah!" was a strictly legitimate and very much softened descendant of the kind of pleasantries which diversify the sacred drama of the middle ages in all but its very earliest examples. [footnote : several of these miracles of the virgin will be found in the volume by monmerqué and michel referred to above: the whole collection has been printed by the société des anciens textes. the ms. is of the fourteenth century, but some of its contents may date from the thirteenth.] it was certain, at any rate in france, that from comic interludes in sacred plays to sheer profane comedy in ordinary life the step would not be far nor the interval of time long. the _fabliaux_ more particularly were farces already in the state of _scenario_, and some of them actually contained dialogue. to break them up and shape them into actual plays required much less than the innate love for drama which characterises the french people, and the keen literary sense and craft which characterised the french _trouvères_ of the thirteenth century. [sidenote: _adam de la halle._] the honour of producing the first examples known to us is assigned to adam de la halle, a _trouvère_ of arras, who must have been a pretty exact contemporary of ruteboeuf, and who besides some lyrical work has left us two plays, _li jus de la feuillie_ and _robin et marion_.[ ] the latter, as its title almost sufficiently indicates, is a dramatised _pastourelle_; the former is less easy to classify, but it stands in something like the same relation to the personal poems, of which, as has just been mentioned in the case of ruteboeuf himself, the _trouvères_ were so fond. for it introduces himself, his wife (at least she is referred to), his father, and divers of his arras friends. and though rough in construction, it is by no means a very far-off ancestor of the comedy of manners in its most developed form. [footnote : besides the issue above noted these have been separately edited by a. rambeau. marburg, .] [sidenote: robin et marion.] it may be more interesting to give some account here of these two productions, the parents of so numerous and famous a family, than to dwell on the early miracle plays, which reached their fullest development in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and then for the most part died away. the play (_jeu_ is the general term, and the exact, though now in french obsolete, equivalent of the english word) of _robin et marion_ combines the general theme of the earlier lyric _pastourelle_, as explained above, with the more general pastoral theme of the love of shepherd and shepherdess. the scene opens on marion singing to the burden "robins m'a demandée, si m'ara." to her the knight, who inquires the meaning of her song, whereupon she avows her love for robin. nevertheless he woos her, in a fashion rather clumsy than cavalier, but receives no encouragement. robin comes up after the knight's departure. he is, to use steerforth's words in _david copperfield_, "rather a chuckle-headed fellow for the girl," but is apparently welcome. they eat rustic fare together and then dance; but more company is desired, and robin goes to fetch it. he tells the friends he asks that some one has been courting marion, and they prudently resolve to bring, one his great pitchfork and another his good blackthorn. meanwhile the knight returns, and though marion replies to his accost-- "pour dieu, sire, alez vo chemin, si ferès moult grant courtoisie," he renews his suit, but is again rejected. returning in a bad temper he meets robin and cuffs him soundly, a correction which robin does not take in the heroic manner. marion runs to rescue him, and the knight threatens to carry her off--which robin, even though his friends have come up, is too cowardly to prevent. she, however, is constant and escapes; the piece finishing by a long and rather tedious festival of the clowns. its drawbacks are obvious, and are those natural to an experiment which has no patterns before it; but the figure of marion is exceedingly graceful and pleasing, and the whole has promise. it is essentially a comic opera; but that a _trouvère_ of the thirteenth century should by himself, so far as we can see, have founded comic opera is not a small thing. [sidenote: _the_ jeu de la feuillie.] the _jus de la feuillie_ ("the booths"), otherwise _li jus adam_, or adam's play, is more ambitious and more complicated, but also more chaotic. it is, as has been said, an early sketch of a comedy of manners; but upon this is grafted in the most curious way a fairy interlude, or rather after-piece. adam himself opens the piece and informs his friends with much coolness that he has tried married life, but intends to go back to "clergy" and then set out for paris, leaving his father to take care of his wife. he even replies to the neighbours' remonstrances by enlarging in the most glowing terms on the passion he has felt for his wife and on her beauty, adding, with a crude brutality which has hardly a ghost of atoning fun in it, that this is all over-- "car mes fains en est apaiés." his father then appears, and adam shows himself not more dutiful as a son than he is grateful as a husband. but old henri de la halle, an easy-going father, has not much reproach for him. the piece, however, has hardly begun before it goes off into a medley of unconnected scenes, though each has a sort of _fabliau_ interest of its own. a doctor is consulted by his clients; a monk demands alms and offerings in the name of monseigneur saint acaire, promising miracles; a madman succeeds him; and in the midst enters the _mainie hellequin_, "troop of hellequin" (a sort of oberon or fairy king), with morgue la fée among them. the fairies end with a song, and the miscellaneous conversation of the men of arras resumes and continues for some time, reaching, in fact, no formal termination. [sidenote: _comparison of them._] in this odd piece, which, except the description of marie the deserted wife, has little poetical merit, we see drama of the particular kind in a much ruder and vaguer condition than in the parallel instance of _robin et marion_. there the very form of the _pastourelle_ was in a manner dramatic--it wanted little adjustment to be quite so; and though the _coda_ of the rustic merry-making is rather artless, it is conceivably admissible. here we are not far out of chaos as far as dramatic arrangement goes. adam's announced desertion of his wife and intended journey to paris lead to nothing: the episodes or scenes of the doctor and the monk are connected with nothing; the fool or madman and his father are equally independent; and the "meyney of hellequin" simply play within the play, not without rhyme, but certainly with very little reason. nevertheless the piece is almost more interesting than the comparatively regular farces (into which rather later the _fabliaux_ necessarily developed themselves) and than the miracle plays (which were in the same way dramatic versions of the lives of the saints), precisely because of this irregular and pillar-to-post character. we see that the author is trying a new kind, that he is endeavouring to create for himself. he is not copying anything in form; he is borrowing very little from any one in material. he has endeavoured to represent, and has not entirely failed in representing, the comings and goings, the ways and says, of his townsmen at fair and market. the curiously desultory character of this early drama--the character hit off most happily in modern times by _wallenstein's lager_--naturally appears here in an exaggerated form. but the root of the matter--the construction of drama, not on the model of terence or of anybody, but on the model of life--is here. it will be for my successor to show the wide extension of this dramatic form in the succeeding period. here it takes rank rather as having the interest of origins, and as helping to fill out the picture of the marvellously various ability of frenchmen of letters in the thirteenth century, than for the positive bulk or importance of its constituents. and it is important to repeat that it connects itself in the general literary survey both with _fabliau_ and with allegory. the personifying taste, which bred or was bred from allegory, is very close akin to the dramatic taste, and the _fabliau_, as has been said more than once, is a farce in the making, and sometimes far advanced towards being completely made. [sidenote: _early french prose._] all the matter hitherto discussed in this chapter, as well as all that of previous chapters as far as french is concerned, with the probable if not certain exception of the arthurian romances, has been in verse. indeed--still with this exception, and with the further and more certain exceptions of a few laws, a few sermons, &c.--there was no french prose, or none that has come down to us, until the thirteenth century. the romance tongues, as contradistinguished from anglo-saxon and icelandic, were slow to develop vernacular prose; the reason, perhaps, being that latin, of one kind or another, was still so familiar to all persons of any education that, for purposes of instruction and use, vernacular prose was not required, while verse was more agreeable to the vulgar. [sidenote: _laws and sermons._] yet it was inevitable that prose should, sooner or later, make its appearance; and it was equally inevitable that spoken prose sermons should be of the utmost antiquity. indeed such sermons form, by reasonable inference, the subject of the very earliest reference[ ] to that practically lost _lingua romana rustica_ which formed the bridge between latin and the romance tongues. but they do not seem to have been written down, and were no doubt extempore addresses rather than regular discourses. law appears to have had the start of divinity in the way of providing formal written prose; and the law-fever of the northmen, which had already shaped, or was soon to shape, the "gray-goose" code of their northernmost home in iceland, expressed itself early in normandy and england--hardly less early in the famous _lettres du sépulcre_ or _assises de jérusalem_, the code of the crusading kingdom, which was drawn up almost immediately after its establishment, and which exists, though not in the very oldest form. much uncertainty prevails on the question when the first sermons in french vernacular were formally composed, and by whom. it has been maintained, and denied, that the french sermons of st bernard which exist are original, in which case the practice must have come in pretty early in the twelfth century. there is, at any rate, no doubt that maurice de sully, who was archbishop of paris for more than thirty years, from onwards, composed sermons in french; or at least that sermons of his, which may have been written in latin, were translated into french. for this whole point of early prose, especially on theological subjects, is complicated by the uncertainty whether the french forms are original or not. there is no doubt that the feeling expressed by ascham in england nearly four centuries later, that it would have been for himself much easier and pleasanter to write in latin, must at the earlier date have prevailed far more extensively. [footnote : the often-quoted statement that in mummolinus or momolenus was made bishop of noyon because of his double skill in "teutonic" and "roman" (_not_ "latin") speech.] [sidenote: _villehardouin._] still prose made its way: it must have received an immense accession of vogue if the prose arthurian romances really date from the end of the twelfth century; and by the beginning of the thirteenth it found a fresh channel in which to flow, the channel of historical narrative. the earliest french chronicles of the ordinary compiling kind date from this time; and (which is of infinitely greater importance) it is from this time (_cir._ ) that the first great french prose book, from the literary point, appears--that is to say, the _conquête de constantinoble_,[ ] or history of the fourth crusade, by geoffroy de villehardouin, marshal of champagne and romanie, who was born about in the first-named province, and died at messinople in greece about . [footnote : ed. natalis de wailly. paris, .] this deservedly famous and thoroughly delightful book, which has more than one contemporary or slightly younger parallel, though none of these approaches it in literary interest, presents the most striking resemblance to a _chanson de geste_--in conduct, arrangement (the paragraphs representing _laisses_), and phraseology. but it is not, as some other early prose is, merely verse without rhyme, and with broken rhythm; and it is impossible to read it without astonished admiration at the excellence of the medium which the writer, apparently by instinct, has attained. the list of the crusaders; their embassy to "li dux de venise qui ot à nom henris dandolo et etait mult sages et mult prouz"; their bargain, in which the business-like venetian, after stipulating for , marks of transport-money, agrees to add fifty armed galleys without hire, for the love of god _and_ on the terms of half-conquests; the death of the count of champagne (much wept by geoffroy his marshal); and the substitution after difficulties of boniface, marquis of montserrat;--these things form the prologue. when the army is actually got together the transport-money is unfortunately lacking, and the venetians, still with the main chance steadily before them, propose that the crusaders shall recover for them, from the king of hungary, zara, "jadres en esclavonie, qui est une des plus forz citez du monde." then we are told how dandolo and his host take the cross; how alexius comnenus, the younger son of isaac, arrives and begs aid; how the fleet set out ("ha! dex, tant bon destrier i ot mis!"); how zara is besieged and taken; of the pact made with alexius to divert the host to constantinople; of the voyage thither after the pope's absolution for the slightly piratical and not in the least crusading _prise de jadres_ has been obtained; of the dissensions and desertions at corfu, and the arrival at the "bras st georges," the sea of marmora. this is what may be called the second part. the third part opens with debates at san stefano as to the conduct of the attack. the emperor sends soft words to "la meillor gens qui soent sanz corone" (this is the description of the chiefs), but they reject them, arrange themselves in seven battles, storm the port, take the castle of galata, and then assault the city itself. the fighting having gone wholly against him, the emperor retires by the open side of the city, and the latins triumph. some show is made of resuming, or rather beginning, a real crusade; but the young emperor alexius, to whom his blind father isaac has handed over the throne, bids them stay, and they do so. soon dissensions arise, war breaks out, a conspiracy is formed against isaac and his son by mourzufle, "et murchufles chauça les houses vermoilles," quickly putting the former owners of the scarlet boots to death. a second siege and capture of the city follows, and baldwin of flanders is crowned emperor, while boniface marries the widow of isaac, and receives the kingdom of salonica. it has seemed worth while to give this abstract of the book up to a certain point (there is a good deal more of confused fighting in "romanie" before, at the death of boniface, villehardouin gives up the pen to henri of valenciennes), because even such a bare argument may show the masterly fashion in which this first of modern vernacular historians of the great literary line handles his subject. the parts are planned with judgment and adjusted with skill; the length allotted to each incident is just enough; the speeches, though not omitted, are not inserted at the tyrannous length in which later mediæval and even renaissance historians indulged from corrupt following of the ancients. but no abstract could show--though the few scraps of actual phrase purposely inserted may convey glimpses of it--the vigour and picturesqueness of the recital. that villehardouin was an eyewitness explains a little, but very little: we have, unfortunately, libraries full of eyewitness-histories which are duller than any ditch-water. nor, though he is by no means shy of mentioning his own performances, does he communicate to the story that slightly egotistic interest of gossip and personal detail of which his next great successor is perhaps the first example. it is because, while writing a rather rugged but completely genuine and unmetrical though rhythmical prose, villehardouin has the poet's eye and grasp that he sees, and therefore makes us see, the events that he relates. these events do not form exactly the most creditable chapter of modern history; for they simply come to this, that an army assembling for a crusade against the infidel, allows itself to be bribed or wheedled into two successive attacks on two christian princes who have given it not the slightest provocation, never attacks the infidel at all, and ends by a filibustering seizure of already christian territory. nor does villehardouin make any elaborate disguise of this; but he tells the tale with such a gust, such a _furia_, that we are really as much interested in the success of this private piracy as if it had been the true crusade of godfrey of bouillon himself. [sidenote: _william of tyre._] [sidenote: _joinville._] the earlier and more legitimate crusades did not lack fitting chroniclers in the same style, though none of them had the genius of villehardouin. the _roman d'eracles_ (as the early vernacular version[ ] of the latin chronicle of william of tyre used to be called, for no better reason than that the first line runs, "les anciennes histoires dient qu'eracles [heraclius] qui fu mout bons crestiens gouverna l'empire de rome") is a chronicle the earlier part of which is assigned to a certain bernard, treasurer of the abbey of corbie. it is a very extensive relation, carrying the history of latin palestine from peter the hermit's pilgrimage to about the year , composed probably within ten or fifteen years after this later date, and written, though not with villehardouin's epic spirit, in a very agreeable and readable fashion. not much later, vernacular chronicles of profane history in france became common, and the celebrated _grandes chroniques_ of st denis began to be composed in french. but the only production of this thirteenth century which has taken rank in general literary knowledge with the work of the marshal of champagne is that[ ] of jean de joinville, also a champenois and seneschal of the province, who was born about ten years after villehardouin's death, and who died, after a life prolonged to not many short of a hundred years, in . joinville's historical work seems to have been the occupation of his old age; but its subject, the life and crusading misfortunes of saint louis, belongs to the experiences of his youth and early middle life. besides the _histoire de saint louis_, we have from him a long _credo_ or profession of religious faith. [footnote : ed. paulin paris. paris, .] [footnote : ed. natalis de wailly. paris, .] there is no reason at all to question the sincerity of this faith. but joinville was a shrewd and practical man, and when the kings of france and navarre pressed him to take the cross a second time, he answered that their majesties' servants had during his first absence done him and his people so much harm that he thought he had better not go away again. indeed it would be displeasing to god, "qui mit son corps pour son peuple sauver," if he, joinville, abandoned _his_ people. and he reports only in the briefest abstract the luckless "voie de tunes," or expedition to tunis. but of the earlier and not much less unlucky damietta crusade, in which he took part, as well as of his hero's life till all but the last, he has written very fully, and in a fashion which is very interesting, though unluckily we have no manuscript representing the original text, or even near to it in point of time. the book, which has been thought to have been written in pieces at long intervals, has nothing of the antique vigour of villehardouin. joinville is something of a gossip, and though he evidently writes with a definite literary purpose, is not master of very great argumentative powers. but for this same reason he abounds in anecdote, and in the personal detail which, though it may easily be overdone, is undoubtedly now and then precious for the purpose of enabling us to conjure up the things and men of old time more fully and correctly. and there is a pepysian garrulity as well as a pepysian shrewdness about joinville; so that, on the whole, he fills the position of ancestor in the second group of historians, the group of lively _raconteurs_, as well as villehardouin leads that of inspired describers. for an instance of the third kind, the philosophical historian, france, if not europe, had to wait two centuries, when such a one came in comines. it is almost unnecessary to say that when the secret of producing prose and its advantages over verse for certain purposes had been discovered, it was freely employed for all such purposes, scientific as science was understood, devotional, instructive, business (the _livre des mestiers_, or book of the guilds of paris, is of the thirteenth century), and miscellaneous. but few of these things concern literature proper. it is otherwise with the application of prose to fiction. [sidenote: _fiction._] this, as we have seen, had probably taken place in the case of the arthurian romances as early as the middle of our period, and throughout the thirteenth century prose romances of length were not unknown, though it was later that all the three classes--carlovingian, arthurian, and antique--were thrown indiscriminately into prose, and lengthened even beyond the huge length of their later representatives in verse. but for this reason or that, romance in prose was with rare exceptions unfavourable to the production of the best literature. it encouraged the prolixity which was the great curse of the middle ages, and the deficient sense of form and scanty presence of models prevented the observance of anything like a proper scheme. [sidenote: aucassin et nicolette.] but among the numerous origins of this wonderful time the origin of the short prose tale, in which france was to hold almost if not quite the highest rank among european countries, was also included. it would not seem that the kind was as yet very frequently attempted--the fact that the verse _fabliau_ was still in the very height of its flourishing-time, made this unlikely; nor was it till that flourishing-time was over that farces on the one hand, and prose tales on the other, succeeded as fruit the _fabliau_-flower. but it is from the thirteenth century that (with some others) we have _aucassin et nicolette_.