Chapter XVII (1)

THE GRECIAN MYTHICAL VEIN COMPARED WITH THAT OF MODERN EUROPE.

I have already remarked that the existence of that popular narrative talk, which the Germans express by the significant word _Sage_ or _Volks-Sage_, in a greater or less degree of perfection or development, is a phænomenon common to almost all stages of society and to almost all quarters of the globe. It is the natural effusion of the unlettered, imaginative, and believing man, and its maximum of influence belongs to an early state of the human mind; for the multiplication of recorded facts, the diffusion of positive science, and the formation of a critical standard of belief, tend to discredit its dignity and to repress its easy and abundant flow. It supplies to the poet both materials to recombine and adorn, and a basis as well as a stimulus for further inventions of his own; and this at a time when the poet is religious teacher, historian, and philosopher, all in one,—not, as he becomes at a more advanced period, the mere purveyor of avowed, though interesting, fiction.

Such popular stories, and such historical songs (meaning by historical, simply that which is accepted as history) are found in most quarters of the globe, and especially among the Teutonic and Celtic populations of early Europe. The old Gothic songs were cast into a continuous history by the historian Ablavius;[1026] and the poems of the Germans respecting Tuisto the earth-born god, his son Mannus, and his descendants the eponyms of the various German tribes,[1027] as they are briefly described by Tacitus, remind us of Hesiod, or Eumêlus, or the Homeric Hymns. Jacob Grimm, in his learned and valuable Deutsche Mythologie, has exhibited copious evidence of the great fundamental analogy, along with many special differences, between the German, Scandinavian, and Grecian mythical world; and the Dissertation of Mr. Price (prefixed to his edition of Warton’s History of English Poetry) sustains and illustrates Grimm’s view. The same personifying imagination—the same ever-present conception of the will, sympathies, and antipathies of the gods as the producing causes of phænomena, and as distinguished from a course of nature with its invariable sequence—the same relations between gods, heroes, and men, with the like difficulty of discriminating the one from the other in many individual names—a similar wholesale transfer of human attributes to the gods, with the absence of human limits and liabilities—a like belief in Nymphs, Giants, and other beings, neither gods nor men—the same coalescence of the religious with the patriotic feeling and faith—these are positive features common to the early Greeks with the early Germans: and the negative conditions of the two are not less analogous—the absence of prose writing, positive records, and scientific culture. The preliminary basis and encouragements for the mythopœic faculty were thus extremely similar.

[1026] Jornandes, De Reb. Geticis, capp. 4-6.

[1027] Tacit. Mor. German. c. 2. “Celebrant carminibus antiquis,
quod unum apud eos memoriæ et annalium genus est, Tuistonem Deum
terrâ editum, et filium Mannum, originem gentis conditoresque.
Quidam licentiâ vetustatis, plures Deo ortos, pluresque gentis
appellationes, Marsos, Gambrivios, Suevos, Vandaliosque
affirmant: eaque vera et antiqua nomina.”

But though the prolific forces were the same in kind, the results were very different in degree, and the developing circumstances were more different still.

First, the abundance, the beauty, and the long continuance of early Grecian poetry, in the purely poetical age, is a phænomenon which has no parallel elsewhere.

Secondly, the transition of the Greek mind from its poetical to its comparatively positive state was self-operated, accomplished by its own inherent and expansive force—aided indeed, but by no means either impressed or provoked, from without. From the poetry of Homer, to the history of Thucydidês and the philosophy of Plato and Aristotle, was a prodigious step, but it was the native growth of the Hellenic youth into an Hellenic man; and what is of still greater moment, it was brought about without breaking the thread either of religious or patriotic tradition—without any coercive innovation or violent change in the mental feelings. The legendary world, though the ethical judgments and rational criticisms of superior men had outgrown it, still retained its hold upon their feelings as an object of affectionate and reverential retrospect.

