by Charles Swan
In short, the reader clearly distinguishes the accordance of the Northern mythology with that of the East. I could cite many more examples, but they are unnecessary; and if, as Mr. Dunlop imagines, “in the Eastern Peris we may trace the origin of EUROPEAN FALBIES,”6 by what possible contrivance, if he will be consistent, can he deny to the fairies of the North that claim which he grants to the whole of EUROPE?
I shall now proceed to account for the introduction of romantio fiction, by a channel which appears to me the most natural, and therefore the most likely to be true. I would begin with that period in which the persecutions of the pagan rulers drove the primitive Christians into the East. Full of the mysterious wonders of the Apocalypse, not less than of the miraculous records of the Holy Gospels; imbued with all that the Old Testament narrates, and probably anticipating similar interposition from Heaven in their own persons; their minds wrought up by many causes to the highest pitch of enthusiasm, and their hearts glowing with a fervour that no other ages can boast—they were well prepared to receive the impressions naturally made upon a heated fancy; and to put credit in tales which the distress of their situation prevented them from investigating, and their ignorance or credulity debarred from doubt. Hence, with the lives of the Fathers of the Church, they interwove prodigies of another land; and being further willing to address the prejudices of those they might hope to convert, adorned their martyrologies with fictitious incidents of oriental structure—even as, to conciliate the heathen, they introduced into their religious buildings the statues of pagan worship, dignifying them with novel names, and serving them with novel ceremonies. Not always, indeed, was this the process; nor the apotheosis always intentional. Succeeding times exhibited another mode of realizing fables, if I may so speak ; and discovered another path to falsehood under the garb of truth. The monks were accustomed to exercise themselves with declaiming upon the merits of their patron saint. To give a new varnish to his fame, to excite yet more powerfully either the intellects or the devotion of the drowsy brotherhood, they added romantic fictions of their own; and invented familiar stories, derived from an infinite variety of sources. But because Eastern imaginations were more splendid and captivating—because Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulchre were in the East—because “an idle and lying horde of pilgrims and palmers “(as Mr. Dunlop expresses it) annually brought thither fresh subjects for credulity to feed upon, they were the most partial to oriental conceptions. The fables which they thus constructed were laid by, fairly transcribed, and beautifully illuminated; until, in due time, the monastery coffers were ransacked, and the gross and acknowledged inventions of earlier ascetics were imposed upon their later brethren, as the undoubted and veritable history of real Fathers and real saints.
It is well known that, in the earlier ages of Christianity, forged gospels were put forth in imitation of the true: while the tenets of the Persian magi were united with the doctrines of the Son of God.1 If this prove nothing further, it proves the facility with which oriental dogmas were interwoven with those of the West. At a more advanced period, other legends written in Latin, and professing to be narratives of what actually occurred, were again transcribed, with manifold amplifications by those into whose hands the manuscripts might happen to-fall. Metrical versions were then given; and their popularity soon induced the narrators to step out of their immediate walk of martyrdom, to raise the standard of chivalry in the persons of Brute, Alexander, Charlemagne, and the rest. Let it be observed that all these stories are of a similar cast; the Lives of the Saints, somehow or other, are always connected with the fictions of every hero of chivalry. They invariably work marvels in behalf of their votaries ; they bequeath relics of surprising power—or they appear in dreams; or the utterance of their mighty names counteracts the potency of magical delusions, &c, &c, while the hero himself, treading in the steps of his canonized precursor, becomes a distinguished relugieux ; and at last takes his place in the calendar—“a very, very SAINT.”
If my hypothesis, therefore, be just, with the return of the exiled Christians from the East originated romantic fiction in Europe. But this, of course, must be taken with modifications. Time alone could mature what in its progress acquired such extensive popularity; and it seems to me one of the glaring defects of other systems, that they would represent the rise of that particular kind of fable in question to have been almost instantaneous: to have followed swift upon the incursions of the Saracens—to have sprung up mysteriously among the Scandinavians, or equally, if not more so, among the Armoricans. Whereas that which was so wide in its extent—so singular in its effects—so deeply impressed on a large portion of the globe, must inevitably have had a beginning and a middle : it must have been long crescent, before it was at the full. It is true the classical system has not all the objections which meet the other, on the score of precipitancy; but still it accounts only for that part of romance which is evidently built upon classic ground. Much of the machinery is wholly different; and from the comparatively few allusions—from the indistinct and monstrous perversions of Grecian or Roman fable, we are sure that their knowledge was very limited. But, in fact, a union of classic traditions with oriental fiction is not only probable but certain; yet my hypothesis still traces it to the East.1 For it will be noticed, that Eastern conceptions invariably predominate, even where the subject is confessedly classic; as in the stories of Alexander, Cæsar, and others. Besides, the incursions of these leaders into that quarter of the world might, as it has happened in similar cases, leave certain traditionary monuments of their own belief.1 This, however, I by no means intend to urge.