[ ] if it was for a short time rather too much of a fashion to praise (it cannot be over-praised) this exquisite story, no wise man will allow himself to be disgusted any more than he will allow himself to be attracted by fashion. this work of "the old caitiff," as the author calls himself with a rather hibernian coaxingness, is what has been called a _cantefable_--that is to say, it is not only obviously written, like verse romances and _fabliaux_, for recitation, but it consists partly of prose, partly of verse, the music for the latter being also given. mr swinburne, mr pater, and, most of all, mr lang, have made it unnecessary to tell in any detailed form the story how aucassin, the son of count garin of beaucaire, fell in love with nicolette, a saracen captive, who has been bought by the viscount of the place and brought up as his daughter; how nicolette was shut up in a tower to keep her from aucassin; how count bongars of valence assailed beaucaire and was captured by aucassin on the faith of a promise from his father that nicolette shall be restored to him; how the count broke his word, and aucassin, setting his prisoner free, was put in prison himself; how nicolette escaped, and by her device aucassin also; how the lovers were united; and how, after a comic interlude in the country of "torelore," which could be spared by all but folk-lorists, the damsel is discovered to be daughter of the king of carthage, and all ends in bowers of bliss. [footnote : frequently edited: not least satisfactorily in the _nouvelles françaises du xiiime. siècle_, referred to above. in two english translations, by mr lang and mr bourdillon, the latter with the text and much apparatus, appeared: and mr bourdillon has recently edited a facsimile of the unique ms. (oxford, ).] but even the enthusiasm and the art of three of the best writers of english and lovers of literature in this half-century have not exhausted the wonderful charm of this little piece. the famous description of nicolette, as she escapes from her prison and walks through the daisies that look black against her white feet, is certainly the most beautiful thing of the kind in mediæval prose-work, and the equal of anything of the kind anywhere. and for original audacity few things surpass aucassin's equally famous inquiry, "en paradis qu'ai-je à faire?" with the words with which he follows it up to the viscount. but these show passages only concentrate the charm which is spread all over the novelette, at least until its real conclusion, the union and escape of the lovers. here, as in the earlier part of the _rose_--to which it is closely akin--is the full dreamy beauty, a little faint, a little shadowy, but all the more attractive, of mediæval art; and here it has managed to convey itself in prose no less happily and with more concentrated happiness than there in verse. chapter viii. icelandic and provenÇal. resemblances. contrasts. icelandic literature of this time mainly prose. difficulties with it. the saga. its insularity of manner. of scenery and character. fact and fiction in the sagas. classes and authorship of them. the five greater sagas. 'njala.' 'laxdÆla.' 'eyrbyggja.' 'egla.' 'grettla.' its critics. merits of it. the parting of asdis and her sons. great passages of the sagas. style. provenÇal mainly lyric. origin of this lyric. forms. many men, one mind. example of rhyme-schemes. provenÇal poetry not great. but extraordinarily pedagogic. though not directly on english. some troubadours. criticism of provenÇal. [sidenote: _resemblances._] these may seem at first to be no sufficient reason for treating together two such literatures as those named in the title of this chapter. but the connection, both of likeness and unlikeness, between them is too tempting to the student of comparative literature, and too useful in such a comparative survey of literature as that which we are here undertaking, to be mistaken or refused. both attaining, thanks to very different causes, an extraordinarily early maturity, completely worked themselves out in an extraordinarily short time. neither had, so far as we know, the least assistance from antecedent vernacular models. each achieved an extraordinary perfection and intensity, icelandic in spirit, provençal in form. [sidenote: _contrasts._] and their differences are no less fascinating, since they start from this very diversity of similar perfection. icelandic, after a brief period of copying french and other languages, practically died out as a language producing literature; and, perhaps for that very reason, maintained itself in all the more continuity as a spoken language. even its daughter--or at least successor--norse tongues produced nothing worthy to take up the tradition of the sagas and the poems. it influenced (till the late and purely literary revival of it biassed to some extent the beginnings of the later romantic revival in western europe, a hundred and fifty years ago) nothing and nobody. it was as isolated as its own island. to provençal, on the other hand, though its own actual producing-time was about as brief, belongs the schooling, to no small extent, of the whole literature of europe. directly, it taught the _trouvères_ of northern france and the poets of spain and italy prosody, and a certain amount of poetical style and tone; indirectly, or directly through france, it influenced england and germany. it started, indeed, none of the greater poetical kinds except lyric, and lyric is the true _grass_ of parnassus--it springs up naturally everywhere; but it started the form of all, or at least was the first to adapt from latin a prosody suitable to all. the most obvious, though not the least interesting, points of likeness in unlikeness have been left to the last. the contrasts between the hawthorn and nightingale of provence, her "winds heavy with the rose," and the grey firths, the ice- and foam-fretted skerries of iceland; between the remains of roman luxury pushed to more than roman effeminacy in the one, and the rough germanic virtue exasperated to sheer ferocity in the other,--are almost too glaring for anything but a schoolboy's or a rhetorician's essay. yet they are reproduced with an incredible--a "copy-book"--fidelity in the literatures. the insistence of experts and enthusiasts on the law-abiding character of the sagas has naturally met with some surprise from readers of these endless private wars, and burnings, and "heath-slayings," these feuds where blood flows like water, to be compensated by fines as regular as a water-rate, these methodical assassinations, in which it is not in the least discreditable to heroes to mob heroes as brave as themselves to death by numbers, in which nobody dreams of measuring swords, or avoiding vantage of any kind. yet the enthusiastic experts are not wrong. whatever outrages the icelander may commit, he always has the law--an eccentric, unmodern, conventional law, but a real and recognised one--before his eyes, and respects it in principle, however much he may sometimes violate it in practice. to the provençal, on the other hand, law, as such, is a nuisance. he will violate it, so to speak, on principle--less because the particular violation has a particular temptation for him than because the thing is forbidden. the icelander may covet and take another man's wife, but it is to make her his own. the provençal will hardly fall, and will never stay, in love with any one who is not another's. in savagery there is not so very much to choose: it requires a calculus, not of morals but of manners, to distinguish accurately between carving the blood-eagle on your enemy and serving up your rival's heart as a dish to his mistress. in passion also there may be less difference than the extreme advocates of both sides would maintain. but in all things external the contrast, the hackneyed contrast, of south and north never could have been exhibited with a more artistic completeness, never has been exhibited with a completeness so artistic. and these two contrasting parts were played at the very same time at the two ends of europe. in the very same years when the domestic histories and tragedies (there were few comedies) of iceland were being spun into the five great sagas and the fifty smaller ones, the fainter, the more formal, but the not less peculiar music of the gracious long-drawn provençal love-song was sounding under the vines and olives of languedoc. the very icelanders who sailed to constantinople in the intervals of making the subjects of these sagas, and sometimes of composing them, must not seldom have passed or landed on the coasts where _cansos_ and _tensos_, _lai_ and _sirvente_, were being woven, and have listened to them as the ulyssean mariners listened to the songs of the sirens. [sidenote: _icelandic literature of this time mainly prose._] it is not, of course, true that provençal only sings of love and icelandic only of war. there is a fair amount of love in the northern literature and a fair amount of fighting in the southern. and it is not true that icelandic literature is wholly prose, provençal wholly poetry. but it is true that provençal prose plays an extremely small part in provençal literature, and that icelandic poetry plays, in larger minority, yet still a minor part in icelandic. it so happens, too, that in this volume we are almost wholly concerned with icelandic prose, and that we shall not find it necessary to say much, if anything, about provençal that is not in verse. it is distinctly curious how much later, _coeteris paribus_, the romance tongues are than the teutonic in attaining facilities of prose expression. but there is no reason for believing that even the teutonic tongues falsified the general law that poetry comes before prose. and certainly this was the case with icelandic--so much so that, uncertain as are the actual dates, it seems better to relinquish the iceland of poetry to the first volume of this series, where it can be handled in connection with that anglo-saxon verse which it so much resembles. the more characteristic eddaic poems--that is to say, the most characteristic parts of icelandic poetry--must date from heathen times, or from the first conflicts of christianity with heathenism in iceland; and this leaves them far behind us.[ ] on the other hand, the work which we have in provençal before the extreme end of the eleventh century is not finished literature. it has linguistic interest, the interest of origins, but no more. [footnote : iceland began to be christian in .] [sidenote: _difficulties with it._] although there is practically as little doubt about the antiquity of icelandic literature[ ] as about its interest, there is unusual room for guesswork as to the exact dates of the documents which compose it. writing seems to have been introduced into iceland late; and it is not the opinion of scholars who combine learning with patriotism that many, if any, of the actual mss. date further back than the thirteenth century; while the actual composition of the oldest that we have is not put earlier than the twelfth, and rather its later than its earlier part. moreover, though icelanders were during this period, and indeed from the very first settlement of the island, constantly in foreign countries and at foreign courts--though as vikings or varangians, as merchants or merely travelling adventurers, they were to be found all over europe, from dublin to constantinople--yet, on the other hand, few or no foreigners visited iceland, and it figures hardly at all in the literary and historical records of the continent or even of the british isles, with which it naturally had most correspondence. we are therefore almost entirely devoid of those side-lights which are so invaluable in general literary history, while yet again we have no borrowings from icelandic literature by any other to tell us the date of the borrowed matter. at the end of our present time, and still more a little later, charlemagne and arthur and the romances of antiquity make their appearance in icelandic; but nothing icelandic makes its appearance elsewhere. for it is not to be supposed for one moment that the _nibelungenlied_, for instance, is the work of men who wrote with the _volsunga-saga_ or the gudrun lays before them, any more than the _grettis saga_ is made up out of _beowulf_. these things are mere examples of the successive refashionings of traditions and stories common to the race in different centuries, manners, and tongues. except as to the bare fact of community of origin they help us little or not at all. [footnote : it is almost superfluous to insert, but would be disagreeable to omit, a reference to the _sturlunga saga_ ( vols., oxford, ) and the _corpus poeticum boreale_ ( vols., oxford, ) of the late dr vigfusson and professor york powell. the first contains an invaluable sketch, or rather history, of icelandic literature: the second (though one may think its arrangement a little arbitrary) is a book of unique value and interest. had these two been followed up according to dr vigfusson's plan, practically the whole of icelandic literature that has real interest would have been accessible once for all. as it is, one is divided between satisfaction that england should have done such a service to one of the great mediæval literatures, and regret that she has not done as much for others.] [sidenote: _the saga._] the reasons why icelandic literature, in its most peculiar and interesting form of the saga, did not penetrate abroad are clear enough; and the remoteness and want of school-education in the island itself are by no means the most powerful of them. the very thing which is most characteristic of them, and which in these later times constitutes their greatest charm, must have been against them in their own time. for the stories which ran like an epidemic through europe in the years immediately before and immediately after , though they might be in some cases concerned directly with national heroes, appealed without exception to international and generally human interests. the slightest education, or the slightest hearing of persons educated, sufficed to teach every one that alexander and cæsar were great conquerors, that the story of troy (the exact truth of which was never doubted) had been famous for hundreds and almost thousands of years. charlemagne had had directly to do with the greater part of europe in peace or war, and the struggle with the saracens was of old and universal interest, freshened by the crusades. the arthurian story received from fiction, if not from history, an almost equally wide bearing; and was, besides, knitted to religion--the one universal interest of the time--by its connection with the graal. all europe, yet again, had joined in the crusades, and the stories brought by the crusaders directly or indirectly from the east were in the same way common property. [sidenote: _its insularity of manner._] but saga-literature had nothing of this appeal. it was as indifferently and almost superciliously insular as the english country-house novel itself, and may have produced in some of the very few foreigners who can ever have known it originally, something of the same feelings of wrath which we have seen excited by the english country-house novel in our own day. the heroes were not, according to the general ideas of mediæval europe, either great chiefs or accomplished knights; the heroines were the very reverse of those damsels "with mild mood" (as the catch-word in the english romances has it) whom the general middle age liked or thought it liked. an intricate, intensely local, and (away from the locality) not seldom shocking system of law and public morality pervaded the whole. the supernatural element, though in itself it might have been an attraction, was of a cast quite different from the superstitions of the south, or even of the centre; and the christian element, which was to the middle ages the very air they breathed, was either absent altogether or present in an artificial, uneasy, and scanty fashion. [sidenote: _of scenery and character._] yet all these things were of less importance than another, which is, after all, the great _differentia_, the abiding quality, of the sagas. in the literature of the rest of europe, and especially in the central and everywhere radiating literature of france, there were sometimes local and almost parochial touches--sometimes unimportant heroes, not seldom savage heroines, frequently quaint bits of exotic supernaturalism. but all this was subdued to a kind of common literary handling, a "dis-realising" process which made them universally acceptable. the personal element, too, was conspicuously absent--the generic character is always uppermost. charlemagne was a real person, and not a few of the incidents with which he was connected in the _chansons_ were real events; but he and they have become mere stuff of romance as we see them in these poems. whether arthur was a real person or not, the same to an even greater extent is true of him. the kings and their knights appealed to englishmen, frenchmen, germans, italians alike, because they were not obtrusively english, german, italian, or french. but the sagas are from the first and to the (at least genuine) last nothing if not national, domestic, and personal. the grim country of ice and fire, of jökul and skerry, the massive timber homesteads, the horse-fights and the viking voyages, the spinning-wheel and the salting-tub, are with us everywhere; and yet there is an almost startling individuality, for all the sameness of massacre and chicanery, of wedding and divorce, which characterises the circumstances. gunnar is not distinguished from grettir merely by their adventures; there is no need of labels on the lovers of gudrun; steingerd in kormak's saga and hallgerd in njal's, are each something much more than types of the woman with bad blood and the woman with blood that is only light and hot. and to the unsophisticated reader and hearer, as many examples might be adduced to show, this personality, the highest excellence of literature to the sophisticated scholar, is rather a hindrance than a help. he has not proved the ways and the persons; and he likes what he has proved. to us, on the contrary, the characteristics of saga-work, at which a glance has been made in the foregoing paragraphs, form its principal charm, a charm reinforced by the fact of its extraordinary difference from almost all other literature except (in some points) that of the homeric poems. although there is a good deal of common form in the sagas, though outlawry and divorce, the quibbles of the thing and the violence of ambush or holmgang, recur to and beyond the utmost limits of permitted repetition, the unfamiliarity of the setting atones for its monotony, and the individuality of the personages themselves very generally prevents that monotony from being even felt. the stories are never tame; and, what is more remarkable, they seldom or never have the mere extravagance which in mediæval, at least as often as in other, writing, plays scylla to the charybdis of tameness. moreover, they have, as no other division of mediæval romance has in anything like the same measure, the advantage of the presence of _interesting_ characters of both sexes. only the arthurian story can approach them here, and that leaves still an element of gracious shadowiness about the heroines, if not the heroes. the icelandic heroine has nothing shadowy about her. her weakest point is the want of delicacy--not in a finicking sense by any means--which a rough promiscuous life to begin with, and the extreme facility and frequency of divorce on the other, necessarily brought about. but she is always, as the french have it, a "person"--when she is good, a person altogether of the best; even when she is bad, a person seldom other than striking and often charming. [sidenote: _fact and fiction in the sagas._] there is, of course, icelandic literature in prose outside of the sagas--the great law code (_gragas_ or _greygoose_), religious books in the usual plenty, scientific books of a kind, and others. but the saga, the story, was so emphatically the natural mould into which icelandic literary impulse threw itself, that it is even more difficult here than elsewhere at the time to separate story and history, fiction and fact. indeed the stricter critics would, i believe, maintain that every saga which deserves the name is actually founded on fact: the _laxdæla_ no less than the _heimskringla_,[ ] the story of kormak no less than that of jarl rognwald. a merely and wholly invented story (they hold, and perhaps rightly) would have been repugnant to that extraordinarily business-like spirit which has left us, by the side of the earlier songs and later sagas, containing not a little of the most poetical matter of the whole world, the _landnama bok_ of ari frodi, a domesday-book turned into literature, which is indeed older than our time, but which forms a sort of commentary and companion to the whole of the sagas by anticipation or otherwise. [footnote : dr vigfusson is exceedingly severe on the _heimskringla_, which he will have to be only a late, weak, and rationalised compilation from originals like the oddly termed "great o.t. saga." but it is hard for a man to think hardly of the book in which, though only a translation, he first read how queen sigrid the haughty got rid of her troublesome lovers by the effectual process of burning them _en masse_ in a barn, and how king olaf died the greatest sea-death--greater even than grenville's--of any defeated hero, in history or literature.] [sidenote: _classes and authorship of them._] difficult as it may be to draw the line between intended history, which was always strongly "romanced" in form, if not intentionally in fact, and