Far different from this was the development of the early Germans. We know little about their early poetry, but we shall run no risk of error in affirming that they had nothing to compare with either Iliad or Odyssey. Whether, if left to themselves, they would have possessed sufficient progressive power to make a step similar to that of the Greeks, is a question which we cannot answer. Their condition, mental as well as political, was violently changed by a foreign action from without. The influence of the Roman empire introduced artificially among them new institutions, new opinions, habits, and luxuries, and, above all, a new religion; the Romanized Germans becoming themselves successively the instruments of this revolution with regard to such of their brethren as still remained heathen. It was a revolution often brought about by penal and coercive means: the old gods Thor and Woden were formally deposed and renounced, their images were crumbled into dust, and the sacred oaks of worship and prophecy hewn down. But even where conversion was the fruit of preaching and persuasion, it did not the less break up all the associations of a German with respect to that mythical world which he called his past, and of which the ancient gods constituted both the charm and the sanctity: he had now only the alternative of treating them either as men or as dæmons.[1028] That mixed religious and patriotic retrospect, formed by the coalescence of piety with ancestral feeling, which constituted the appropriate sentiment both of Greeks and of Germans towards their unrecorded antiquity, was among the latter banished by Christianity: and while the root of the old mythes was thus cankered, the commemorative ceremonies and customs with which they were connected, either lost their consecrated character or disappeared altogether. Moreover, new influences of great importance were at the same time brought to bear. The Latin language, together with some tinge of Latin literature—the habit of writing and of recording present events—the idea of a systematic law and pacific adjudication of disputes,—all these formed a part of the general working of Roman civilization, even after the decline of the Roman empire, upon the Teutonic and Celtic tribes. A class of specially-educated men was formed, upon a Latin basis and upon Christian principles, consisting too almost entirely of priests, who were opposed, as well by motives of rivalry as by religious feeling, to the ancient bards and storytellers of the community: the “lettered men”[1029] were constituted apart from “the men of story,” and Latin literature contributed along with religion to sink the mythes of untaught heathenism. Charlemagne, indeed, at the same time that he employed aggressive and violent proceedings to introduce Christianity among the Saxons, also took special care to commit to writing and preserve the old heathen songs. But there can be little doubt that this step was the suggestion of a large and enlightened understanding peculiar to himself. The disposition general among lettered Christians of that age is more accurately represented by his son Louis le Debonnaire, who, having learned these songs as a boy, came to abhor them when he arrived at mature years, and could never be induced either to repeat or tolerate them.[1030]

[1028] On the hostile influence exercised by the change of
religion on the old Scandinavian poetry, see an interesting
article of Jacob Grimm in the Göttingen Gelehrte Anzeigen, Feb.
1830, pp. 268-273; a review of Olaf Tryggvson’s Saga. The article
_Helden_, in his Deutsche Mythologie, is also full of instruction
on the same subject: see also the Einleitung to the book, p. 11,
2nd edition.

A similar observation has been made with respect to the old
mythes of the pagan Russians by Eichhoff: “L’établissement du
Christianisme, ce gage du bonheur des nations, fut vivement
apprécié par les Russes, qui dans leur juste reconnaissance, le
personnifièrent dans un héros. Vladimir le Grand, ami des arts,
protecteur de la religion qu’il protégea, et dont les fruits
firent oublier les fautes, devint l’Arthus et le Charlemagne de
la Russie, et ses hauts faits furent un mythe national qui domina
tous ceux du paganisme. Autour de lui se groupèrent ces guerriers
aux formes athlétiques, au cœur généreux, dont la poésie aime à
entourer le berceau mystérieux des peuples: et les exploits du
vaillant Dobrinia, de Rogdai, d’Ilia, de Curilo, animèrent les
ballades nationales, et vivent encore dans de naïfs récits.”
(Eichhoff, Histoire de la Langue et Littérature des Slaves,
Paris, 1839, part iii. ch. 2. p. 190.)

[1029] This distinction is curiously brought to view by Saxo
Grammaticus, where he says of an Englishman named Lucas, that
he was “literis quidem tenuiter instructus, sed historiarum
scientiâ apprime eruditus” (p. 330, apud Dahlmann’s Historische
Forschungen, vol. i. p. 176).

[1030] “Barbara et antiquissima carmina (says Eginhart, in
his Life of Charlemagne), quibus veterum regum actus et bella
canebantur, conscripsit.”

Theganus says of Louis le Debonnaire, “Poetica carmina gentilia,
quæ in juventute didicerat, respuit, nec legere, nec audire, nec
docere, voluit.” (De Gestis Ludovici Imperatoris ap. Pithœum, p.
304, c. xix.)