When instances of those who fled, or were exiled to the East, or voluntarily settled there, are so numerous, it would be idle to weary the reader’s attention, by entering into any lengthened detail. The names of Clemens of Alexandria, of Ignatius, Tertullian, and Origen, are conspicuous in the second and third centuries, with many others, who were in constant intercourse with the West 5 and the soft and yielding character of these times presented a plastic surface to every, even the slightest touch. In the early part of the fourth century the foundation of Constantinople,2 which drew from Italy such a large population, would facilitate the interchange of literature; for it is not improbable that many of the Asiatics, driven from their settlements by the influx of the foreigners, would hasten to occupy the homes which the others had vacated. At all events, the new settlers in the East had friends and connexions in their fatherland, with whom it was natural, and even necessary, that there should be a certain intercourse. Towards the conclusion of the third century, when monachism was so vehemently propagated, and the East inundated with a restless class of men, who strolled about in pursuit of proselytes (not much unlike the errant-knights of a subsequent age), the position I have laid down is more clearly evinced. It would be doing injustice to my subject, if, in speaking of this singular fact, I used other language than that of the historian of the Roman empire. “The progress of the monks,” says this philosophic writer, “was not less rapid, or universal, than that of Christianity itself. Every province, and at last, every city of the empire, was filled with their increasing multitude; and the bleak and barren isles, from Lerins to Lipari, that arise out of the Tuscan sea, were chosen by the Anachorets for the place of their voluntary exile. An easy and perpetual intercourse by sea and land connected the provinces of the Roman world; and the life of Hilarion displays the facility with which an indigent hermit of Palestine might traverse Egypt, embark for Sicily, escape to Epirus, and finally settle in the island of Cyprus. The Latin Christians embraced the religious institutions of Rome. The pilgrims, who visited Jerusalem, eagerly copied, in the most distant climes of the earthy the faithful model of monastic life. The disciples of Antony spread themselves beyond the tropic, over the Christian empire of (Ethiopia.1 The monastery of Banchor,2 in Flintshire, which contained above two thousand brethren, dispersed a numerous colony among the barbarians of Ireland; and Iona, one of the Hebrides, which was planted by the Irish monks,
diffused over the northern regions a doubtful ray of science and superstition.”3
The roving characters of the monks, therefore, is another link of the chain by which I introduce oriental fiction into the West; and it is utterly impossible (maturely weighing the habits and propensities of this class of people) that they should not have picked up and retained the floating traditions of the countries through which they passed. “Some of the early romances,” says Mr. Walker,4 “as well as the legends of saints, were undoubtedly fabricated in the deep silence of the cloister. Both frequently sprung from the warmth of fancy, which religious seclusion is so well calculated to nourish ; but the former were adorned with foreign embellishments.” It is exactly on this footing (though I certainly include the latter, that is, the legends of the saints, in the idea of foreign embellishment!) that I would place the hypothesis I have advanced ; and here Mr. Walker’s opinion, that Ireland is indebted to Italy for some of her fictions, derived originally from the East, will find confirmation. They might, at the same time, have been received by way of ENGLAND, and as history testifies the fact of a colony of monks from thence, taking root in Ireland, the notion is more than probable. But in either case the original is the same. As further corroborative I may add, that in the ninth century Crete and Sicily were invaded and conquered by the Arabs; who likewise entered Italy, and almost approached Rome.
I need scarcely allude to the crusades as sources of romantic fabling. They are undisputed parts of the system; and probably, at the termination of the third expedition, toward the close of the twelfth century, this kind of writing was at its height. Chivalry was then followed with a steady devotion, which, I am inclined to think, soon afterwards abated; and was rather the undulation of the water succeeding the tempest, than the tempest itself. The fourth and fifth crusade followed at the distance of about twenty years; but upwards of thirty elapsed before the sixth and last. The blood and coin that had been so uselessly lavished might well conduce to satisfy the most enthusiastic crusader, and stem the torrent of popular superstition : while the surprising frenzy that had so long desolated both hemispheres, from its very intensity, was calculated to subside, and introduce a juster mode of thinking, and more rational ideas. Time, which allays all other passions, could not but temper this ; and the last of these frantic expeditions appears, to my imagination, the desperate effort of expiring fanaticism—the last violent struggle of religious persecution in the East. With the decline of chivalry, the fictions, which principally attained their celebrity during its zenith (because they had become incorporated with it; though originally independent and extraneous), would naturally cease to be regarded; and the extravagant conceptions which this institution cherished, would, when good sense resumed or assumed her proper place, necessarily fall into decay.
SECTION II.
I now hasten to the GESTA ROMANORUM; and purpose giving a brief outline of its history, with a notice of certain stories which, without reference to their own individual merit, have been raised into higher importance by furnishing the groundwork of many popular dramas. I shall also take occasion to offer a few remarks upon the translation now before the public, elucidatory of certain points which seem to require explanation.