that very peculiar product of icelandic genius the saga proper, in which the original domestic record has been, so to speak, "super-romanced" into a work of art, it is still possible to see it, if not to draw it, between the _heimskringla_, the story of the kings of norway (made english after some earlier versions by messrs magnusson and morris, and abstracted, as genius can abstract, by carlyle), the _orkneyinga_ and _færeyinga_ sagas (the tales of these outlying islands before the former came under norwegian rule), the curious conglomerate known as the _sturlunga saga_ on the one hand, and the greater and lesser sagas proper on the other. the former are set down to the two great writers snorri and sturla, the one the chief literary light of iceland in the first half of the thirteenth century, the other the chief light in the second, both of the same family, and with ari frodi the three greatest of the certainly known men of letters of the island. conjecture has naturally run riot as to the part which either snorri or sturla may have taken in the sagas not directly attributed to either, but most probably dating from their time, as well as with the personalities of the unknown or little known poets and prosemen who shaped the older stories at about the same period. but to the historian who takes delight in literature, and does not care very much who made it provided it is made well, what has been called "the singular silence" as to authorship which runs through the whole of the early icelandic literature is rather a blessing than otherwise. it frees him from those biographical inquiries which always run the risk of drawing nigh to gossip, and it enables him to concentrate attention on the literature itself. this literature is undoubtedly best exemplified, as we should expect, in the wholly anonymous and only indirectly historical sagas of the second division, though it is fair to say that there is nothing here much finer than such things as the famous last fight of king olaf in the _heimskringla_, or as many other incidents and episodes in the history-books. only the hands of the writers were freer in the others: and complete freedom--at least from all but the laws of art--is never a more "nobil thing" than it is to the literary artist. [sidenote: _the five greater sagas._] there seems no reason to quarrel with the classification which divides the sagas proper into two classes, greater and lesser, and assigns position in the first to five only--the saga of burnt njal, that of the dwellers in laxdale, the _eyrbyggja_, egil's saga, and the saga of grettir the strong. it is very unlucky that the reception extended by the english public to the publications of mr vigfusson and professor york powell, mentioned in a note above, did not encourage the editors to proceed to an edition at least of these five sagas together, which might, according to estimate, have been done in three volumes, two more containing all the small ones. meanwhile _njala_--the great sagas are all known by familiar diminutives of this kind--is accessible in english in the late sir g.w. dasent's well-known translation;[ ] the _eyrbyggja_ and _egla_ in abstracts by sir walter scott[ ] and mr gosse;[ ] _laxdæla_ has been treated as it deserves in the longest and nearly the finest section of mr morris's _earthly paradise_;[ ] and the same writer with dr magnusson has given a literal translation of _grettla_.[ ] [footnote : _the story of burnt njal._ edinburgh, .] [footnote : included in the bohn edition of mallet's _northern antiquities_.] [footnote : _cornhill magazine_, july .] [footnote : "the lovers of gudrun;" _november_, part iii. p. , original edition. london, .] [footnote : london, .] the lesser sagas of the same group are some thirty in number, the best known or the most accessible being those of gunnlaug serpent's-tongue, often printed in the original,[ ] very short, very characteristic, and translated by the same hands as _grettla_;[ ] _viga glum_, translated by sir edmund head;[ ] _gisli the outlaw_ (dasent);[ ] _howard_ or _havard the halt_, _the banded men_, and _hen thorir_ (morris and magnusson)[ ]; _kormak_, said to be the oldest, and certainly one of the most interesting.[ ] [footnote : _gunnlaug's saga ormstungu_. ed. mogk. halle, .] [footnote : in _three northern love-stories_. london, .] [footnote : london, .] [footnote : edinburgh, .] [footnote : in one volume. london, .] [footnote : not translated, and said to require re-editing in the original, but very fully abstracted in _northern antiquities_, as above, pp. - . the verse is in the _corpus poeticum boreale_.] so much of the interest of a saga depends on small points constantly varied and renewed, that only pretty full abstracts of the contents of one can give much idea of them. on the other hand, the attentive reader of a single saga can usually give a very good guess at the general nature of any other from a brief description of it, though he must of course miss the individual touches of poetry and of character. and though i speak with the humility of one who does not pretend to icelandic scholarship, i think that translations are here less inadequate than in almost any other language, the attraction of the matter being so much greater than that of the form. for those who will not take the slight trouble to read dasent's _njala_, or morris and magnusson's _grettla_, the next best idea attainable is perhaps from sir walter scott's abstract of the _eyrbyggja_ or mr blackwell's of the kormak's saga, or mr gosse's of _egla_. njal's saga deals with the friendship between the warrior gunnar and the lawyer njal, which, principally owing to the black-heartedness of gunnar's wife hallgerd, brings destruction on both, njal and almost his whole family being burnt as the crowning point, but by no means the end, of an intricate series of reciprocal murders. for the blood-feuds of iceland were as merciless as those of corsica, with the complication--thoroughly northern and not in the least southern--of a most elaborate, though not entirely impartial, system of judicial inquiries and compensations, either by fine or exile. to be outlawed for murder, either in casual affray or in deliberate attack, was almost as regular a part of an icelandic gentleman's avocations from his home and daily life as a journey on viking or trading intent, and was often combined with one or both. but outlawry and fine by no means closed the incident invariably, though they sometimes did so far as the feud was concerned: and there is hardly one saga which does not mainly or partly turn on a tangle of outrages and inquests. [sidenote: njala.] [sidenote: laxdæla.] as _njala_ is the most complete and dramatic of the sagas where love has no very prominent part except in the helen-like dangerousness, if not exactly helen-like charm, of hallgerd, of whom it might certainly be said that "where'er she came, she brought calamity"; so _laxdæla_ is the chief of those in which love figures, though on the male side at least there is no lover that interests us as much as the hapless, reckless poet kormak, or as gunnlaug serpent's-tongue. the _earthly paradise_ should have made familiar to all the quarrel or, if hardly quarrel, feud between the cousins kiartan and bodli, or bolli, owing to the fatal fascinations of gudrun. gudrun is less repulsive than hallgerd, but she cannot be said to be entirely free from the drawbacks which, as above suggested, are apt to be found in the icelandic heroine. it is more difficult to sentiment, if not to morality, to pardon four husbands than many times four lovers, and the only persons with whom gudrun's relations are wholly agreeable is kiartan, who was not her husband. but the pathos of the story, its artful unwinding, and the famous utterance of the aged heroine-- "i did the worst to him i loved the most," which is almost literally from the icelandic, redeem anything unsympathetic in the narrative: and the figure of bodli, a strange mixture of honour and faithlessness to the friend he loves and murders, is one of the most striking among the thralls of venus in literature. [sidenote: eyrbyggja.] the defect of the _eyrbyggja saga_ is its want of any central interest; for it is the history not of a person, nor even of one single family, but of a whole icelandic district with its inhabitants from the settlement onwards. its attraction, therefore, lies rather in episodes--the rivalry of the sorceresses katla and geirrid; the circumventing of the (in this case rather sinned against than sinning) bersarks hall and leikner; the very curious ghost-stories; and the artful ambition of snorri the godi. still, to make an attractive legend of a sort of "county history" may be regarded as a rare triumph, and the saga is all the more important because it shows, almost better than any other, the real motive of nearly all these stories--that they are real _chansons de geste_, family legends, with a greater vividness and individuality than the french genius could then impart, though presented more roughly. [sidenote: egla.] the saga of egil skallagrimsson, again, shifts its special points of attraction. it is the history partly of the family of skallagrim, but chiefly of his son egil, in opposition to harald harfagr and his son eric blood-axe, of egil's wars and exploits in england and elsewhere, of his service to king athelstan at brunanburh, of the faithfulness of his friend arinbiorn, and the hero's consequent rescue from the danger in which he had thrust himself by seeking his enemy king eric at york, of his son's shipwreck and egil's sad old age, and of many other moving events. this has the most historic interest of any of the great sagas, and not least of the personal appeal. perhaps, indeed, it is more like a really good historical novel than any other. [sidenote: grettla.] if, however, it were not for the deficiency of feminine character (a deficiency which rehandlers evidently felt and endeavoured to remedy by the expedient of tacking on an obvious plagiarism from _tristan_ as an appendix, ostensibly dealing with the avenging of the hero), the fifth, grettis saga or _grettla_, would perhaps be the best of all. [sidenote: _its critics._] it is true that some experts have found fault with this as late in parts, and bolstered out with extraneous matter in other respects beside the finale just referred to. the same critics denounce its poetical interludes (see _infra_) as spurious, object to some traits in it as coarse, and otherwise pick it to pieces. nevertheless there are few sagas, if there are any, which produce so distinct and individual an effect, which remind us so constantly that we are in iceland and not elsewhere. in pathos and variety of interest it cannot touch _njala_ or _laxdæla_: in what is called "weirdness," in wild vigour, it surpasses, i think, all others; and the supernatural element, which is very strong, contrasts, i think, advantageously with the more business-like ghostliness of _eyrbyggja_. after an overture about the hero's forebears, which in any other country would be as certainly spurious as the epilogue, but to which the peculiar character of saga-writing gives a rather different claim here, the story proper begins with a description of the youth of grettir the strong, second son to asmund the grey-haired of biarg, who had made much money by sea-faring, and asdis, a great heiress and of great kin. the sagaman consults poetical justice very well at first, and prepares us for an unfortunate end by depicting grettir as, though valiant and in a way not ungenerous, yet not merely an incorrigible scapegrace, but somewhat unamiable and even distinctly ferocious. that, being made gooseherd, and finding the birds troublesome, he knocks them about, killing some goslings, may not be an unpardonable atrocity. and even when, being set to scratch his father's back, he employs a wool-comb for that purpose, much to the detriment of the paternal skin and temper, it does not very greatly go beyond the impishness of a naughty boy. but when, being promoted to mind the horses, and having a grudge against a certain "wise" mare named keingala, because she stays out at graze longer than suits his laziness, he flays the unhappy beast alive in a broad strip from shoulder to tail, the thing goes beyond a joke. also he is represented, throughout the saga, as invariably capping his pranks or crimes with one of the jeering enigmatic epigrams in which one finds considerable excuse for the icelandic proneness to murder. however, in his boyhood, he does not go beyond cruelty to animals and fighting with his equals; and his first homicide, on his way with a friend of his father's to the thing-parliament, is in self-defence. still, having no witnesses, he is, though powerfully backed (an all-important matter), fined and outlawed for three years. there is little love lost between him and his father, and he is badly fitted out for the grand tour, which usually occupies a young icelandic gentleman's first outlawry; but his mother gives him a famous sword. on the voyage he does nothing but flirt with the mate's wife: and only after strong provocation and in the worst weather consents to bale, which he does against eight men. they are, however, wrecked off the island of haramsey, and grettir, lodging with the chief thorfinn, at first disgusts folk here as elsewhere with his sulky, lazy ways. he acquires consideration, however, by breaking open the barrow of thorfinn's father, and not only bringing out treasures (which go to thorfinn), but fighting with and overcoming the "barrow-wight" (ghost) itself, the first of the many supernatural incidents in the story. the most precious part of the booty is a peculiar "short-sword." also when thorfinn's wife and house are left, weakly guarded, to the mercy of a crew of unusually ruffianly bersarks, grettir by a mixture of craft and sheer valour succeeds in overcoming and slaying the twelve bersarks single-handed. thorfinn on his return presents him with the short-sword and becomes his fast friend. he has plenty of opportunity: for grettir, as usual, neither entirely by his own fault nor entirely without it, owing to his sulky temper and sour tongue, successively slays three brothers, being in the last instance saved only with the greatest difficulty by thorfinn, his own half-brother thorstein dromond, and others, from the wrath of swein, jarl of the district. so that by the time when he can return to iceland, he has made norway too hot to hold him; and he lands in his native island with a great repute for strength, valour, and, it must be added, quarrelsomeness. for some time he searches about "to see if there might be anywhere somewhat with which he might contend." he finds it at a distant farm, which is haunted by the ghost of a certain godless shepherd named glam, who was himself killed by evil ones, and now molests both stock and farm-servants. grettir dares the ghost, overcomes him after a tremendous conflict, which certainly resembles that in _beowulf_ most strikingly,[ ] and slays him (for icelandic ghosts are mortal); but not before glam has spoken and pronounced a curse upon grettir, that his strength, though remaining great, shall never grow, that all his luck shall cease, and, finally, that the eyes of glam himself shall haunt him to the death. [footnote : it seems almost incredible that the resemblances between _beowulf_ and the _grettis saga_ should never have struck any one till dr vigfusson noticed them less than twenty years ago. but the fact seems to be so; and nothing could better prove the rarity of that comparative study of literature to which this series aims at being a modest contribution and incentive.] grettir at first cares little for this; but the last part of the curse comes on almost at once and makes him afraid to be alone after dark, while the second is not long delayed. on the eve of setting out once more for norway, he quarrels with and slays a braggart named thorbiorn; during the voyage itself he is the unintentional cause of a whole household of men being burnt to death; and lastly, by his own quarrelsome temper, and some "metaphysical aid," he misses the chance of clearing himself by "bearing iron" (ordeal) before king olaf at drontheim. olaf, his own kinsman, tells him with all frankness that he, grettir, is much too "unlucky" for himself to countenance; and that though he shall have no harm in norway, he must pack to iceland as soon as the sea is open. he accordingly stays during the winter, in a peace only broken by the slaying of another bersark bully, and partly passed with his brother thorstein dromond. meanwhile asmund has died, his eldest son atli has succeeded him, and has been waylaid by men suborned by thorbiorn oxmain, kinsman of the thorbiorn whom grettir slew before leaving iceland the second time. atli escapes and slays his foes. then thorbiorn oxmain himself visits biarg and slays the unarmed atli, who is not avenged because it was grettir's business to look after the matter when he came home. but glam's curse so works that, though plaintiff in this case, he is outlawed in his absence for the burning of the house above referred to, in which he was quite guiltless; and when he lands in iceland it is to find himself deprived of all legal rights, and in such case that no friend can harbour him except under penalty. grettir, as we might expect, is not much daunted by this complication of evils, but he lies hid for a time at his mother's house and elsewhere, not so much to escape his own dangers as to avenge atli on thorbiorn oxmain at the right moment. at last he finds it; and thorbiorn, as well as his sixteen-year-old son arnor, who rather disloyally helps him, is slain by grettir single-handed. his plight at first is not much worsened by this; for though the simple plan of setting off thorbiorn against atli is not adopted, grettir's case is backed directly by his kinsmen and indirectly by the two craftiest men in iceland, snorri the godi and skapti the lawman, and the latter points out that as grettir had been outlawed _before_ it was decreed that the onus of avenging atli lay on him, a fatal flaw had been made in the latter proceeding, and no notice could be taken of the death of thorbiorn at all, though his kin must pay for atli. this fine would have been set off against grettir's outlawry, and he would have become a freeman, had not thorir of garth, the father of the men he had accidentally killed in the burning house, refused; and so the well-meant efforts of grettir's kin and friends fall through. from this time till the end of his life he is a houseless outlaw, abiding in all the most remote parts of the island--"grettir's lairs," as they are called, it would seem, to this day--sometimes countenanced for a short time by well-willing men of position, sometimes dwelling with supernatural creatures,--hallmund, a kindly spirit or cave-dweller with a hospitable daughter, or the half-troll giant thorir, a person of daughters likewise. but his case grows steadily worse. partly owing to sheer ill-luck and glam's curse, partly, as the saga-writer very candidly tells us, because he "was not an easy man to live withal," his tale of slayings and the feuds thereto appertaining grows steadily. for the most part he lives by simple cattle-lifting and the like, which naturally does not make him popular; twice other outlaws come to abide with him, and, after longer or shorter time, try for his richly priced head, and though they lose their own lives, naturally make him more and more desperate. once he is beset by his enemy thorir with eighty men; and only comes off through the backing of his ghostly friend hallmund, who not long after meets his fate by no ignoble hand, and grettir cannot avenge him. again, grettir is warmly welcomed by a widow, steinvor of sand-heaps, at whose dwelling, in the oddest way, he takes up the full _beowulf_ adventure and slays a troll-wife in a cave just as his forerunner slew grendel's mother. but in the end the hue and cry is too strong, and by advice of friends he flies to the steep holm of drangey in holmfirth--a place where the top can only be won by ladders--with his younger brother illugi and a single thrall or slave. illugi is young, but true as steel: the slave is a fool, if not actually a traitor. after the bonders of drangey have done what they could to rid themselves of this very damaging and redoubtable intruder, they give up their shares to a certain thorbiorn angle. thorbiorn at first fares ill against grettir, whose outlawry is on the point of coming to an end, as none might last longer than twenty years. with the help of a wound, witch-caused to grettir, and the slave's treacherous laziness, thorbiorn and his crew climb the ladders and beset the brethren--grettir already half dead with his gangrened wound. the hero is slain with his own short-sword; the brave illugi is overwhelmed with the shields of the eighteen assailants, and then slaughtered in cold blood. but thorbiorn reaps little good, for his traffickings with witchcraft deprive him of his blood-money; the deaths of his men, of whom illugi and grettir had slain not a few, are set against illugi's own; and thorbiorn himself, after escaping to micklegarth (constantinople) and joining the varangians, is slain by thorstein dromond, who has followed him thither and joined the same guard on purpose, and who is made the hero of the appendix above spoken of. [sidenote: _merits of it._] the defects of this are obvious, and may be probably enough accounted for in part by the supposition of the experts above referred to--that the saga as we have it is rather later than the other great sagas, and is a patchwork of divers hands. it may perhaps be added, as a more purely literary criticism, that no one of these hands can have been quite a master, or that his work, if it existed, must have been mutilated or disfigured by others. for the most is nowhere made, except in the glam fight and the last scenes on drangey, of the admirable situations provided by the story; and the presentation of grettir as a man almost everywhere lacks the last touches, while the sagaman has simply thrown away the opportunities afforded him by the insinuated amourettes with steinvor and the daughters of the friendly spirits, and has made a mere _fabliau_ episode of another thing of the