According to the old heathen faith, the pedigree of the Saxon, Anglian, Danish, Norwegian, and Swedish kings,—probably also those of the German and Scandinavian kings generally,—was traced to Odin, or to some of his immediate companions or heroic sons.[1031] I have already observed that the value of these genealogies consisted not so much in their length, as in the reverence attached to the name serving as primitive source. After the worship attached to Odin had been extinguished, the genealogical line was lengthened up to Japhet or Noah,—and Odin, no longer accounted worthy to stand at the top, was degraded into one of the simple human members of it.[1032] And we find this alteration of the original mythical genealogies to have taken place even among the Scandinavians, although the introduction of Christianity was in those parts both longer deferred, so as to leave time for a more ample development of the heathen poetical vein—and seems to have created a less decided feeling of antipathy (especially in Iceland) towards the extinct faith.[1033] The poems and tales composing the Edda, though first committed to writing after the period of Christianity, do not present the ancient gods in a point of view intentionally odious or degrading.

[1031] See Grimm’s Deutsche Mythologie, art. _Helden_, p. 356,
2nd edit. Hengist and Horsa were fourth in descent from Odin
(Venerable Bede, Hist. i. 15). Thiodolff, the Scald of Harold
Haarfager king of Norway, traced the pedigree of his sovereign
through thirty generations to Yngarfrey, the son of Niord,
companion of Odin at Upsal; the kings of Upsal were called
Ynglinger, and the song of Thiodolff, Ynglingatal (Dahlmann,
Histor. Forschung. i. p. 379). Eyvind, another Scald, a century
afterwards, deduced the pedigree of Jarl Hacon from Saming,
son of Yngwifrey (p. 381). Are Frode, the Icelandic historian,
carried up his own genealogy through thirty-six generations to
Yngwe; a genealogy which Torfæus accepts as trustworthy, opposing
it to the line of kings given by Saxo Grammaticus (p. 352).
Torfæus makes Harold Haarfager a descendant from Odin through
twenty-seven generations; Alfred of England through twenty-three
generations; Offa of Mercia through fifteen (p. 362). See also
the translation by Lange of P. A. Müller’s Saga Bibliothek,
Introd. p. xxviii. and the genealogical tables prefixed to Snorro
Sturleson’s Edda.

Mr. Sharon Turner conceives the human existence of Odin to
be distinctly proved, seemingly upon the same evidence as
Euêmerus believed in the human existence of Zeus (History of the
Anglo-Saxons, Appendix to b. ii. ch. 3. p. 219, 5th edit.).

[1032] Dahlmann, Histor. Forschung. t. i. p. 220. There is
a valuable article on this subject in the Zeitschrift für
Geschichts Wissenschaft (Berlin, vol. i. pp. 237-282) by Stuhr,
“Über einige Hauptfragen des Nordischen Alterthums,” wherein
the writer illustrates both the strong motive and the effective
tendency, on the part of the Christian clergy who had to deal
with these newly-converted Teutonic pagans, to Euêmerize the old
gods, and to represent a genealogy, which they were unable to
efface from men’s minds, as if it consisted only of mere men.

Mr. John Kemble (Über die Stammtafel der Westsachsen, ap. Stuhr,
p. 254) remarks, that “nobilitas,” among that people, consisted
in descent from Odin and the other gods.

Colonel Sleeman also deals in the same manner with the religious
legends of the Hindoos,—so natural is the proceeding of Euêmerus,
towards any religion in which a critic does not believe:—

“They (the Hindoos) of course think that the incarnation of
their three great divinities were beings infinitely superior to
prophets, being in all their attributes and prerogatives equal
to the divinities themselves. _But we are disposed to think that
these incarnations were nothing more than great men whom their
flatterers and poets have exalted into gods,—this was the way
in which men made their gods in ancient Greece and Egypt._—All
that the poets have sung of the actions of these men is now
received as revelation from heaven: though nothing can be more
monstrous than the actions ascribed to the best incarnation,
Krishna, of the best of the gods, Vishnoo.” (Sleeman, Rambles and
Recollections of an Indian Official, vol. i. ch. viii. 61.)

[1033] See P. E. Müller, Über den Ursprung und Verfall der
Isländischen Historiographie, p. 63.

In the Leitfaden zur Nordischen Alterthumskunde, pp. 4-5
(Copenhagen, 1837), is an instructive summary of the different
schemes of interpretation applied to the northern mythes: 1, the
historical; 2, the geographical; 3, the astronomical; 4, the
physical; 5, the allegorical.