The GESTA ROMANORUM was one of the most applauded compilations of the Middle Ages. The method of instructing by fables is a practice of remote antiquity; and has always been attended with very considerable benefit. Its great popularity encouraged the monks to adopt this medium, not only for the sake of illustrating their discourses, but of making a more durable impression upon the minds of their illiterate auditors. An abstract argument, or logical deduction (had they been capable of supplying it), would operate but faintly upon intellects rendered even more obtuse by the rude nature of their customary occupations; while, on the other hand, an apposite story would arouse attention, and stimulate that blind and uninquiring devotion, which is so remarkably characteristic of the Middle Ages.
The work under consideration is compiled from old Latin chronicles of Roman, or rather, as Mr. Warton and Mr. Douce think, of GERMAN invention. But this idea, with all submission, derives little corroborative evidence from fact. There is one story, and I believe, but one, which gives any countenance to it. That a few are extracted from German authors (who may not, after all, be the inventors) is no more proof that the compiler was a German, than that, because some stories are found in the Roman annals, the whole book was the production of a Latin writer.
Oriental, legendary, and classical fables, heightened by circumstances of a strong romantic cast, form the basis of this singular composition. But the authorities cited for classical allusions are usually of the lower order. Valerius, Maximus, Macrobius, Aulus Gellius, Pliny, Seneca, Boethius, and occasionally OVID, are introduced; but they do not always contain the relation which they are intended to substantiate; and it is invariably much disguised and altered. The oriental apologues are sometimes from the romance of Baarlam and Josaphat, and in several instances from a Latin work entitled, De Clericali Disciplina, attributed to Petrus Alphonsus, a converted Jew, godson to Alphonsus I. of Arragon, after whom he was named. There is an analysis of it by Mr. Douce inserted in Mr. Ellis’s Specimens of Early English Romances. According to the former of these gentlemen, two productions bearing the title of GESTA ROMANORUM, and totally distinct from each other, exist, I confess I see no good reason for the assertion. I take the later work to be the same as its predecessor, with a few additions, not so considerable by any means as Mr. Douce imagines.1 This I shall show, by and by. Of the present performance, though it purports to relate the GESTS OF THE ROMANS, there is little that corresponds with the title. On the contrary, it comprehends “a multitude of narratives, either not historical, or in another respect, such as are totally unconnected with the Roman people, or perhaps the most preposterous misrepresentations of their history. To cover this deviation from the promised plan, which, by introducing a more ample variety of matter, has contributed to increase the reader’s entertainment, our collector has taken care to preface almost every story with the name or reign of a Roman emperor; who, at the same time, is often a monarch that never existed, and who seldom, whether real or supposititious, has any concern with the circumstances of the narrative.”1
The influence which this work has had on English poetry is not the least surprising fact connected with it. Not only the earlier writers of our country—Gower, Chaucer, Lydgate, Occleve, &c.—have been indebted to it, but also, as the reader will perceive in the notes, the poets of modem times. Its popularity in the reign of Queen Elizabeth is proved by many allusions in the works of that period. In an anonymous comedy, published early in the following reign, entitled Sir Giles Goosecap, we have: “Then for your lordship’s quips and quick jests, why GESTA ROMANORUM were nothing to them.”2 In Chapman’s May-Day,3 a person speaking of the literary information of another character, styles him— “One that has read Marcus Aurelius, GESTA ROMANORUM, the Mirrour of Magistrates, &c to be led by the nose like a blind beare that has read nothing!”4
The author of this popular work has been often guessed at, but nothing certain is known. Warton believes him to be Petrus Berchorius, or Pierre Bercheur, a native of Poitou; and prior of the Benedictine convent of Saint Eloi, at Paris, in the year 1362. Mr. Douce, on the other hand, contends that he is a German, because “in the Moralization to chapter 144” [Tale CXLIV. of the translated Gesta], “there is, in most of the early editions, a German proverb; and in chapter 142” [Tale CXLII], “several German names of dogs.” I apprehend, however, that these names may be found more analogous to the Saxon; and, at all events, Warton’s idea of an interpolation is far from improbable. Mr. Douce adds, that the earliest editions of the Gesta were printed in Germany; and certainly they often bear the name of some place in that country. But in the first ages of the art of printing, such might be the case, without actually identifying the point where the impression was struck off. It is a fact, sufficiently well known, that copies of certain books, printed in It
aly, appeared, in every respect similar, and at the same time, in many parts of Germany, the Netherlands, &c. The only observable difference was in the alteration of names in the title-page. Now, if this be true, the Gesta Romanorum, printed in Italy, and thence sent for sale to some factor in distant parts, might have this person’s name and residence affixed, not from any dishonest motive, but merely to announce the place in which they were to be sold. Such a supposition is not beyond the bounds of probability, and may be worth considering. Many copies will be found without date or place; and perhaps the inconvenience and difficulty which a new title-page created, might on some occasions induce the booksellers to omit it altogether.