kind. nevertheless the attractions of _grettla_ are unique as regards the mixture of the natural and supernatural; not inferior to any other as illustrating the quaintly blended life of iceland; and of the highest kind as regards the conception of the hero--a not ungenerous strength, guided by no intellectual greatness and by hardly any overmastering passion, marred by an unsocial and overbearing temper, and so hardly needing the ill luck, which yet gives poetical finish and dramatic force to the story, to cast itself utterly away. for in stories, as in other games, play without luck is fatiguing and jejune, luck without play childish. it is curious how touching is the figure of the ill-fated hero, not wholly amiable, yet over-matched by fortune, wandering in waste places of a country the fairest spots of which are little better than a desert, forced by his terror of "glam-sight" to harbour criminals far worse than himself, and well knowing that they seek his life, grudgingly and fearfully helped by his few friends, a public nuisance where he should have been a public champion, only befriended heartily by mysterious shadowy personages of whom little is positively told, and when, after twenty years of wild-beast life, his deliverance is at hand, perishing by a combination of foul play on the part of his foes and neglect on that of his slave. at least once, too, in that parting of asdis with grettir and illugi, which ranks not far below the matchless epitaph of sir ector on lancelot, there is not only suggestion, but expression of the highest quality:-- [sidenote: _the parting of asdis and her sons._] "'ah! my sons twain, there ye depart from me, and one death ye shall have together, for no man may flee from that which is wrought for him. on no day now shall i see either of you once again. let one fate, then, be over you both; for i know not what weal ye go to get for yourselves in drangey, but there ye shall both lay your bones, and many shall grudge you that abiding-place. keep ye heedfully from wiles, for marvellously have my dreams gone. be well ware of sorcery; yet none the less shall ye be bitten with the edge of the sword, for nothing can cope with the cunning of eld.' and when she had thus spoken she wept right sore. then said grettir, 'weep not, mother; for if we be set upon by weapons it shall be said of thee that thou hast had sons and not daughters.' and therewith they parted." [sidenote: _great passages of the sagas._] these moments, whether of incident or expression, are indeed frequent enough in the sagas, though the main attraction may consist, as has been said, in the wild interest of the story and the vivid individuality of the characters. the slaying of gunnar of lithend in _njala_, when his false wife refuses him a tress of hair to twist for his stringless bow, has rightly attracted the admiration of the best critics; as has the dauntless resignation of njal himself and bergthora, when both might have escaped their fiery fate. of the touches of which the egil's saga is full, few are better perhaps than the picture in a dozen words of king eric blood-axe "sitting bolt upright and glaring" at the son of skallagrim as he delivers the panegyric which is to save his life, and the composition of which had been so nearly baulked by the twittering of the witch-swallow under his eaves. the "long" kisses of kormak and steingerd, and the poet's unconscious translation of Æschylus[ ] as he says, "eager to find my lady, i have scoured the whole house with the glances of my eyes--in vain," dwell in the memory as softer touches. and for the sterner, nothing can beat the last fight of olaf trygveson, where with the crack of einar tamberskelvir's bow norway breaks from olaf's hands, and the king himself, the last man with kolbiorn his marshal to fight on the deck of the long serpent, springs, gold-helmed, mail-coated, and scarlet-kirtled, into the waves, and sinks with shield held up edgeways[ ] to weight him through the deep green water. [footnote : compare, _mutatis mutandis_, _agam._, _sq._, and kormak's "stray verses," ll. - , in the _corpus_, ii. .] [footnote : _heimskringla_ does not _say_ "edgeways," but this is the clear meaning. kolbiorn held his shield flat and below him, so that it acted as a float, and he was taken. olaf sank.] [sidenote: _style._] the saga prose is straightforward and business-like, the dialogue short and pithy, with considerable interspersion of proverbial phrase, but with, except in case of bad texts, very little obscurity. it is, however, much interspersed also with verses which, like icelandic verse in general, are alliterative in prosody, and often of the extremest euphuism and extravagance in phrase. all who have even a slight acquaintance with sagas know the extraordinary periphrases for common objects, for men and maidens, for ships and swords, that bestrew them. there is, i believe, a theory, not in itself improbable, that the more elaborate and far-fetched the style of this imagery, the later and less genuine is likely to be the poem, if not the saga; but it is certain that the germs of the style are to be found in the _havamal_ and the other earliest and most certainly genuine examples. it is perhaps well to add that very small sagas are called _thættir_ ("scraps"), the same word as "tait" in the scots phrase "tait of wool." but it is admitted that it is not particularly easy to draw the line between the two, and that there is no difference in real character. in fact short sagas might be called _thættir_ and _vice versâ_. also, as hinted before, there is exceedingly little comedy in the sagas. the roughest horse-play in practical joking, the most insolent lampoons in verbal satire, form, as a rule, the lighter element; and pieces like the _bandamanna saga_, which with tragic touches is really comic in the main, are admittedly rare. * * * * * [sidenote: _provençal mainly lyric._] in regard to the second, and contrasted, division of the subject of the present chapter, it has been already noted that, just as icelandic at this period presents to the purview of the comparative literary historian one main subject, if not one only--the saga--so provençal presents one main subject, and almost one only--the formal lyric. the other products of the muse in _langue d'oc_, whether verse or prose, are so scanty, and in comparison[ ] so unimportant, that even special historians of the subject have found but little to say about them. the earliest monument of all, perhaps the earliest finished monument of literature in any romance language, the short poem on boethius, in assonanced decasyllabic _laisses_,--even in its present form probably older than our starting-point, and, it may be, two centuries older in its first form,--is indeed not lyrical; nor is the famous and vigorous verse-history of the albigensian war in _chanson_ style; nor the scanty remnants of other _chansons_, _girart de rossilho_, _daurel et beton_, _aigar et maurin_, which exist; nor the later _romans d'aventure_ of _jaufre_, _flamenca_, _blandin of cornwall_. but in this short list almost everything of interest in our period--the flourishing period of the literature--has been mentioned which is not lyrical.[ ] and if these things, and others like them in much larger number, had existed alone, it is certain that provençal literature would not hold the place which it now holds in the comparative literary history of europe. [footnote : of course this is only in comparison. for instance, in dr suchier's _denkmäler_ (halle, ), which contains nearly large pages of provençal _anecdota_, about four-fifths is devotional matter of various kinds and in various forms, prose and verse. but such matter, which is common to all mediæval languages, is hardly literature at all, being usually translated, with scarcely any expense of literary originality, from the latin, or each other.] [footnote : alberic's _alexander_ (_v._ chap. iv.) is of course provençal in a way, and there was probably a provençal intermediary between the _chanson d'antioche_ and the spanish _gran conquesta de ultramar_. but we have only a few lines of the first and nothing of the second.] that place is due to its lyric, construing that term in a wide sense such as that (but indeed a little wider) in which it has been already used with reference to the kindred and nearly contemporary lyric of france proper. it is best to say "nearly contemporary," because it would appear that provençal actually had the start of french in this respect, though no great start: and it is best to say "kindred" and not "daughter," because though some forms and more names are common to the two, their developments are much more parallel than on the same lines, and they are much more sisters than mother and daughter. [sidenote: _origin of this lyric._] it would appear, though such things can never be quite certain, that, as we should indeed expect, the first developments of provençal lyric were of the hymn kind, and perhaps originally mixtures of romance and latin. this mixture of the vernacular and the learned tongues, both spoken in all probability with almost equal facility by the writer, is naturally not uncommon in the middle ages: and it helps to explain the rapid transference of the latin hymn-rhythms to vernacular verse. thus we have a _noel_ or christmas poem not only written to the tune and in the measure of a latin hymn, _in hoc anni circulo_, not only crowning the provençal six-syllable triplets with a latin refrain, "de virgine maria," and other variations on the virgin's title and name, but with latin verses alternate to the provençal ones. this same arrangement occurs with a provençal fourth rhyme, which seems to have been a favourite one. it is arranged with a variety which shows its earliness, for the fourth line is sometimes "in the air" rhyming to nothing, sometimes rhymes with the other three, and sometimes forces its sound on the last of them, so that the quatrain becomes a pair of couplets. [sidenote: _forms._] the earliest purely secular lyrics, however, are attributed to william ix., count of poitiers, who was a crusader in the very first year of the twelfth century, and is said to have written an account of his journey which is lost. his lyrics survive to the number of some dozen, and show that the art had by his time received very considerable development. for their form, it may suffice to say that of those given by bartsch[ ] the first is in seven-lined stanzas, rhymed _aaaabab_, the _a_-rhyme lines being iambic dimeters, and the _b_'s monometers. number two has five six-lined stanzas, all dimeters, rhymed _aaabab_: and a four-lined finale, rhymed _ab, ab_. the third is mono-rhymed throughout, the lines being disyllabic with licence to extend. and the fourth is in the quatrain _aaab_, but with the _b_ rhyme identical throughout, capped with a couplet _ab_. if these systems be compared with the exact accounts of early french, english, and german lyric in chapters v.-vii., it will be seen that provençal probably, if not certainly, led the way in thus combining rhythmic arrangement and syllabic proportion with a cunning variation of rhyme-sound. it was also the first language to classify poetry, as it may be called, by assigning special forms to certain kinds of subject or--if not quite this--to constitute classes of poems themselves according to their arrangement in line, stanza, and rhyme. a complete prosody of the language of _canso_ and _sirvente_, of _vers_ and _cobla_, of _planh_, _tenso_, _tornejamens_, _balada_, _retroensa_, and the rest, would take more room than can be spared here, and would hardly be in place if it were otherwise. all such prosodies tend rather to the childish, as when, for instance, the _pastorela_, or shepherdess poem in general, was divided into _porquiera_, _cabreira_, _auqueira_, and other things, according as the damsel's special wards were pigs or goats or geese. perhaps the most famous, peculiar, and representative of provençal forms are the _alba_, or poem of morning parting, and the _sirvente_, or poem _not_ of love. the _sestina_, a very elaborate canzonet, was invented in provence and borrowed by the italians. but it is curious to find that the sonnet, the crown and flower of all artificial poetry, though certainly invented long before the decadence of provençal, was only used in provençal by italian experimenters. the poets proper of the _langue d'oc_ were probably too proud to admit any form that they had not invented themselves. [footnote : the _grundriss zur geschichte der provenzalischen literatur_ (elberfeld, ) and the _chrestomathie provençale_ ( d ed., elberfeld, ) of this excellent scholar will not soon be obsolete, and may, in the peculiar conditions of the case, suffice all but special students in a degree hardly possible in any other literature. mahn's _troubadours_ and the older works of raynouard and fauriel are the chief storehouses of wider information, and separate editions of the works of the chief poets are being accumulated by modern, chiefly german, scholars. an interesting and valuable addition to the _english_ literature of the subject has been made, since the text was written, by miss ida farnell's _lives of the troubadours_, a translation with added specimens of the poets and other editorial matter.] [sidenote: _many men, one mind._] next in noteworthiness to the variety of form of the provençal poets is their number. even the multitude of _trouvères_ and minnesingers dwindles beside the list of four hundred and sixty named poets, for the twelfth and thirteenth centuries only, which bartsch's list contains; some, it is true, credited with only a single piece, but others with ten, twenty, fifty, or even close to a hundred, not to mention an anonymous appendix of over two hundred and fifty poems more. great, however, as is the bulk of this division of literature, hardly any has more distinct and uniform--its enemies may say more monotonous--characteristics. it is not entirely composed of love-poetry; but the part devoted to this is so very much the largest, and so very much the most characteristic, that popular and almost traditional opinion is scarcely wrong in considering love-poetry and provençal poetry to be almost, and with the due limitation in the first case, convertible terms. [sidenote: _example of rhyme-schemes._] the spirit of this poetry is nowhere better shown than in the refrain of an anonymous _alba_, which begins-- "en un verger sotz folha d'albespi," and which has for burden-- "oi deus! oi deus, de l'alba, tant tost ve!" of which an adaptation by mr swinburne is well known. "in the orchard," however, is not only a much longer poem than the _alba_ from which it borrows its burden, but is couched in a form much more elaborate, and has a spirit rather early italian than provençal. it is, indeed, not very easy to define the provençal spirit itself, which has sometimes been mistaken, and oftener exaggerated. although the average troubadour poem--whether of love, or of satire, or, more rarely, of war--is much less simple in tone than the northern lyric already commented on, it cannot be said to be very complex; and, on the whole, the ease, accomplishment, and, within certain strict limits, variety of the form are more remarkable than any intensity or volume of passion or of thought. the musical character (less inarticulate and more regular), which has also been noted in the poems of the _trouvères_, is here eminent: though the woodnote wild of the minnesinger is quite absent or very rarely present. the facility of double rhymes, with a full vowel sound in each syllable, has a singular and very pleasing effect, as in the piece by marcabrun beginning-- "l'autrier jost una sebissa," "the other day by a hedge," the curiously complicated construction of which is worth dwelling on as a specimen. it consists of six double stanzas, of fourteen lines or two septets each, finished by a sestet, _aabaab_. the septets are rhymed _aaabaab_; and though the _a_ rhymes vary in each set of fourteen, the _b_ rhymes are the same throughout; and the first of them in each septet is the same word, _vilana_ (peasant girl), throughout. thus we have as the rhymes of the first twenty-eight lines _sebissa_, _mestissa_, _massissa_, _vilana_, _pelissa_, _treslissa_, _lana_; _planissa_, _faitissa_, _fissa_, _vilana_, _noirissa_, _m'erissa_, _sana_; _pia_, _via_, _companhia_, _vilana_, _paria_, _bestia_, _soldana_; _sia_, _folia_, _parelharia_, _vilana_, _s'estia_, _bailia_, _l'ufana_. [sidenote: _provençal poetry not great._] such a _carillon_ of rhymes as this is sometimes held to be likely to concentrate the attention of both writer and reader too much on the accompaniment, and to leave the former little time to convey, and the latter little chance of receiving, any very particularly choice sense. this most certainly cannot be laid down as a universal law; there are too many examples to the contrary, even in our own language, not to go further. but it may be admitted that when the styles of literature are both fashionable and limited, and when a very large number of persons endeavour to achieve distinction in them, there is some danger of something of the sort coming about. no nation has ever been able, in the course of less than two centuries, to provide four hundred and sixty named poets and an indefinitely strong reinforcement of anonyms, all of whom have native power enough to produce verse at once elaborate in form and sovereign in spirit; and the peoples of the _langue d'oc_, who hardly together formed a nation, were no exception to the rule. that rule is a rule of "minor poetry," accomplished, scholarly, agreeable, but rarely rising out of minority. [sidenote: _but extraordinarily pedagogic._] yet their educating influence was undoubtedly strong, and their actual production not to be scorned. in the capacity of teachers they were not without strong influence on their northern countrymen; they certainly and positively acted as direct masters to the literary lyric both of italy and spain; they at least shared with the _trouvères_ the position of models to the minnesingers. it is at first sight rather surprising that, considering the intimate relations between england and aquitaine during the period--considering that at least one famous troubadour, bertran de born, is known to have been concerned in the disputes between henry ii. and his sons--provençal should not have exercised more direct influence over english literature. it was a partly excusable mistake which made some english critics, who knew that richard coeur de lion, for instance, was himself not unversed in the "manner of _trobar_," assert or assume, until within the present century, that it did exercise such influence. but, as a matter of fact, it did not; and the reason is sufficiently simple, or at least (for it is double rather than simple) sufficiently clear. [sidenote: _though not directly on english._] in the first place, english was not, until quite the end of the flourishing period of provençal poetry, and specially at the period above referred to, in a condition to profit by provençal models; while in the fourteenth century, when english connection with the south of france was closer still, provençal was in its decadence. and, in the second place, the structure and spirit of the two tongues almost forbade imitation of the one in the other. it was northern, not southern, french that helped to make english proper out of anglo-saxon; and the gap between northern french and southern french themselves was far wider than between provençal and the peninsular tongues. to which things, if any one pleases, he may add the difference of the spirit of the two races; but this is always vague and uncertain ground, and is best avoided when we can tread on the firm land of history and literature proper. such a rhyme-arrangement as that above set forth is probably impossible in english; even now it will be observed that mr swinburne, the greatest master of double and treble rhymes that we have ever had, rarely succeeds in giving even the former with a full spondaic effect of vowel such as is easy in provençal. in "the garden of proserpine" itself, as in the double rhymes, where they occur, of "the triumph of time" (the greatest thing ever written in the provençal manner, and greater than anything in provençal), the second vowels of the rhymes are never full. and there too, as i think invariably in english, the poet shows his feeling of the intolerableness of continued double rhyme by making the odd verses rhyme plump and with single sound. of poetry so little remarkable in individual manner or matter it is impossible to give abstracts, such as those which have been easy, and it may be hoped profitable, in some of the foregoing chapters; and prolonged analyses of form are tedious, except to the expert and the enthusiast. with some brief account, therefore, of the persons who chiefly composed this remarkable mass of lyric we may close a notice of the subject which is superficially inadequate to its importance, but which, perhaps, will not seem so to those who are content not merely to count pages but to weigh moments. the moment which provençal added to the general body of force in european literature was that of a limited, somewhat artificial, but at the same time exquisitely artful and finished lyrical form, so adapted to the most inviting of the perennial motives of literature that it was sure to lead to imitation and development. it gave means and held up models to those who were able to produce greater effects than are to be found in its own accomplishment: yet was not its accomplishment, despite what is called its monotony, despite its limits and its defects, other than admirable and precious. [sidenote: _some troubadours._] the "first warbler," count william ix. of poitiers, has already been mentioned, and his date fixed at exactly the first year of our period. his chief immediate successors or contemporaries were cercamon ("cherchemonde," _cursor mundi_); the above quoted marcabrun, who is said to have accompanied cercamon in his wanderings, and who has left much more work; and bertrand de ventadorn or ventadour, perhaps the best of the group, a farmer's son of the place from which he takes his noble-sounding name, and a professional lover of the lady thereof. of jaufre (geoffrey) rudel of blaye, whose love for the lady of tripoli, never yet seen by him, and his death at first sight of her, supply, with the tragedy of cabestanh and the cannibal banquet, the two most famous pieces of troubadour anecdotic history, we have half-a-dozen pieces. in succession to these, count rambaut of orange and countess beatrice of die keep up the reputation of the _gai saber_ as an aristocratic employment, and the former's poem-- "escoutatz mas no sai que s'es" (in six-lined stanzas, rhymed _ababab_, with prose "tags" to each, something in the manner of the modern comic song), is at least a curiosity. the primacy of the whole school in its most flourishing time, between and , is disputed by arnaut daniel (a great master of form, and as such venerated by his greater italian pupils) and giraut de bornelh, who is more fully represented in extant work than most of his fellows, as we have more than fourscore pieces of his. peire or peter vidal, another typical troubadour, who was a crusader, an exceedingly ingenious verse-smith, a great lover, and a proficient in the fantastic pranks which rather brought the school into discredit, inasmuch as he is said to have run about on all fours in a wolfskin in honour of his mistress loba (lupa); gaucelm faidit and arnaut de maroilh, folquet of marseilles, and rambaut of vaqueras; the monk of montaudon and bertrand de born himself, who with peire cardinal is the chief satirist (though the satire of the two takes different forms); guillem figueira, the author of a long invective against rome, and sordello of mysterious and contingent fame,--are other chief members, and of some of them we have early, perhaps contemporary, _lives_, or at least anecdotes. for instance, the cabestanh or cabestaing story comes from these. the last name of importance in our period, if not the last of the right troubadours, is usually taken to be that of guiraut riquier. [sidenote: _criticism of provençal._] it would scarcely be fair to say that the exploit attributed to rambaut of vaqueras, a poet of the very palmiest time, at the juncture of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries--that of composing a poem in lines written successively in three different forms of provençal (_langue d'oc_ proper, gascon, and catalan), in _langue d'oïl_, and in italian, with a _coda_ line jumbled up of all five--is a final criticism at once of the merits and the defects of this literature. but it at least indicates the lines of such a criticism. by its marvellous suppleness, sweetness, and adaptation to the verbal and metrical needs of poetry, provençal served--in a fashion probably impossible to the stiffer if more virile tongues--as an example in point of form to these tongues themselves: and it achieved, at the same time with a good deal of mere gymnastic, exercises in form of the most real and abiding beauty. but it had as a language too little character of its own, and was too fatally apt to shade into the other languages--french on the one hand, spanish and italian on the other--with which it was surrounded, and to which it was akin. and coming to perfection at a time when no modern thought was distinctly formed, when positive knowledge was at a low ebb, and when it had neither the stimulus of vigorous national life nor the healthy occupation of what may be called varied literary business, it tended to become, on the whole, too much of a plaything merely. now, schools and playgrounds are both admirable things, and necessary to man; but what is done in both is only an exercise or a relaxation from exercise. neither man nor literature can stay either in class-room or playing-field for ever, and provençal had scarcely any other places of abode to offer. chapter ix. the literature of the peninsulas. limitations of this chapter. late greek romance. its difficulties as a subject. anna comnena, etc. 'hysminias and hysmine.' its style. its story. its handling. its "decadence." lateness of italian. the "saracen" theory. the "folk-song" theory. ciullo d'alcamo. heavy debt to france. yet form and spirit both original. love-lyric in different european countries. position of spanish. catalan-provenÇal. galician-portuguese. castilian. ballads? the 'poema del cid.' a spanish "chanson de geste." in scheme and spirit. difficulties of its prosody. ballad-metre theory. irregularity of line. other poems. apollonius and mary of egypt. berceo. alfonso el sabio. [sidenote: _limitations of this chapter._] there is something more than a freak, or a mere geographical adaptation, in taking together, and at the last, the contributions of the three peninsulas which form the extreme south of europe. for in the present scheme they form, as it were, but an appendix to the present book. the dying literature of greece--if indeed it be not more proper to describe this phase of byzantine writing as ghostly rather than moribund--presents at most but one point of interest, and that rather a _frage_, a thesis, than a solid literary contribution. the literature of italy prior to the fourteenth century is such a daughter of provençal on the one hand, and is so much more appropriately to be taken in connection with dante than by itself on the other, that it can claim admission only to be, as it were, "laid on the table." and that of spain, though full of attraction, had also but just begun, and yields but one certain work of really high importance, the _poema del cid_, for serious comment in our pages. in the case of spain, and still more in that of italy, the scanty honour apparently paid here will be amply made up in other volumes of the series. as much can hardly be said of greece. conscientious chroniclers of books may, indeed, up to the sixteenth century find something which, though scarcely literature, is at any rate written matter. and at the very last there is the attempt, rather respectable than successful, to re-create at once the language and the literature, for the use of greeks who are at least questionably hellenic, in relation to forms and subjects separated by more than a millennium--by nearly two millennia--from the forms and the subjects in regard to which greek was once a living speech. but greek literature, the living literary contribution of greek to europe, almost ceases with the latest poets of the anthology. [sidenote: _late greek romance._] in what has been called the "ghost" time, however, in that portion of it which belongs to our present period, there is one shadow that flutters with a nearer approach to substance than most. some glance has been made above at the question, "what was the exact relation between western romance and that later form of greek novel-writing of which the chief relic is the _hysminias and hysmine_[ ] of eustathius macrembolita?" were these stories, many of which must be lost, or have not yet been recovered, direct, and in their measure original and independent, continuations of the earlier school of greek romance proper? did they in that case, through the crusades or otherwise, come under the notice of the west, and serve as stimulants, if not even directly as patterns, to the far greater achievements of western romance itself? do they, on the other hand, owe something to models still farther east? or are they, as has sometimes been hinted, copies of western romance itself? had the still ingenious, though hopelessly effeminate, byzantine mind caught up the literary style of the visitors it feared but could not keep out? [footnote : ed. hercher, _erotici scriptores græci_ ( vols., leipzig, ), ii. - .] [sidenote: _its difficulties as a subject._] all these questions are questions exceedingly proper to be stated in a book of this kind; not quite so proper to be worked out in it, even if the working out were possible. but it is impossible for two causes--want of room, which might not be fatal; and want of ascertained fact, which cannot but be so. despite the vigorous work of recent generations on all literary and historical subjects, no one has yet succeeded, and until some one more patient of investigation than fertile in theory arises, no one is likely to succeed, in laying down the exact connection between eastern, western, and, as go-between, byzantine literature. even in matters which are the proper domain of history itself, such as those of the trojan and alexandrine apocryphas, much is still in the vague. in the case of western romance, of the later greek stories, and of such eastern matter as, for instance, the story of sharkan and that of zumurrud and her master in the _arabian nights_, the vague rules supreme. there were, perhaps, _trouvère_-knights in the garrisons of edessa or of jôf who could have told us all about it. but nobody did tell: or if anybody did, the tale has not survived. [sidenote: _anna comnena, &c._] but this interest of problem is not the only one that attaches to the "drama," as he calls it, of eustathius or eumathius "the philosopher," who flourished at some time between the twelfth and the fourteenth century, and is therefore pretty certainly ours. for the purposes of literary history the book deserves to be taken as the typical contribution of greek during the period, much better than the famous _alexiad_ of anna comnena[ ] in history, or the verse romances of eustathius's probable contemporaries theodorus prodromus and nicetas eugenianus.[ ] the princess's book, though historically important, and by no means disagreeable to read, is, as literature, chiefly remarkable as exhibiting the ease and the comparative success with which greek lent itself to the formation of an artificial _style noble_, more like the writing of the average (not the better) frenchman of the eighteenth century than it is like anything else. it is this peculiarity which has facilitated the construction of the literary _pastiche_ called modern greek, and perhaps it is this which will long prevent the production of real literature in that language or pseudo-language. on the other hand, the books of theodorus and nicetas, devoted, according to rule, to the loves respectively of rhodanthe and dosicles, of charicles and drosilla, are written in iambic trimeters of the very worst and most wooden description. it is doubtful whether even the great tragic poets could have made the trimeter tolerable as the vehicle of a long story. in the hands of theodorus and nicetas its monotony becomes utterly sickening, while the level of the composition of neither is much above that of a by no means gifted schoolboy, even if we make full allowance for the changes in prosody, and especially in quantity, which had set in for greek as they had for other languages. the question whether these iambics are more or less terrible than the "political verses"[ ] of the wise manasses,[ ] which usually accompany them in editions, and which were apparently inserted in what must have been the inconceivably dreary romance of "aristander and callithea," must be left to individual taste to decide. manasses also wrote a history of the world in the same rhythm, and it is possible that he may have occasionally forgotten which of the two books he was writing at any given time. [footnote : ed. reifferscheid. vols. leipzig, .] [footnote : following eustathius in hercher, _op. cit._] [footnote : these political verses are fifteen-syllabled, with a cæsura at the eighth, and in a rhythm ostensibly accentual.] [footnote : _erotici scriptores_, ii. .] [sidenote: hysminias and hysmine.] [sidenote: _its style._] but _hysminias and hysmine_[ ] has interests of character which distinguish its author and itself, not merely from the herd of chroniclers and commentators who make up the bulk of byzantine literature so-called, but even from such more respectable but somewhat featureless work as anna comnena's. it is not a good book; but it is by no means so extremely bad as the traditional judgment (not always, perhaps, based on or buttressed by direct acquaintance with the original) is wont to give out. on one at least of the sides of this interest it is quite useless to read it except in the original, for the attraction is one of style. neither lyly nor any of our late nineteenth-century "stylists" has outgone, perhaps none has touched, eustathius in euphuism. it is needless to say that while the simplicity of the best greek style usually prefers the most direct and natural order, its suppleness lends itself to almost any gymnastic, and its lucidity prevents total confusion from arising. eustathius has availed himself of these opportunities for "raising his mother tongue to a higher power" to the very utmost. no translation can do justice to the elaborate foppery of even the first sentence,[ ] with its coquetry of arrangement, its tormented structure of phrase, its jingle of sound-repetition, its desperate rejection of simplicity in every shape and form. to describe precisely the means resorted to would take a chapter at least. they are astonishingly modern--the present tense, the use of catchwords like [greek: holos], the repetitions and jingles above referred to. excessively elaborate description of word-painting, though modern too, can hardly be said to be a novelty: it had distinguished most of the earlier greek novelists, especially achilles tatius. but there is something in the descriptions of _hysminias and hysmine_ more mediæval than those of achilles, more like the _romance of the rose_, to which, indeed, there is a curious resemblance of atmosphere in the book. triplets of epithet--"a man athirst, and parched, and boiling"--meet us. there is a frequent economy of conjunctions. there is the resort to personification--for instance, in the battle of love and shame, which serves as climax to the elaborate description of the lovers' kissing. in short, all our old friends--the devices which every generation of seekers after style parades with such a touching conviction that they are quite new, and which every literary student knows to be as old as literature--are to be found here. the language is in its decadence: the writer has not much to say. but it is surprising how much, with all his drawbacks, he accomplishes. [footnote : sometimes spelt _ismenias and ismene_. i believe it was first published in an italian translation of the late renaissance, and it has appeared in other languages since. but it is only worth reading in its own.] [footnote : [greek: polis eurykômis kai talla men agathê, hoti kai thalattê stephanoutai kai poilmois katarreitai kai leimôsi koma kai tryphais euthêneitai pantodapais, ta d' eis theous eusebês, kai hyper tas chrysas athênas holê bômos, holê thyma, theois anathêma.]] [sidenote: _its story._] whether the book, either as an individual composition, or more probably as a member of an extinct class, is as important in matter and in tone as it is in style is more doubtful. the style itself, as to which there is no doubt, may perhaps colour the matter too much. all that can be safely said is that it reads with distinctly modern effect after heliodorus and achilles, longus and xenophon. the story is not much. hysminias, a beautiful youth of the city of eurycomis, is chosen for a religious embassy or _kerukeia_ to the neighbouring town of aulicomis. the task of acting as host to him falls on one sosthenes, whose daughter hysmine strikes hysminias with love at first sight. the progress of their passion is facilitated by the pretty old habit of girls acting as cupbearers, and favoured by accident to no small degree, the details of the courtship being sometimes luscious, but adjusted to less fearless old fashions than the wooings of chloe or of melitta. adventures by land and sea follow; and, of course, a happy ending. [sidenote: _its handling._] but what is really important is the way in which these things are handled. it has as mere story-telling little merit: the question is whether the spirit, the conduct, the details, do not show a temper much more akin to mediæval than to classical treatment. i think they do. hysminias is rather a silly, and more than rather a chicken-hearted, fellow; his conduct on board ship when his beloved incurs the fate of jonah is eminently despicable: but then he was countryman _ex hypothesi_ of mourzoufle, not of villehardouin. the "battailous" spirit of the west is not to be expected in a byzantine sophist. whether something of its artistic and literary spirit is not to be detected in him is a more doubtful question. for my part, i cannot read of hysmine without being reminded of nicolette, as i am never reminded in other parts of the _scriptores erotici_. [sidenote: _its "decadence."_] yet, experiment or remainder, imitation or original, one cannot but feel that the book, like all the literature to which it belongs, has more of the marks of death than of life in it. its very elegances are "rose-coloured curtains for the doctors"--the masque of a moribund art. some of them may have been borrowed by, rather than from, younger and hopefuller craftsmanship, but the general effect is the same. we are here face to face with those phenomena of "decadence," which, though they have often been exaggerated and wrongly interpreted, yet surely exist and reappear at intervals--the contortions of style that cannot afford to be natural, the tricks of word borrowed from literary reminiscence ([greek: holos] itself in this way is at least as old as lucian), the tormented effort at detail of description, at "analysis" of thought and feeling, of incident and moral. the cant phrase about being "_né trop tard dans un monde trop vieux_" has been true of many persons, while more still have affected to believe it true of themselves, since eustathius: it is not much truer of any one than of him. curious as such specimens of a dying literature may be, it cannot but be refreshing to go westward from it to the nascent literatures of italy and of spain, literatures which have a future instead of merely a past, and which, independently of that somewhat illegitimate advantage, have characteristics not unable to bear comparison with those of the past, even had it existed. [sidenote: _lateness of italian._] between the earliest italian and the earliest spanish literature, however, there are striking differences to be noted. persons ignorant of the usual course of literary history might expect in italian a regular and unbroken development, literary as well as linguistic, of latin. but, as a matter of fact, the earliest vernacular literature in italy shows very little trace of classical influence[ ]: and though that influence appears strongly in the age immediately succeeding ours, and helps to produce the greatest achievements of the language, it may be questioned whether its results were wholly beneficial. in the earliest italian, or rather sicilian, poetry quite different influences are perceptible. one of them--the influence of the literatures of france, both southern and northern--is quite certain and incontestable. the intercourse between the various romance-speaking nations surrounding the western mediterranean was always close; and the development of provençal literature far anticipated, both in date and form, that of any other. moreover, some northern influence was undoubtedly communicated by the norman conquests of the eleventh century. but two other strains--one of which has long been asserted with the utmost positiveness, while the latter has been a favourite subject of italian patriotism since the political unification of the country--are much more dubious. because it is tolerably certain that italian poetry in the modern literary sense arose in sicily, and because sicily was beyond all doubt almost more saracen than frank up to the twelfth century, it was long, and has not quite ceased to be, the fashion to assign a great, if not the greatest, part to arabian literature. not merely the sonnet (which seems to have arisen in the two sicilies), but even the entire system of rhymed lyrical verse, common in the modern languages, has been thus referred to the east by some. [footnote : i have not thought it proper, considering the system of excluding mere hypothesis which i have adopted, to give much place here to that interesting theory of modern "romanists" which will have it that latin classical literature was never much more than a literary artifice, and that the modern romance tongues and literatures connect directly, through that famous _lingua romana rustica_ and earlier forms of it, vigorous though inarticulate, in classical times themselves, with primitive poetry--"saturnian," "fescennine," and what not. all this is interesting, and it cannot be said, in the face of inscriptions, of the scraps of popular speech in the classics, &c., to be entirely guesswork. but a great deal of it is.] [sidenote: _the "saracen" theory._] this matter can probably never be pronounced upon, with complete satisfaction to readers, except by a literary critic who is equally competent in eastern and western history and literature, a person who certainly has not shown himself as yet. what can be said with some confidence is, that the saracen theory of literature, like the saracen theory of architecture, so soon as it is carried beyond the advancing of a possible but slight and very indeterminate influence and colouring, has scarcely the slightest foundation in known facts, and is very difficult, if not impossible, to reconcile with facts that are known, while it is intrinsically improbable to the very highest degree. as has been pointed out above, the modern prosody of europe is quite easily and logically explicable as the result of the juxtaposition of the latin rhythms of the church service, and the verse systems indigenous in the different barbaric nations. that the peculiar cast and colour of early italian poetry may owe something of that difference which it exhibits, even in comparison with provençal, much more with french, most of all with teutonic poetry, to contact with arabian literature, is not merely possible but probable. anything more must be regarded as not proven, and not even likely. [sidenote: _the "folk-song" theory._] [sidenote: _ciullo d'alcamo._] of late, however, attempts have been made to assign the greater part of the matter to no foreign influence whatever, but to native folk-songs, in which at the present time, and no doubt for a long time back, italy is beyond all question rich above the wont of