The transposition above alluded to, of the genealogical root from Odin to Noah, is the more worthy of notice, as it illustrates the genuine character of these genealogies, and shows that they sprung, not from any erroneous historical data, but from the turn of the religious feeling; also that their true value is derived from their being taken entire, as connecting the existing race of men with a divine original. If we could imagine that Grecian paganism had been superseded by Christianity in the year 500 B. C., the great and venerated gentile genealogies of Greece would have undergone the like modification; the Herakleids, Pelopids, Æakids, Asklêpiads, etc., would have been merged in some larger aggregate branching out from the archæology of the Old Testament. The old heroic legends connected with these ancestral names would either have been forgotten, or so transformed as to suit the new vein of thought; for the altered worship, ceremonies, and customs would have been altogether at variance with them, and the mythical feeling would have ceased to dwell upon those to whom prayers were no longer offered. If the oak of Dôdôna had been cut down, or the Theôric ship had ceased to be sent from Athens to Dêlos, the mythes of Theseus and of the two black doves would have lost their pertinence, and died away. As it was, the change from Homer to Thucydidês and Aristotle took place internally, gradually, and imperceptibly. Philosophy and history were superinduced in the minds of the superior few, but the feelings of the general public continued unshaken—the sacred objects remained the same both to the eye and to the heart—and the worship of the ancient gods was even adorned by new architects and sculptors who greatly strengthened its imposing effect.

While then in Greece the mythopœic stream continued in the same course, only with abated current and influence, in modern Europe its ancient bed was blocked up, and it was turned into new and divided channels. The old religion—though as an ascendent faith, unanimously and publicly manifested, it became extinct—still continued in detached scraps and fragments, and under various alterations of name and form. The heathen gods and goddesses, deprived as they were of divinity, did not pass out of the recollection and fears of their former worshippers, but were sometimes represented (on principles like those of Euêmerus) as having been eminent and glorious men—sometimes degraded into dæmons, magicians, elfs, fairies, and other supernatural agents, of an inferior grade and generally mischievous cast. Christian writers, such as Saxo Grammaticus and Snorro Sturleson, committed to writing the ancient oral songs of the Scandinavian Scalds, and digested the events contained in them into continuous narrative—performing in this respect a task similar to that of the Grecian logographers Pherekydês and Hellanikus, in reference to Hesiod and the Cyclic poets. But while Pherekydês and Hellanikus compiled under the influence of feelings substantially the same as those of the poets on whom they bestowed their care, the Christian logographers felt it their duty to point out the Odin and Thor of the old Scalds as evil dæmons, or cunning enchanters, who had fascinated the minds of men into a false belief in their divinity.[1034] In some cases, the heathen recitals and ideas were modified so as to suit Christian feeling. But when preserved without such a change, they exhibited themselves palpably, and were designated by their compilers, as at variance with the religious belief of the people, and as associated either with imposture or with evil spirits.

[1034] “Interea tamen homines Christiani in numina non credant
ethnica, nec aliter fidem narrationibus hisce adstruere vel
adhibere debent, quam in libri hujus proœmio monitum est de
causis et occasionibus cur et quomodo genus humanum a verâ fide
aberraverit.” (Extract from the Prose Edda, p. 75, in the Lexicon
Mythologicum ad calcem Eddæ Sæmund. vol. iii. p. 357, Copenhag.
edit.)

A similar warning is to be found in another passage cited by
P. E. Müller, Über den Ursprung und Verfall der Isländischen
Historiographie, p. 138, Copenhagen, 1813; compare the Prologue
to the Prose Edda, p. 6, and Mallet, Introduction à l’Histoire de
Dannemarc, ch. vii. pp. 114-132.

Saxo Grammaticus represents Odin sometimes as a magician,
sometimes as an evil dæmon, sometimes as a high priest or pontiff
of heathenism, who imposed so powerfully upon the people around
him as to receive divine honors. Thor also is treated as having
been an evil dæmon. (See Lexicon Mythologic. ut supra, pp. 567,
915.)

Respecting the function of Snorro as logographer, see Præfat.
ad Eddam, ut supra, p. xi. He is much more faithful, and less
unfriendly to the old religion, than the other logographers
of the ancient Scandinavian Sagas. (Leitfaden der Nordischen
Alterthümer, p. 14, by the Antiquarian Society of Copenhagen,
1837.)

By a singular transformation, dependent upon the same tone
of mind, the authors of the French Chansons de Geste, in the
twelfth century, turned Apollo into an evil dæmon, patron of the
Mussulmans (see the Roman of Garin le Loherain, par M. Paulin
Paris, 1833, p. 31): “Car mieux vaut Dieux que ne fait Apollis.”
M. Paris observes, “Cet ancien Dieu des beaux arts est l’un des
démons le plus souvent désignés dans nos poëmes, comme patron des
Musulmans.”

The prophet Mahomet, too, anathematized the old Persian epic
anterior to his religion. “C’est à l’occasion de Naser Ibn
al-Hareth, qui avait apporté de Perse l’Histoire de Rustem et
d’Isfendiar, et la faisait réciter par des chanteuses dans
les assemblées des Koreischites, que Mahomet prononça le vers
suivant (of the Koran): Il y a des hommes qui achètent des contes
frivoles, pour détourner par-là les hommes de la voie de Dieu,
d’une manière insensée, et pour la livrer à la risée: mais leur
punition les couvrira de honte.” (Mohl, Préface au Livre des Rois
de Ferdousi, p. xiii.)

A new vein of sentiment had arisen in Europe, unsuitable indeed to the old mythes, yet leaving still in force the demand for mythical narrative generally. And this demand was satisfied, speaking generally, by two classes of narratives,—the legends of the Catholic Saints and the Romances of Chivalry, corresponding to two types of character, both perfectly accommodated to the feelings of the time,—the saintly ideal and the chivalrous ideal.

Both these two classes of narrative correspond, in character as well as in general purpose, to the Grecian mythes—being stories accepted as realities, from their full conformity with the predispositions and deep-seated faith of an uncritical audience, and prepared beforehand by their authors, not with any reference to the conditions of historical proof, but for the purpose of calling forth sympathy, emotion, or reverence. The type of the saintly character belongs to Christianity, being the history of Jesus Christ as described in the gospels, and that of the prophets in the Old Testament; whilst the lives of holy men, who acquired a religious reputation from the fourth to the fourteenth century of the Christian æra, were invested with attributes, and illustrated with ample details, tending to assimilate them to this revered model. The numerous miracles, the cure of diseases, the expulsion of dæmons, the temptations and sufferings, the teachings and commands, with which the biography of Catholic saints abounds, grew chiefly out of this pious feeling, common to the writer and to his readers. Many of the other incidents, recounted in the same performances, take their rise from misinterpreted allegories, from ceremonies and customs of which it was pleasing to find a consecrated origin, or from the disposition to convert the etymology of a name into matter of history: many have also been suggested by local peculiarities, and by the desire of stimulating or justifying the devotional emotions of pilgrims who visited some consecrated chapel or image. The dove was connected, in the faith of the age, with the Holy Ghost, the serpent with Satan; lions, wolves, stags, unicorns, etc. were the subjects of other emblematic associations; and such modes of belief found expression for themselves in many narratives which brought the saints into conflict or conjoint action with these various animals. Legends of this kind, so indefinitely multiplied and so preëminently popular and affecting, in the Middle Ages, are not exaggerations of particular matters of fact, but emanations in detail of some current faith or feeling, which they served to satisfy, and by which they were in turn amply sustained and accredited.[1035]

[1035] The legends of the Saints have been touched upon by M.
Guizot (Cours d’Histoire Moderne, leçon xvii.) and by M. Ampère
(Histoire Littéraire de la France, t. ii. cap. 14, 15, 16); but
a far more copious and elaborate account of them, coupled with
much just criticism, is to be found in the valuable Essai sur les
Légendes Pieuses du Moyen Age, par L. F. Alfred Maury, Paris,
1843.

M. Guizot scarcely adverts at all to the more or less of
matter of fact contained in these biographies: he regards them
altogether as they grew out of and answered to the predominant
emotions and mental exigences of the age: “Au milieu d’un déluge
de fables absurdes, la morale éclate avec un grand empire” (p.
159, ed. 1829). “Les légendes ont été pour les Chrétiens de ce
temps (qu’on me permette cette comparaison purement littéraire)
ce que sont pour les Orientaux ces longs récits, ces histoires
si brillantes et si variées, dont les Mille et une Nuits nous
donnent un échantillon. C’était là que l’imagination populaire
errait librement dans un monde inconnu, merveilleux, plein de
mouvement et de poésie” (p. 175, _ibid._).

M. Guizot takes his comparison with the tales of the Arabian
Nights, as heard by an Oriental with uninquiring and unsuspicious
credence. Viewed with reference to an instructed European, who
reads these narratives as pleasing but recognized fiction, the
comparison would not be just; for no one in that age dreamed of
questioning the truth of the biographies. All the remarks of M.
Guizot assume this implicit faith in them as literal histories:
perhaps, in estimating the feelings to which they owed their
extraordinary popularity, he allows too little predominance to
the religious feeling, and too much influence to other mental
exigences which then went along with it; more especially as he
remarks, in the preceding lecture (p. 116), “Le caractère général
de l’époque est la concentration du développement intellectuel
dans la sphère religieuse.”