european countries. but this attempt, however interesting and patriotic, labours under the same fatal difficulties which beset similar attempts in other languages. it may be regarded as perfectly certain that we do not possess any italian popular poem in any form which can have existed prior to the thirteenth century; and only such poems would be of any use. to argue, as is always argued in such cases, that existing examples show, by this or that characteristic, that in other forms they must have existed in the twelfth century or even earlier, is only an instance of that learned childishness which unfortunately rules so widely in literary, though it has been partly expelled from general, history. "may have been" and "must have been" are phrases of no account to a sound literary criticism, which insists upon "was." and in reference to this particular subject of early italian poetry the reader may be referred to the very learned dissertation[ ] of signor alessandro d'ancona on the _contrasto_ of ciullo d'alcamo, which has been commonly regarded as the first specimen of italian poetry, and has been claimed for the beginning of the thirteenth century, if not the end of the twelfth. he will, if the gods have made him in the least critical, rise from the perusal with the pretty clear notion that whether ciullo d'alcamo was "such a person," or whether he was cielo dal camo; whether the _contrasto_ was written on the bridge of the twelfth and thirteenth century, or fifty years later; whether the poet was a warrior of high degree or an obscure folk-singer; whether his dialect has been tuscanised or is still sicilian with french admixture,--these are things not to be found out, things of mere opinion and hypothesis, things good to write programmes and theses on, but only to be touched in the most gingerly manner by sober history. [footnote : see _studj sulla letteratura italiana dei primi secoli_. d ed. milan: fratelli treves, . pp. - .] to the critic, then, who deals with dante--and especially to him, inasmuch as he has the privilege of dealing with that priceless document, the _de vulgari eloquio_,[ ]--may be left ciullo, or cielo, and his successors the frederician set, from the emperor himself and piero delle vigne downwards. more especially to him belong the poets of the late thirteenth century, dante's own immediate predecessors, contemporaries, and in a way masters--guinicelli, cavalcanti, sinibaldi, and guittone d'arezzo (to whom the canonical form of the sonnet used at one time to be attributed, and may be again); brunetto latini, of fiery memory; fra jacopone,[ ] great in latin, eccentric in italian, and others. it will be not merely sufficient, but in every way desirable, here to content ourselves with an account of the general characteristics of this poetry (contemporary prose, though existent, is of little importance), and to preface this by some remarks on the general influences and contributions of material with which italian literature started. [footnote : obtainable in many forms, separately and with dante's works. the latin is easy enough, but there is a good english translation by a.g. ferrers howell (london, ). those who like facsimiles may find one of the grenoble ms., with a learned introduction, edited by mm. maignien and prompt (venice, ).] [footnote : authorities differ oddly on jacopone da todi (_v._ p. ) in his italian work. professor d'andrea's book, cited above, opens with an excellent essay on him.] [sidenote: _heavy debt to france._] there is no valid reason for doubting that these influences and materials were mainly french. as has been partly noted in a former chapter, the french _chansons de geste_ made an early and secure conquest of the italian ear in the north, partly in translation, partly in the still more unmistakable form of macaronic italianised french. it has indeed been pointed out that the sicilian school was to some extent preceded by that of the trevisan march, the most famous member of which was sordello. it would appear, however, that this school was even more distinctly and exclusively a branch of provençal than the sicilian; and that the special characteristic of the latter did not appear in it. the carlovingian poems (and to some, though a much less, extent the arthurian) made a deep impression both on popular and on cultivated italian taste as a matter of subject; but their form, after its first results in variation and translation, was not perpetuated; and when italian epic made its appearance some centuries later, it inclined for the most part to burlesque, or at least to the tragi-comic, until the serious genius of tasso gave it a new, but perhaps a not wholly natural, direction. [sidenote: _yet form and spirit both original._] in that earliest, really national, and vernacular school, however, which has been the chief subject of discourse, the direction was mainly and almost wholly towards lyric; and the supremacy of the sonnet and the _canzone_ is the less surprising because their rivals were for the most part less accomplished examples of the same kind. the _contrasto_[ ] of ciullo itself is a poem in lyric stanzas of five lines--three of sixteen syllables, rhymed _a_, and two hendecasyllabics, rhymed _b_. the rhymes are fairly exact, though sometimes loose, _o_ and _u_, _e_ and _i_, being permitted to pair. the poem, a simple discourse or dispute between two lovers, something in the style of some french _pastourelles_, displays however, with some of the exaggeration and stock phrase of provençal (perhaps we might say of all) love-poetry, little or nothing of that peculiar mystical tone which we have been accustomed to associate with early italian verse, chiefly represented, as it is to most readers, by the _vita nuova_, where the spirit is slightly altered in itself, and speaks in the mouth of a poet greater in his weakest moments than the whole generation from ciullo to guittone in their strongest. this spirit, showing itself in the finer and more masculine form in dante himself, in the more feminine and weaker in petrarch, not merely gives us sublime or exquisite poetry in the fourteenth century, but in the sixteenth contributes very largely to launch, on fresh careers of achievement, the whole poetry of france and of england. but it is fair to acknowledge its presence in dante's predecessors, and at the same time to confess that they themselves do not seem to have learned it from any one, or at least from any single master or group of masters. the provençal poets deify passion, and concentrate themselves wholly upon it; but it is seldom, indeed, that we find the "metaphysical" touch in the provençals proper. and it is this--this blending of love and religion, of scholasticism and _minnedienst_ (to borrow a word wanted in other languages than that in which it exists)--that is attributed by the partisans of the east to arabian influence, or at least to arabian contact. some stress has been laid on the testimony of ibn zobeir about the end of the twelfth century, and consequently not long before even the latest date assigned to ciullo, that alcamo itself was entirely mussulman in belief. [footnote : the text with comment, stanza by stanza, is to be found in the book cited above.] [sidenote: _love-lyric in different european countries._] on these points it is not possible to decide: the point on which to lay the finger for our present purpose is that the contribution of italy at this time was, on the one hand, the further refinement of the provençal attention to form, and the production of one capital instrument of european poetry--the sonnet; on the other, the conveyance, by means of this instrument and others, of a further, and in one way almost final, variation of the poetic expression of love. it is of the first importance to note the characteristics, in different nations at nearly the same time, of this rise of lyrical love-poetry. we find it in northern and southern france, probably at about the same time; in germany and italy somewhat later, and almost certainly in a state of pupilship to the french. all, in different ways, display a curious and delightful metrical variety, as if the poet were trying to express the eternal novelty, combined with the eternal oneness, of passion by variations of metrical form. in each language these variations reflect national peculiarities--in northern french and german irregular bursts with a multiplicity of inarticulate refrain, in provençal and italian a statelier and more graceful but somewhat more monotonous arrangement and proportion. and the differences of spirit are equally noticeable, though one must, as always, be careful against generalising too rashly as to their identity with supposed national characteristics. the innumerable love-poems of the _trouvères_, pathetic sometimes, and sometimes impassioned, are yet, as a rule, cheerful, not very deep, verging not seldom on pure comedy. the so-called monotonous enthusiasm of the troubadour, his stock-images, his musical form, sublime to a certain extent the sensual side of love, but confine themselves to that side merely, as a rule, or leave it only to indulge in the purely fantastic. of those who borrowed from them, the germans, as we should expect, lean rather to the northern type, but vary it with touches of purity, and other touches of religion; the italians to the southern, exalting it into a mysticism which can hardly be called devotional, though it at times wears the garb of devotion.[ ] among those collections for which the student of letters pines, not the least desirable would be a _corpus_ of the lyric poets of europe during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. we should then see--after a fashion difficult if not impossible in the sporadic study of texts edited piecemeal, and often overlaid with comment not of the purely literary kind--at once the general similarity and the local or individual exceptions, the filiation of form, the diffusion of spirit. no division of literature, perhaps, would serve better as a kind of chrestomathy for illustrating the positions on which the scheme of this series is based. and though it is overshadowed by the achievements of its own pupils; though it has a double portion of the mediæval defect of "school"-work--of the almost tedious similarity of different men's manner--the italian poetry, which is practically the italian literature, of the thirteenth century would be not the least interesting part of such a _corpus_. [footnote : "sacro erotismo," "baccanale cristiano," are phrases of professor d'andrea's.] [sidenote: _position of spanish._] the spanish literature[ ] with which we have to do is probably inferior in bulk even to that of italy; it is certainly far less rich in named and more or less known authors, while it is a mere drop as compared with the dead sea of byzantine writing. but by virtue of at least one really great composition, the famous _poema del cid_, it ranks higher than either of these groups in sheer literary estimation, while from the point of view of literary history it is perhaps more interesting than the italian, and certainly far more interesting than the greek. it does not rank with french as an instance of real literary preponderance and chieftainship; or with german as an example of the sudden if short blossoming of a particular period and dialect into great if not wholly original literary prominence; much less with icelandic and provençal, as containing a "smooth and round" expression of certain definite characteristics of literature and life once for all embodied. it has to give way not merely to provençal, but to italian itself as an example of early scholarship in literary form. but it makes a most interesting pair to english as an instance of vigorous and genuine national literary development; while, if it is inferior to english, as showing that fatal departmental or provincial separation, that "particularism" which has in many ways been so disastrous to the peninsula, it once more, by virtue of the _poema_, far excels our own production of the period in positive achievement, and foretells the masterpieces of the national poetry in a way very different from any that can be said to be shown in layamon or the _ancren riwle_, even in the arthurian romances and the early lyrics. [footnote : spanish can scarcely be said to have shared, to an extent commensurate with its interest, in the benefit of recent study of the older forms of modern languages. there is, at any rate in english, and i think elsewhere, still nothing better than ticknor's _history of spanish literature_ ( vols., london, , and reprinted since), in the early part of which he had the invaluable assistance of the late don pascual de gayangos. some scattered papers may be found in _romania_. fortunately, almost all the known literary materials for our period are to be found in sanchez' _poesias castellanas anteriores al siglo xv._, the paris ( ) reprint of which by ochoa, with a few valuable additions, i have used. the _poema del cid_ is, except in this old edition, rather discreditably inaccessible--vollmöller's german edition (halle, ), the only modern or critical one, being, i understand, out of print. it would be a good deed if the clarendon press would furnish students with this, the only rival of _beowulf_ and the _chanson de roland_ in the combination of antiquity and interest.] [sidenote: _catalan-provençal._] the earliest literature which, in the wide sense, can be called spanish divides itself into three heads--provençal-catalan; galician-portuguese; and castilian or spanish proper. not merely catalonia itself, but aragon, navarre, and even valencia, were linguistically for centuries mere outlying provinces of the _langue d'oc_. the political circumstances which attended the dying-out of the provençal school at home, for a time even encouraged the continuance of provençal literature in spain: and to a certain extent spanish and provençal appear to have been written, if not spoken, bilingually by the same authors. but for the general purpose of this book the fact of the persistence of the "limousin" tongue in catalonia and (strongly dialected) in valencia having been once noted, not much further notice need be taken of this division. [sidenote: _galician-portuguese._] so also we may, with a brief distinctive notice, pass by the galician dialects which found their perfected literary form later in portuguese. no important early literature remains in galician, and of portuguese itself there does not seem to be anything certainly dating before the fourteenth century, or anything even probably attributed to an earlier time except a certain number of ballads, as to the real antiquity of which a sane literary criticism has always to reiterate the deepest and most irremovable doubts. the fact of the existence of this dialect, and of its development later into the language of camoens, is of high interest: the positive documents which at this time it offers for comment are very scanty indeed. [sidenote: _castilian._] with castilian--that is to say, spanish proper--the case is very different. it cannot claim any great antiquity: and as is the case with italian, and to a less degree with french also, the processes by which it came into existence out of latin are hid from us to a degree surprising, even when we remember the political and social welter in which europe lay between the fifth and the eleventh centuries. it is, of course, a most natural and constant consideration that the formation of literary languages was delayed in the romance-speaking countries by the fact that everybody of any education at all had latin ready to his hands. and the exceptional circumstances of spain, which, after hardly settling down under the visigothic conquest, was whelmed afresh by the moorish invasion, have not been excessively insisted upon by the authorities who have dealt with the subject. but still it cannot but strike us as peculiar that the document--the famous charter of avilés,[ ] which plays in the history of spanish something like the same part which the eulalia hymn and the strasburg oaths play in french--dates only from the middle of the twelfth century, more than three hundred years after the strasburg interchange, and at a time when french was not merely a regularly constituted language, but already had no inconsiderable literature. it is true that the avilés document is not quite so jargonish as the strasburg, but the same mark--the presence of undigested latin--appears in both. [footnote : extracts of this appear in ticknor, appendix a., iii. , note.] it is, however, fair to remember that prose is almost invariably later than poetry, and that official prose of all periods has a tendency to the barbarous. if the avilés charter be genuine, and of its assigned date, it does not follow that at the very same time poetry of a much less uncouth character was not being composed in spanish. and as a matter of fact we have, independently of the ballads, the great _poema del cid_, which has sometimes been supposed to be of antiquity equal to this, and which can hardly be more than some fifty years later. [sidenote: _ballads?_] as to the ballads, what has been said about those in portuguese must be repeated at somewhat greater length. there is no doubt at all that these ballads (which are well known even to english readers by the masterly paraphrases of lockhart) are among the finest of their kind. they rank with, and perhaps above, the best of the scottish poems of the same class. but we have practically, it would seem, no earlier authority for them than the great _cancioneros_ of the sixteenth century. it is, of course, said that the _cronica general_ (see _post_), which is three centuries earlier, was in part compiled from these ballads. but, in the first place, we do not know that this was the fact, or that the ballads were not compiled from the chronicles, or from traditions which the chronicles embodied. and in the second place, if the chronicles were compiled from ballads, we do not know that these ballads, as pieces of finished literature and apart from their subjects, were anything at all like the ballads that we possess. this last consideration--an uncomfortable one, but one which the critic is bound to urge--at once disposes of, or reduces to a minimum, the value of the much-vaunted testimony of a latin poem, said to date before the middle of the eleventh century, that "roderic, called _mio cid_," was sung about. no doubt he was; and no doubt, as the expression _mio cid_ is not a translation from the arabic, but a quite evidently genuine vernacularity, he was sung of in those terms. but the testimony leaves us as much in doubt as ever about the age of the _existing_ cid ballads. and if this be the case about the cid ballads, the subject of which did not die till hard upon the opening of the twelfth century itself, or about those concerning the infantes of lara, how much more must it be so with those that deal with such subjects as bernardo del carpio and the charlemagne invasion, three hundred years earlier, when it is tolerably certain that there was nothing at all resembling what we now call spanish? it seems sometimes to be thought that the antiquity of the subject of a ballad comports in some strange fashion the antiquity of the ballad itself; than which nothing can be much more disputable. indeed the very metre of the ballads themselves--which, though simple, is by no means of a very primitive character, and represents the "rubbing down" of popular dialect and unscholarly prosody for a long time against the regular structure of latin--disproves the extreme earliness of the poems in anything like their present form. the comparatively uncouth, though not lawless metres of early teutonic poetry are in themselves warrants of their antiquity: the regularity, not strait-laced but unmistakable, of the spanish ballads is at least a strong suggestion that they are not very early. [sidenote: _the_ poema del cid.] at any rate there is no sort of proof that they _are_ early; and in this history it has been made a rule to demand proof, or at least the very strongest probability. if there be any force in the argument at the end of the last paragraph, it tells (unless, indeed, the latest critical hypothesis be adopted, of which more presently) as much in favour of the antiquity of the _poema del cid_ as it tells against that of the ballads. this piece, which has come down to us in a mutilated condition, though it does not seem likely that its present length ( lines) has been very greatly affected by the mutilations, has been regarded as dating not earlier than the middle of the twelfth or later than the middle of the thirteenth century--that is to say, in the first case, within a lifetime of the events it professes to deal with; in the second, at scarcely more than two lifetimes from them. the historical personality of ruy diaz de bivar, el cid campeador (? - ), does not concern us, though it is perfectly well established in general by the testimony of his enemies, as well as by that of his countrymen, and is indeed almost unique in history as that of a national hero at once of history and of romance. the roderic who regained what a roderic had lost may have been--must have been, indeed--presented with many facts and achievements which he never performed, and there may be no small admixture of these in the _poema_ itself; but that does not matter at all to literature. it would not, strictly speaking, matter to literature if he had never existed. but not every one can live up to this severe standard in things literary; and it is undoubtedly a comfort to the natural man to know that the cid certainly did exist, and that, to all but certainty, his blood runs in the veins of the queen of england and of the emperor of austria, not to mention the king of spain, to-day. [sidenote: _a spanish_ chanson de geste.] but in the criticism of his poetical history this is in strictness irrelevant. it is unlucky for that criticism that southey and ticknor--the two best critics, not merely in english but in any language, who have dealt with spanish literature--were quite unacquainted with the french _chansons de geste_; while of late, discussion of the _poema_, as of other early spanish literature, has been chiefly abandoned to philologists. no one familiar with these _chansons_ (the greatest and oldest of which, the _chanson de roland_, was to all but a certainty in existence when ruy diaz was in his cradle, and a hundred years before the _poema_ was written) can fail to see in a moment that this latter is itself a _chanson de geste_. it was written much nearer to the facts than any one of its french analogues, except those of the crusading cycle, and it therefore had at least the chance of sticking much closer to those facts. nor is there much doubt that it does. we may give up as many as we please of its details; we may even, if, not pleasing, we choose to obey the historians, give up that famous and delightful episode of the counts of carrion, which indeed is not so much an episode as the main subject of the greater part of the poem. but--partly because of its nearness to the subject, partly because of the more intense national belief in the hero, most of all, perhaps, because the countrymen of cervantes already possessed that faculty of individual, not merely of typical, characterisation which has been, as a rule, denied to the countrymen of corneille--the poem is far more _alive_ than the not less heroic histories of roncesvaux or of aliscans. even in the _nibelungenlied_, to which it has been so often compared, the men (not the women--there the teutonic genius bears its usual bell) are, with the exception, perhaps, of hagen, shadowy, compared not merely to rodrigo himself, but to bermuez and muño gustioz, to asur gonzalez and minaya. [sidenote: _in scheme and spirit._] still the _chanson_ stamp is unmistakably on it from the very beginning, where the cid, like three-fourths of the _chanson_ heroes themselves, has experienced royal ingratitude, through the vaunts and the fighting, and the stock phrases (_abaxan las lanzas_ following _abrazan los escudos_, and the like), to that second marriage connecting the cid afresh with royalty, which is almost as common in the _chansons_ as the initial ingratitude. it would be altogether astonishing if the _chansons_ had not made their way, when french literature was making it everywhere, into the country nearest to france. in face of the _poema del cid_, it is quite certain that they had done so, and that here as elsewhere french literature performed its vigorous, and in a way self-sacrificing, function of teaching other nations to do better than their teacher. [sidenote: _difficulties of its prosody._] when we pass from comparisons of general scheme and spirit to those of metrical form, the matter presents greater puzzles. as observed above, the earliest french _chansons_ known to us are written in a strict syllabic metre, with a regular cæsura, and arranged in distinct though not uniformly long _laisses_, each tipped with an identical assonance. further, it so happens that this very assonance is one of the best known characteristics of spanish poetry, which is the only body of verse except old french to show it in any great volume or variety. the spanish ballads are uniformly written in trochaic octosyllables (capable of reduction or extension to six, seven, or nine), regularly assonanced in the second and fourth line, but not necessarily showing either rhyme or assonance in the first and third. this measure became so popular that the great dramatists adopted it, and as it thus figures in the two most excellent productions of the literature, ballad and drama, it has become practically identified in the general mind with spanish poetry, and not so very long ago might have been described by persons, not exactly ignorant, as peculiar to it. [sidenote: _ballad-metre theory._] but when we turn to the _poema del cid_ we find nothing like this. it is true that its latest and most learned student, professor cornu of prague,[ ] has, i believe, persuaded himself that he has discovered the basis of its metre to be the ballad octosyllables, full or catalectic, arranged as hemistichs of a longer line, and that he has been able to point out some hundreds of tolerably perfect verses of the kind. but this hypothesis necessitates our granting that it was possible for the copyists, or the line of copyists, of the unique ms. in the vast majority of cases to mistake a measure so simple, so universally natural, and, as history shows, so peculiarly grateful to the spanish ear, and to change it into something quite different. [footnote : i have not seen professor cornu's paper itself, but only a notice of it by m. g. paris in _romania_, xxii. , and some additional annotations by the professor himself at p. of the same volume.] [sidenote: _irregularity of line._] for there is no question but that at first sight, and not at first sight only, the _poema del cid_ seems to be the most irregular production of its kind that can claim high rank in the poetry of europe. it is not merely that it is "rough," as its great northern congener the _nibelungenlied_ is usually said to be, or that its lines vary in length from ten syllables to over twenty, as some lines of anglo-saxon verse do. it is that there is nothing like the regular cadence of the one, or (at least as yet discovered) the combined system of accent and alliteration which accounts for the other. almost the only single feature which is invariable is the break in the middle of the line, which is much more than a mere cæsura, and coincides not merely with the end of a word, but with a distinct stop or at least pause in sense. beyond this, except by the rather violent hypothesis of copyist misdeeds above referred to,[ ] nobody has been able to get further in a generalisation of the metre than that the normal form is an eight and six (better a seven and seven) "fourteener," trochaically cadenced, but admitting contraction and extension with a liberality elsewhere unparalleled. [footnote : it is perhaps fair to professor cornu to admit some weight in his argument that where proper names predominate--_i.e._, where the copyist was least likely to alter--his basis suggests itself most easily.] and the ends of the verses are as troublesome as their bodies. not only is there no absolute system either of assonance or of rhyme; not only does the consideration that at a certain stage assonance and consonance[ ] meet and blend help us little; but it is almost or quite impossible to discern any one system on which the one or the other, or both, can be thought to have been used. sometimes, indeed frequently, something like the french _laisses_ or continuous blocks of end-sound appear: sometimes the eye feels inclined to see quatrains--a form, as we shall see, agreeable to early spain, and very common in all european nations at this stage of their development. but it is very seldom that either is clearly demonstrable except in parts, while neither maintains itself for long. generally the pages present the spectacle of an intensely irregular mosaic, or rather conglomerate, of small blocks of assonance or consonance put together on no discoverable system whatever. it is, of course, fair to remember that anglo-saxon verse--now, according to the orthodox, to be ranked among the strictest prosodic kinds--was long thought to be as formless as this. but after the thorough ransacking and overhauling which almost all mediæval literature has had during the last century, it is certainly strange that the underlying system in the spanish case, if it exists, should not have been discovered, or should have been discovered only by such an alexandrine cutting of the knot as the supposition that the copyist has made "pie" of about seventy per cent at least of the whole. [footnote : some writers very inconveniently, and by a false transference from "consonant," use "consonance" as if equivalent to "alliteration." it is much better kept for full rhyme, in which vowels and consonants both "sound with" each other.] still the form, puzzling as it is, is extremely interesting, and very satisfactory to those who can be content with unsystematic enjoyment. the recurrent wave-sound which has been noted in the _chansons_ is at least as noticeable, though less regular, here. let us, for instance, open the poem in the double-columned edition of at random, and take the passage on the opening, pp. , , giving the best part of two hundred lines, from to . the eye is first struck with the constant repetition of catch-endings--"infantes de carrion," "los del campeador"--each of which occurs at a line-end some dozen times in the two pages. the second and still more striking thing is that almost all this long stretch of verse, though not in one single _laisse_, is carried upon an assonance in _o_, either plump (_infanzon_, _cort_, _carrion_, &c.), which continues with a break or two for at least fifty lines, or with another vowel in double assonance (_taiadores_, _tendones_, _varones_). but this sequence is broken incomprehensibly by such end-words as _tomar_; and the length of the lines defies all classification, though one suspects some confusion of arrangement. for instance, it is not clear why "colada e tizon que non lidiasen con ellas los del campeador" should be printed as one line, and "hybalos ver el rey alfonso. dixieron los del campeador," as two. if we then turn to the earlier part, that which comes before the carrion story, we shall find the irregularity greater still. it is possible, no doubt, by making rules sufficiently elastic, to devise some sort of a system for five consecutive lines which end _folgar_, _comer_, _acordar_, _grandes_, and _pan_; but it will be a system so exceedingly elastic that it seems a superfluity of trouble to make it. on a general survey it may, i think, be said that either in double or single assonance _a_ and _o_ play a much larger part than the other vowels, whereas in the french analogues there is no predominance of this kind, or at least nothing like so much. and lastly, to conclude[ ] these rather desultory remarks on a subject which deserves much more attention than it has yet had, it may be worth observing that by an odd coincidence the _poema del cid_ concludes with a delusive personal mention very similar to, though even more precise than, that about "turoldus" in the _chanson de roland_. for it ends-- "per abbat le escribio en el mes de maio en era de mill e cc ... xlv. años," there being, perhaps, something dropped between the second c and the x. peter abbat, however, has been less fortunate than turoldus, in that no one, it seems, has asserted his authorship, though he may have been the copyist-malefactor of theory. and it may perhaps be added that if mccxlv. is the correct date, this would correspond to of our chronology, the spanish mediæval era starting thirty-eight years too early. [footnote : i have not thought it necessary to give an abstract of the contents of the poem, because southey's _chronicle of the cid_ is accessible to everybody, and because no wise man will ever attempt to do over again what southey has once done.] [sidenote: _other poems._] the remaining literature before the end of the thirteenth century (immediately after that date there is a good deal, but most of it is imitated from france) may be dismissed more briefly. it is not very bulky, but it is noteworthy that it is collected in a manner by no means usual at the time, under two known names, those of gonzalo berceo, priest of st elianus at callahorra, and of king alfonso x. for the spanish _alexander_ of juan lorenzo segura, though written before , is clearly but one of the numerous family of the french and french-latin _alexandreids_ and _romans d'alixandre_. and certain poems on apollonius of tyre, st mary of egypt, and the three kings, while their date is rather uncertain, are also evidently "school poems" of the same kind. [sidenote: _apollonius and mary of egypt._] the spanish apollonius,[ ] however, is noteworthy, because it is written in a form which is also used by berceo, and which has sometimes been thought to be spoken of in the poem itself as _nueva maestria_. this measure is the old fourteener, which struggles to appear in the _cid_, regularly divided into hephthemimers, and now regularly arranged also in mono-rhymed quatrains. the "life of st mary of egypt,"[ ] on the other hand, is in octosyllabic couplets, treated with the same freedom that we find in contemporary german handlings of that metre, and varying from five syllables to at least eleven. the rhymes are good, with very rare lapses into assonance; one might suspect a pretty close adherence to a probably provençal original, and perhaps not a very early date. ticknor, whose protestantism or whose prudery seems to have been shocked by this "coarse and indecent history"--he might surely have found politer language for a variant of the magdalene story, which is beautiful in itself and has received especial ornament from art--thought it composed of "meagre monkish verse," and "hardly of importance" except as a monument of language. i should myself venture--with infinitely less competence in the particular language, but some knowledge of other things of the same kind and time--to call it a rather lively and accomplished performance of its class. the third piece[ ] of those published, not by sanchez himself, but as an appendix to the paris edition, is the _adoracion de los santos reyes_, a poem shorter than the _santa maria egipciaca_, but very similar in manner as well as in subject. i observe that ticknor, in a note, seems himself to be of the opinion that these two pieces are not so old as the apollonius; though his remarks about "the french _fabliaux_" are not to the point. the _fabliaux_, it is true, are in octosyllabic verse; but octosyllabic verse is certainly older than the _fabliaux_, which have nothing to do with the lives of the saints. but he could hardly have known this when he wrote. [footnote : sanchez-ochoa, _op. cit._, pp. - .] [footnote : ibid., pp. - .] [footnote : sanchez-ochoa, _op. cit._, pp. - .] [sidenote: _berceo._] berceo, who appears to have written more than thirteen thousand lines, wrote nothing secular; and though the religious poetry of the middle ages is occasionally of the highest order, yet when it is of that rank it is almost invariably latin, not vernacular, while its vernacular expression, even where not despicable, is apt to be very much of a piece, and to present very few features of literary as distinguished from philological interest. historians have, however, very properly noted in him the occurrence of a short lyrical fragment in irregular octosyllabics, each rhymed in couplets and interspersed after every line with a refrain. the only certain fact of his life seems to be his ordination as deacon in . [sidenote: _alfonso el sabio._] of king alfonso the learned (for he does not seem to have been by any means very wise) much more is of course known, though the saying about the blessedness of having no history is not falsified in his case. but his titular enjoyment of the empire, his difficulties with his sons, his death, practically dethroned, and the rest, do not concern us: nor does even his famous and rather wickedly wrested saying (a favourite with carlyle) about the creation of the world and the possibility of improvement therein had the creator taken advice. even the far more deservedly famous _siete partidas_, with that _fuero juzgo_ in which, though it was issued in his father's time, he is supposed to have had a hand, are merely noteworthy here as early, curious, and, especially in the case of the _partidas_, excellent specimens of spanish prose in its earliest form. he could not have executed these or any great part of them himself: and the great bulk of the other work attributed to him must also have been really that of collaborators or secretaries. the verse part of this is not extensive, consisting of a collection of _cantigas_ or hymns, provençal in style and (to the puzzlement of historians) galician rather than castilian in dialect, and an alchemical medley of verse and prose called the _tesoro_. these, if they be his, he may have written for himself and by himself. but for his _astronomical tables_, a not unimportant _point de repère_ in astronomical history, he must, as for the legal works already mentioned and others, have been largely indebted. there seems to be much doubt about a prose _trésor_, which is or is not a translation of the famous work of brunetto latini (dates would here seem awkward). but the _cronica general de españa_, the spanish bible, the universal history, and the _gran conquesta de ultramar_ (this last a history of the crusades, based partly on william of tyre, partly on the _chanson_ cycle of the crusades, fables and all) must necessarily be his only in the sense that he very likely commissioned, and not improbably assisted in them. the width and variety of the attributions, whether contestable in parts or not, prove quite sufficiently for our purpose this fact, that by his time (he died in ) literature of nearly all kinds was being pretty busily cultivated in the spanish vernaculars, though in this case as in others it might chiefly occupy itself with translations or adaptations of latin or of french. this fact in general, and the capital and interesting phenomenon of the _poema del cid_ in particular, are the noticeable points in this division of our subject. it will be observed that spain is at this time content, like goethe's scholar, _sich üben_. her one great literary achievement--admirable in some respects, incomparable in itself--is not a novelty in kind; she has no lessons in form to give, which, like some of italy's, have not been improved upon to this day; she cannot, like germany, boast a great quantity of work of equal accomplishment and inspiration; least of all has she the astonishing fertility and the unceasing _maestria_ of france. but she has practice and promise, she is doing something more than "going to begin," and her one great achievement has (it cannot well be too often repeated) the inestimable and unmistakable quality of being itself and not something else, in spirit if not in scheme, in character if not quite in form. it would be no consolation for the loss of the _cid_ that we have _beowulf_ and _roland_ and the _nibelungen_--they would not fill its place, they do not speak with its voice. the much-abused and nearly meaningless adjective "homeric" is here, in so far as it has any meaning, once more appropriate. of the form of homer there is little: of the vigour, the freshness, the poetry, there is much. chapter x. conclusion. it is now time to sum up, as may best be done, the results of this attempt to survey the literature of europe during one, if not of its most accomplished, most enlightened, or most generally admired periods, yet assuredly one of the most momentous, the most interesting, the fullest of problem and of promise. audacious as the attempt itself may seem to some, inadequate as the performance may be pronounced by others, it is needless to spend much more argument in urging its claim to be at least tried on the merits. all varieties of literary history have drawbacks almost inseparable from their schemes. the elaborate monograph, which is somewhat in favour just now, is exposed to the criticism, not quite carping, that it is practically useless without independent study of its subject, and practically superfluous with it. the history of separate literatures, whether in portion or in whole, is always liable to be charged with omissions or with disproportionate treatment within its subject, with want of perspective, with "blinking," as regards matters without. and so such a survey as this is liable to the charge of being superficial, or of attempting more than it can possibly cover, or of not keeping the due balance between its various provinces and compartments. it must be for others to say how such a charge, in the present case, is helped by _laches_ or incompetence on the part of the surveyor. but enough has, i hope, been said to clear the scheme itself from the objection of uselessness or of impracticability. in one sense, no doubt, far more room than this volume, or a much larger, could provide, may seem to be required for the discussion and arrangement of so great and interesting a matter as the literature of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. but to say this, is only saying that no such account in such a space could be exhaustive: and it so happens that an exhaustive account is for the purpose not required--would indeed go pretty far towards the defeat of that purpose. what is wanted is to secure that the reader, whether he pursues his studies in more detail with regard to any of these literatures or not, shall at any rate have in his head a fair general notion of what they were simultaneously or in succession, of the relation in which they stood to each other, of the division of literary labour between them. if, on the other hand, it be said, "you propose to give, according to your scheme, a volume apiece to the fourteenth and even the fifteenth centuries, the work of which was far less original and interesting than the work of these two! why do you couple these?" the answer is not difficult. in the first place, the work of these two centuries--which is mainly though not wholly the work of the hundred years that form their centre period--is curiously inseparable. in only a few cases do we know precise dates, and in many the _circa_ is of such a circuitous character that we can hardly tell whether the twelfth or the thirteenth century deserves the credit. in almost all the adoption of any intermediate date of severance would leave an awkward, raw, unreal division. we should leave off while the best of the _chansons de geste_ were still being produced, in the very middle of the development of the arthurian legend, with half the _fabliaux_ yet to come and half the sagas unwritten, with the minnesingers in full voice, with the tale of the rose half told, with the fox not yet broken up. and, in the second place, the singular combination of anonymity and school-character in the most characteristic mediæval literature makes it easier, vast as is its mass and in some cases conspicuous as is its merit, to handle in small space than later work. only by a wild indulgence in guessing or a tedious minuteness of attention to _lautlehre_ and rhyme-lists is it possible to make a treatment of even a named person like chrestien de