How this absorbing religious sentiment operated in generating
and accrediting new matter of narrative, is shown with great
fulness of detail in the work of M. Maury: “Tous les écrits
du moyen âge nous apportent la preuve de cette préoccupation
exclusive des esprits vers l’Histoire Sainte et les prodiges qui
avaient signalé l’avènement du Christianisme. Tous nous montrent
la pensée de Dieu et du Ciel, dominant les moindres œuvres de
cette époque de naïve et de crédule simplicité. D’ailleurs,
n’était-ce pas le moine, le clerc, qui constituaient alors les
seuls écrivains? Qu’y a-t-il d’étonnant que le sujet habituel de
leurs méditations, de leurs études, se reflétât sans cesse dans
leurs ouvrages? Partout reparaissait à l’imagination Jésus et ses
Saints: cette image, l’esprit l’accueillait avec soumission et
obéissance: il n’osait pas encore envisager ces célestes pensées
avec l’œil de la critique, armé de défiance et de doute; au
contraire, l’intelligence les acceptait toutes indistinctement
et s’en nourrissait avec avidité. Ainsi s’accréditaient tous
les jours de nouvelles fables. _Une foi vive veut sans cesse de
nouveaux faits qu’elle puisse croire_, comme la charité veut de
nouveaux bienfaits pour s’exercer” (p. 43). The remarks on the
History of St. Christopher, whose personality was allegorized by
Luther and Melancthon, are curious (p. 57).

Every reader of Pausanias will recognize the great general analogy between the stories recounted to him at the temples which he visited, and these legends of the Middle Ages. Though the type of character which the latter illustrate is indeed materially different, yet the source as well as the circulation, the generating as well as the sustaining forces, were in both cases the same. Such legends were the natural growth of a religious faith, earnest, unexamining, and interwoven with the feelings at a time when the reason does not need to be cheated. The lives of the Saints bring us even back to the simple and ever-operative theology of the Homeric age; so constantly is the hand of God exhibited even in the minutest details, for the succor of a favored individual,—so completely is the scientific point of view, respecting the phænomena of nature, absorbed into the religious.[1036] During the intellectual vigor of Greece and Rome, a sense of the invariable course of nature and of the scientific explanation of phænomena had been created among the superior minds, and through them indirectly among the remaining community; thus limiting to a certain extent the ground open to be occupied by a religious legend. With the decline of the pagan literature and philosophy, before the sixth century of the Christian æra, this scientific conception gradually passed out of sight, and left the mind free to a religious interpretation of nature not less simple and _naïf_ than that which had prevailed under the Homeric paganism.[1037] The great religious movement of the Reformation, and the gradual formation, of critical and philosophical habits in the modern mind, have caused these legends of the Saints,—once the charm and cherished creed of a numerous public,[1038] to pass altogether out of credit, without even being regarded, among Protestants at least, as worthy of a formal scrutiny into the evidence,—a proof of the transitory value of public belief, however sincere and fervent, as a certificate of historical truth, if it be blended with religious predispositions.

[1036] “Dans les prodiges que l’on admettait avoir dû
nécessairement s’opérer au tombeau du saint nouvellement
canonisé, l’expression, ‘Cæci visum, claudi gressum, muti
loquelam, surdi auditum, paralytici debitum membrorum officium,
recuperabant,’ était devenue plûtot une formule d’usage que la
rélation littérale du fait.” (Maury, Essai sur les Légendes
Pieuses du Moyen Age, p. 5.)

To the same purpose M. Ampère, ch. 14. p. 361: “Il y a un certain
nombre de faits que l’agiographie reproduit constamment, quelque
soit son héros: ordinairement ce personnage a eu dans sa jeunesse
une vision qui lui a révélé son avenir: ou bien, une prophétie
lui a annoncé ce qu’il serait un jour. Plus tard, il opère un
certain nombre de miracles, toujours les mêmes; il exorcise des
possédés, ressuscite des morts, il est averti de sa fin par un
songe. Puis sur son tombeau s’accomplissent d’autres merveilles
à-peu-près semblables.”

[1037] A few words from M. Ampère to illustrate this: “C’est
donc au sixième siècle que la légende se constitue: c’est alors
qu’elle prend complètement le caractère naïf qui lui appartient:
qu’elle est elle-même, qu’elle se sépare de toute influence
étrangère. En même temps, l’ignorance devient de plus en plus
grossière, et par suite la crédulité s’accroit: les calamités du
temps sont plus lourdes, et l’on a un plus grand besoin de remède
et de consolation.... Les récits miraculeux se substituent aux
argumens de la théologie. Les miracles sont devenus la meilleure
démonstration du Christianisme: c’est la seule que puissent
comprendre les esprits grossiers des barbares” (c. 15. p. 373).

Again, c. 17. p. 401: “Un des caractères de la légende est de
mêler constamment le puéril au grand: il faut l’avouer, elle
défigure parfois un peu ces hommes d’une trempe si forte, en
mettant sur leur compte des anecdotes dont le caractère n’est pas
toujours sérieux; elle en a usé ainsi pour St. Columban, dont
nous verrons tout à l’heure le rôle vis-à-vis de Brunehaut et des
chefs Mérovingiens. La légende auroit pu se dispenser de nous
apprendre, comment un jour, il se fit rapporter par un corbeau
les gants qu’il avait perdus: comment, un autre jour, il empêcha
la bière de couler d’un tonneau percé, et diverses merveilles,
certainement indignes de sa mémoire.”

The miracle by which St. Columban employed the raven to fetch
back his lost gloves, is exactly in the character of the Homeric
and Hesiodic age: the earnest faith, as well as the reverential
sympathy, between the Homeric man and Zeus or Athênê, is
indicated by the invocation of their aid for his own sufferings
of detail, and in his own need and danger. The criticism of
M. Ampère, on the other hand, is analogous to that of the
later pagans, after the conception of a course of nature had
become established in men’s minds, so far as that exceptional
interference by the gods was understood to be, comparatively
speaking, rare, and only supposable upon what were called great
emergences.

In the old Hesiodic legend (see above, ch. ix. p. 245), Apollo
is apprized by a raven of the infidelity of the nymph Korônis
to him—τῷ μὲν ἄρ᾽ ἄγγελος ἦλθε κόραξ, etc. (the raven appears
elsewhere as companion of Apollo, Plutarch, de Isid. et Os.
p. 379, Herod. iv. 5.) Pindar, in his version of the legend,
eliminated the raven, without specifying _how_ Apollo got his
knowledge of the circumstance. The Scholiasts praise Pindar much
for having rejected the puerile version of the story—ἐπαινεῖ
τὸν Πίνδαρον ὁ Ἀρτέμων ὅτι παρακρουσάμενος τὴν περὶ τὸν κόρακα
ἱστορἱαν, αὐτὸν δι᾽ ἑαυτοῦ ἐγνωκέναι φησὶ τὸν Ἀπόλλω ... χαίρειν
οὖν ἐάσας τῷ τοιούτῳ μύθῳ ~τέλεως ὄντι ληρώδει~, etc.—compare
also the criticisms of the Schol. ad Soph. Œdip. Kol. 1378, on
the old epic Thebaïs; and the remarks of Arrian (Exp. Al. iii. 4)
on the divine interference by which Alexander and his army were
enabled to find their way across the sand of the desert to the
temple of Ammon.

In the eyes of M. Ampère, the recital of the biographer of
St. Columban appears puerile (οὔπω ἴδον ὧδε θεοὺς ἀνάφανδρα
φιλεῦντας, Odyss. iii. 221); in the eyes of that biographer,
the criticism of M. Ampère would have appeared impious. When
it is once conceded that phænomena are distributable under two
denominations, the natural and the miraculous, it must be left to
the feelings of each individual to determine what is and what is
not, a suitable occasion for a miracle. Diodôrus and Pausanias
differed in opinion (as stated in a previous chapter) about the
death of Actæôn by his own hounds,—the former maintaining that
the case was one fit for the special intervention of the goddess
Artemis; the latter, that it was not so. The question is one
determinable only by the religious feelings and conscience of the
two dissentients: no common standard of judgment can be imposed
upon them; for no reasonings derived from science or philosophy
are available, inasmuch as in this case the very point in dispute
is, whether the scientific point of view be admissible. Those
who are disposed to adopt the supernatural belief, will find
in every case the language open to them wherewith Dionysius of
Halicarnassus (in recounting a miracle wrought by Vesta, in
the early times of Roman history, for the purpose of rescuing
an unjustly accused virgin) reproves the sceptics of his time:
“It is well worth while (he observes) to recount the special
manifestation (ἐπιφάνειαν) which the goddess showed to these
unjustly accused virgins. For these circumstances, extraordinary
as they are, have been held worthy of belief by the Romans, and
historians have talked much about them. Those persons, indeed,
who adopt the atheistical schemes of philosophy (if, indeed, we
must call them _philosophy_), pulling in pieces as they do _all_
the special manifestations (ἁπάσας διασύροντες τὰς ἐπιφανείας
τῶν θεῶν) of the gods which have taken place among Greeks or
barbarians, will of course turn _these_ stories also into
ridicule, ascribing them to the vain talk of men, as if none of
the gods cared at all for mankind. But those who, having pushed
their researches farther, believe the gods not to be indifferent
to human affairs, but favorable to good men and hostile to
bad—will not treat _these_ special manifestations as _more_
incredible than others.” (Dionys. Halic. ii. 68-69.) Plutarch,
after noticing the great number of miraculous statements in
circulation, expresses his anxiety to draw a line between the
true and the false, but cannot find where: “excess, both of
credulity and of incredulity (he tells us) in such matters is
dangerous; caution, and nothing too much, is the best course.”
(Camillus, c. 6.) Polybius is for granting permission to
historians to recount a sufficient number of miracles to keep up
a feeling of piety in the multitude, but not more: to measure
out the proper quantity (he observes) is difficult, but not
impossible (δυσπαράγραφός ἐστι ἡ ποσότης, οὐ μὴν ἀπαράγραφός γε,
xvi. 12).