troyes on the scale of a notice of dante or even froissart, and this without reference to the comparative literary importance of the three. the million lines of the _chansons de geste_ do not demand discussion in anything like direct proportion to their bulk. one _fabliau_, much more one minnesong or troubadour lyric, has a far greater resemblance of kind to its fellows than even one modern novel, even one nineteenth-century minor poem, to another. as the men write in schools, so they can be handled in them. yet i should hope that it must have been already made apparent how very far the present writer is from undervaluing the period with which he has essayed to deal. he might perhaps be regarded as overvaluing it with more apparent reason--not, i think, with any reason that is more than apparent. for this was the time, if not of the birth--the exact times and seasons of literary births no man knoweth--at any rate of the first appearance, full-blown or full-fledged, of romance. many praiseworthy folk have made many efforts to show that romance was after all no such new thing--that there is romance in the _odyssey_, romance in the choruses of Æschylus, romance east and west, north and south, before the middle ages. they are only less unwise than the other good folk who endeavour to tie romance down to a teutonic origin, or a celtic, or in the other sense a romance one, to chivalry (which was in truth rather its offspring than its parent), to this, and that, and the other. "all the best things in literature," it has been said, "are returns"; and this is perfectly true, just as it is perfectly true in another sense that all the best things in literature are novelties. in this particular growth, being as it was a product of the unchanging human mind, there were notes, doubtless, of homer and of Æschylus, of solomon the son of david and of jesus the son of sirach. but the constituents of the mixture were newly grouped; elements which had in the past been inconspicuous or dormant assumed prominence and activity; and the whole was new. it was even one of the few, the very few, permutations and combinations of the elements of literature, which are of such excellence, volume, durability, and charm, that they rank above all minor changes and groupings. an _amabilis insania_ of the same general kind with those above noted has endeavoured again and again to mark off and define the chief constituents of the fact. the happiest result, if only a partial one, of such attempts has been the opposition between classical precision and proportion and the romantic vague; but no one would hold this out as a final or sufficient account of the matter. it may, indeed, be noted that that peculiar blended character which has been observed in the genesis of perhaps the greatest and most characteristic bloom of the whole garden--the arthurian legend--is to be found elsewhere also. the greeks, if they owed part of the intensity, had undoubtedly owed nearly all the gaps and flaws of their production, as well as its extraordinarily short-lived character, to their lack alike of instructors and of fellow-pupils--to the defect in comparison. roman literature, always more or less _in statu pupillari_, had wanted the fellow-pupils, if not the tutor. but the national divisions of mediæval europe--saved from individual isolation by the great bond of the church, saved from mutual lack of understanding by the other great bond of the latin _quasi_-vernacular, shaken together by wars holy and profane, and while each exhibiting the fresh characteristics of national infancy, none of them case-hardened into national insularity--enjoyed a unique opportunity, an opportunity never likely to be again presented, of producing a literature common in essential characteristic, but richly coloured and fancifully shaded in each division by the genius of race and soil. and this literature was developed in the two centuries which have been the subject of our survey. it is true that not all the nations were equally contributors to the positive literary production of the time. england was apparently paying a heavy penalty for her unique early accomplishments, was making a large sacrifice for the better things to come. between and no single book that can be called great was produced in the english tongue, and hardly any single writer distinctly deserving the same adjective was an englishman. but how mighty were the compensations! the language itself was undergoing a process of "inarching," of blending, crossing, which left it the richest, both in positive vocabulary and in capacity for increasing that vocabulary at need, of any european speech; the possessor of a double prosody, quantitative and alliterative, which secured it from the slightest chance of poetic poverty or hide-boundness; relieved from the cumbrousness of synthetic accidence to all but the smallest extent, and in case to elaborate a syntax equally suitable for verse and prose, for exposition and narrative, for oratory and for argument. moreover it was, as i have at least endeavoured to show, probably england which provided the groundwork and first literary treatment, it was certainly england that provided the subject, of the largest, the most enduring, the most varied single division of mediæval work; while the isle of britain furnished at least its quota to the general literature of europe other than vernacular. other countries, though their languages were not conquering their conqueror as english was doing with french, also displayed sufficient individuality in dealing with the models and the materials with which french activity supplied them. the best poetical work of icelandic, like the best work of its cousin anglo-saxon, was indeed over before the period began, and the best prose work was done before it ended, the rapid and never fully explained exhaustion of norse energy and enterprise preventing the literature which had been produced from having effect on other nations. the children of the _vates_ of grettir and njal contented themselves, like others, with adapting french romances, and, unlike others, they did not make this adaptation the groundwork of new and original effort. but meanwhile they had made in the sagas, greater and lesser, such a contribution as no literature has excelled in intensity and character, comparatively small as it is in bulk and comparatively undistinguished in form. "unlike others," it has been said; for there can be no doubt that the charlemagne cycle from northern, the troubadour lyric from southern, france exercised upon italy the same effect that was exercised in germany by the romances of arthur and of antiquity, and by the _trouvère_ poetry generally. but in these two countries, as also more doubtfully, but still with fair certainty, in spain, the french models found, as they did also in england, literary capacities and tastes not jaded and outworn, but full of idiosyncrasy, and ready to develop each in its own way. here however, by that extraordinary law of compensation which seems to be the most general law of the universe, the effects differed as much in quantity and time as in character--a remarkable efflorescence of literature in germany being at once produced, to relapse shortly into a long sterility, a tardier but more constant growth following in england and italy, while the effect in spain was the most partial and obscure of all. the great names of wolfram von eschenbach and walther von der vogelweide hardly meet with any others in these literatures representing writers who are known abroad as well as at home. only philologists out of england (and i fear not too many besides philologists in it) read _alisaunder_ and _richard coeur de lion_, _arthour and merlin_, or the _brut_; the early italian poets shine but in the reflected light of dante; and if any one knows the cid, it is usually from corneille, or herder, or southey, rather than from his own noble _poem_. but no one who does study these forgotten if not disdained ones, no one who with a love for literature bestows even the most casual attention on them, can fail to see their meaning and their promise, their merit and their charm. that languages of such power should have remained without literatures is of course inconceivable; that any of them even needed the instruction they received from france cannot be said positively; but what is certain is that they all received it. in most cases the acknowledgment is direct, express, not capable of being evaded or misconstrued: in all it is incapable of being mistaken by those who have eyes, and who have trained them. to inquire into the cause were rather idle. the central position of france; the early notoriety and vogue of the schools of paris; the curious position of the language, midway between the extremer romance and the purely teutonic tongues, which made it a sort of natural interpreter between them; perhaps most of all that inexplicable but undeniable formal talent of the french for literature, which is as undeniable and as inexplicable as the less formal genius of the english,--all these things, except the central position, only push the problem farther back, and are in need of being explained themselves. but the fact, the solid and certain fact, remains. and so it is that the greater part of this book has necessarily been occupied in expounding, first the different forms which the lessons of france took, and then the different ways in which other countries learnt those lessons and turned them to account. it is thus difficult to overestimate the importance of that wonderful literature which rises dominant among all these, imparting to all, borrowing from none, or borrowing only subjects, exhibiting finish of structure when all the rest were merely barbarian novices, exploring every literary form from history to drama, and from epic to song, while others were stammering their exercises, mostly learnt from her. the exact and just proportions of the share due to southern and northern france respectively none can now determine, and scholarship oscillates between extremes as usual. what is certain (perhaps it is the only thing that is certain) is that to provençal belongs the credit of establishing for the first time a modern prosody of such a kind as to turn out verse of perfect form. whether, if pallas in her warlike capacity had been kinder to the provençals, she could or would have inspired them with more varied kinds of literature than the exquisite lyric which as a fact is almost their sole title to fame, we cannot say. as a matter of fact, the kinds other than lyric, and some of the lyrical kinds themselves--the short tale, the epic, the romance, the play, the history, the sermon--all find their early home, if not their actual birthplace, north, not south, of the limousin line. it was from normandy and poitou, from anjou and the orleannais, from the isle of france and champagne, that in language at least the patterns which were used by all europe, the specifications, so to speak, which all europe adapted and filled up, went forth, sometimes not to return. yet it is not in the actual literature of france itself, except in those contributions to the arthurian story which, as it has been pointed out, were importations, not indigenous growths, and in some touches of the _rose_, that the spirit of romance is most evident--the spirit which, to those who have come thoroughly to appreciate it, makes classical grace and finish seem thin and tame, oriental exuberance tasteless and vulgar, modern scientific precision inexpressibly charmless and jejune. different sides of this spirit display themselves, of course, in different productions of the time. there is the spirit of combat, in which the _chansons de geste_ show the way, anticipating in time, if not quite equalling in intensity, the sagas and the _nibelungenlied_. there is sometimes faintly mingled with this (as in the _gabz_ of the _voyage à constantinoble_, and the exploits of rainoart with the _tinel_) the spirit, half rough, half sly, of jesting, which by-and-by takes shape in the _fabliaux_. there is the immense and restless spirit of curiosity, which explores and refashions, to its own guise and fancy, the relics of the old world, the treasures of the east, the lessons of scripture itself. side by side with these there is that singular form of the religious spirit which has been so constantly misunderstood, and which, except in a very few persons, seems so rare nowadays--the faith which is implicit without being imbecile, childlike without being childish, devout with a fearless familiarity, the spirit to which the _dies iræ_ and the sermons of st francis were equally natural expressions, and which, if it could sometimes exasperate itself into the practices of the inquisition, found a far commoner and more genuine expression in the kindly humanities of the _ancren riwle_. there is no lack of knowledge and none of inquiry; though in embarking on the enormous ocean of ignorance, it is inquiry not cabined and cribbed by our limits. in particular, there is an almost unparalleled, a certainly unsurpassed, activity in metaphysical speculation, a fence-play of thought astonishing in its accuracy and style. as poetry slowly disintegrates and exfoliates itself into prose, literary gifts for which verse was unsuited develop themselves in the vernaculars; and the chronicle--itself so lately an epic--becomes a history, or at least a memoir; the orator, sacred or profane, quits the school rhetoric and its familiar latin vehicle for more direct means of persuasion; the jurist gives these vernaculars precision by adopting them. but with and through and above all these various spirits there is most of all that abstract spirit of poetry, which, though not possessed by the middle ages or by romance alone, seems somehow to be a more inseparable and pervading familiar of romance and of the middle ages than of any other time and any other kind of literature. the sense of mystery, which had rarely troubled the keen intellect of the greek and the sturdy common-sense of the roman, which was even a little degraded and impoverished (except in the jewish prophets and in a few other places) by the busy activity of oriental imagination, which we ourselves have banished, or think we have banished, to a few "poets' scrolls," was always present to the mediæval mind. in its broadest and coarsest jests, in its most laborious and (as we are pleased to call them) dullest expansions of stories, in its most wire-drawn and most lifeless allegory, in its most irritating admixture of science and fable, there is always hard by, always ready to break in, the sense of the great and wonderful things of life, and love, and death, of the half-known god and the unknown hereafter. it is this which gives to romance, and to mediæval work generally, that "high seriousness," the want of which was so strangely cast at it in reproach by a critic who, i cannot but think, was less intimately acquainted with its literature than with that either of classical or of modern times. constantly in mediæval poetry, very commonly in mediæval prose, the great things appear greatly. there is in english verse romance perhaps no less felicitous sample of the kind as it stands, none which has received greater vituperation for dulness and commonplace, than _sir amadas_. yet who could much better the two simple lines, when the hero is holding revel after his ghastly meeting with the unburied corse in the roadside chapel?-- "but the dead corse that lay on bier full mickle his thought was on." in homer's greek or dante's italian such a couplet (which, be it observed, is as good in rhythm and vowel contrast as in simple presentation of thought) could hardly lack general admiration. in the english poetry of the middle ages it is dismissed as a commonplace. yet such things, and far better things, are to be met everywhere in the literature which, during the period we have had under review, took definite form and shape. it produced, indeed, none of the greatest men of letters--no chaucer nor dante, no froissart even, at best for certainties a villehardouin and a william of lorris, a wolfram and a walther, with shadowy creatures of speculation like the authors of the great romances. but it produced some of the greatest matter, and some of not the least delightful handlings of matter, in book-history. and it is everywhere distinguished, first, by the adventurous fecundity of its experiments in form and kind, secondly, by the presence of that spirit which has been adumbrated in the last paragraph. in this last, we must own, the pupil countries far outdid their master or mistress. france was stronger relatively in the spirit of poetry during the middle ages than she has been since; but she was still weaker than others. she gave them expression, patterns, form: they found passion and spirit, with not seldom positive story-subject as well. when we come upon some _nueva maestria_, as the old spanish poet called it, some cunning trick of form, some craftsman-like adjustment of style and kind to literary purposes, we shall generally find that it was invented in france. but we know that no frenchman could have written the _dies iræ_; and though we recognise french as at home in the rose-garden, and not out of place in the fatal meeting of lancelot and guinevere, it sounds but as a foreign language in the towers of carbonek or of montsalvatsch. index. abbat, peter, . abelard, , . adam de la halle, - . adam of st victor, , . alberic of besançon, . albertus magnus, . alcamo, ciullo d', . alexander hales, . _alexander_, romances of, chap. iv. _passim_. alfonso x., , . _aliscans_, _sq._ "alison," , . amalricans, the, note. amaury de bène, . ancona, professor d', . _ancren riwle_, the, - . anna comnena, . anselm, , . _apollonius_, the spanish, . aquinas, thomas, . "arch-poet," the, . arnold, matthew, , . ascham, . _aucassin et nicolette_, - . audefroy le bastard, . aue, hartmann von, - . bacon, roger, . bartsch, herr k., . _bastart de bouillon, le_, . _baudouin de sebourc_, _sq._ beauvais, vincent of, . bede, . bédier, m., . benoît de sainte-more, _sq._ _beowulf_, , , . berceo, g., . bernard of morlaix, , - . bernard, st, , . bodel, jean, note, . bonaventura, . borron, robert de, . brunetière, m. f., , . _brut._ see geoffrey of monmouth, layamon, and wace. budge, mr wallis, . callisthenes, the pseudo-, _sq._ caradoc of lancarvan, . _carmina burana_, . celano, thomas of, . champeaux, william of, . chrestien de troyes, _sq._, . _cid, poema del_, , , , _sq._ ciullo d'alcamo, . colonna, or delle colonne, or de columnis, guido, _sq._ condorcet, . _conquête de constantinoble_, . _contrasto_, , . conybeare, . cornu, professor, . _couronnement loys, le_, _sq._ courthope, mr, . _cronica, general_, . _curialium, de nugis_, . dares phrygius, _sq._ and chap. iv. _passim_. david of dinant, . dictys cretensis, _sq._ and chap. iv. _passim_. _dies iræ_, the, , . dunlop, , . _egil's saga_, , . _epistolæ obscurorum virorum_, . _epopées françaises, les_, _sq._ erigena, john scotus, . eschenbach, wolfram von, , - . "eternal gospel," the, . exeter, joseph of, . _eyrbyggja saga_, . flora, joachim of, . froude, mr j.a., . gautier, m. léon, . _genesis and exodus_, . geoffrey, gaimar, . geoffrey of monmouth, _sq._ and chap. iii. _passim_. geoffroy de villehardouin, _sq._ _gérard de roussillon_, . giélée, jacquemart, . gildas, . gloucester, robert of, _sq._ _golias_ and goliardic poems, _sq._ gottfried von strasburg, - . _gran conquesta de ultramar_, . _grandes chroniques_ of st denis, . _grettis saga_, - . guest, dr, _sq._ _guillaume d'orange_, _sq._ hallam, . hamilton, sir w., . hartmann von aue, - . _havelok the dane_, , . hauréau, _de la philosophie scolastique_, note, . _heimskringla_, , . heinrich von veldeke, . henryson, , . _historia de proeliis_, . _horn (king)_, , . hunt, leigh, . _hysminias and hysmine_, , _sq._ _iter ad paradisum_, . jacopone da todi, . jeanroy, m. a., . joachim of flora, . john of salisbury, . john scotus erigena, . joinville, jean de, , . joly, m., . joseph of exeter, . _jus de la feuillie_, - . kölbing, dr, note. könig rother, . _kormak's saga_, , . kudrun, - . lambert li tors, _sq._ lamprecht, . lang, mr, . lanson, m., . _laxdæla saga_, . layamon, , , - . lombard, peter, . lorris, william of, _sq._ loth, m., . _mabinogion, the_, . madden, sir frederic, . malory, sir t., and chap. iii. _passim_. manasses, . map or mapes, walter, _sq._, , _sq._ marcabrun, marie de france, , , . martin, herr, . méon, . meung, jean de, _sq._ meyer, m. paul, _sq._ michelant, m., . mill, j.s., . minnesingers, the minor, - . _missa de potatoribus_, . nennius, , . _nibelungenlied_, _sq._ nicetas, . _njal's saga_, . _nut-browne maid, the_, . nutt, mr, . occam, william of, , . orange, william of, _sq._ orm and the _ormulum_, - . _owl and the nightingale, the_, . paris, m. gaston, , note, note. paris, m. paulin, , , . pater, mr, . peacock, , . peter lombard, . peter the spaniard, . prantl, _geschichte der logik_, note, . _proverbs_, early english, . quintus curtius, . raymond lully, . raynaud, m. g., . renan, m., . _reynard the fox_, _sq._ rhys, professor, _sq._ robert of gloucester, _sq._ _robin et marion_, , . _roland, chanson de_, _sq._ romance of the rose, the, _sq._ _romancero français_, . _romanzen und pastourellen_, . roscellin, . ruteboeuf, , . sagas, _sq._ _santa maria egipciaca_, , . scotus erigena, . scotus, john duns, . _siete partidas_, . _specimens of lyric poetry_, _sq._ strasburg, gottfried von, - . st victor, adam of, . sully, maurice de, . swinburne, mr, , , . theodorus prodromus, . thomas of celano, . thomas of kent, . thoms, mr, . ticknor, mr, _sq._ todi, jacopone da, . tressan, comte de, . _tristram, sir_, . troubadours, the, _sq._ troy, the tale of, _sq._ troyes, chrestien de, _sq._ turpin, archbishop, . tyre, william of, . tyrwhitt, . valerius, julius, _sq._ veldeke, h. von, . vigfusson, dr, . villehardouin, g. de, _sq._ vincent of beauvais, . vogelweide, walther von der, - . _volsunga saga_, , . wace, . walter, archdeacon of oxford. see geoffrey of monmouth. walter of châtillon, . walther von der vogelweide, - . ward, mr, . warton's _history of poetry_, . weber, . william ix., of poitiers, . william of tyre, . wolfram von eschenbach, , - . wright, thomas, . * * * * * printed by william blackwood and sons.