[1038] The great Bollandist collection of the Lives of the
Saints, intended to comprise the whole year, did not extend
beyond the nine months from January to October, which occupy
fifty-three large volumes. The month of April fills three of
those volumes, and exhibits the lives of 1472 saints. Had the
collection run over the entire year, the total number of such
biographies could hardly have been less than 25,000, and might
have been even greater (see Guizot, Cours d’Histoire Moderne,
leçon xvii. p. 157).

The same mythopœic vein, and the same susceptibility and facility of belief, which had created both supply and demand for the legends of the Saints, also provided the abundant stock of romantic narrative poetry, in amplification and illustration of the chivalrous ideal. What the legends of Troy, of Thêbes, of the Kalydônian boar, of Œdipus, Thêseus, etc. were to an early Greek, the tales of Arthur, of Charlemagne, of the Niebelungen, were to an Englishman, or Frenchman, or German, of the twelfth or thirteenth century. They were neither recognized fiction nor authenticated history: they were history, as it is felt and welcomed by minds unaccustomed to investigate evidence, and unconscious of the necessity of doing so. That the Chronicle of Turpin, a mere compilation of poetical legends respecting Charlemagne, was accepted as genuine history, and even pronounced to be such by papal authority, is well known; and the authors of the Romances announce themselves, not less than those of the old Grecian epic, as being about to recount real matter of fact.[1039] It is certain that Charlemagne is a great historical name, and it is possible, though not certain, that the name of Arthur may be historical also. But the Charlemagne of history, and the Charlemagne of romance, have little except the name in common nor could we ever determine, except by independent evidence (which in this case we happen to possess), whether Charlemagne was a real or a fictitious person.[1040] That illustrious name, as well as the more problematical Arthur, is taken up by the romancers, not with a view to celebrate realities previously verified, but for the purpose of setting forth or amplifying an ideal of their own, in such manner as both to rouse the feelings and captivate the faith of their hearers.

[1039] See Warton’s History of English Poetry, vol. i. dissert.
i. p. xvii. Again, in sect. iii. p. 140: “Vincent de Beauvais,
who lived under Louis IX. of France (about 1260), and who, on
account of his extraordinary erudition, was appointed preceptor
to that king’s sons, very gravely classes Archbishop Turpin’s
Charlemagne among the real histories, and places it on a level
with Suetonius and Cæsar. He was himself an historian, and has
left a large history of the world, fraught with a variety of
reading, and of high repute in the Middle Ages; but edifying and
entertaining as this work might have been to his contemporaries,
at present it serves only to record their prejudices and to
characterize their credulity.” About the full belief in Arthur
and the Tales of the Round Table during the fourteenth century,
and about the strange historical mistakes of the poet Gower in
the fifteenth, see the same work, sect. 7. vol. ii. p. 33; sect.
19. vol. ii. p. 239.

“L’auteur de la Chronique de Turpin (says M. Sismondi,
Littérature du Midi, vol. i. ch. 7. p. 289) n’avait point
l’intention de briller aux yeux du public par une invention
heureuse, ni d’amuser les oisifs par des contes merveilleux
qu’ils reconnoitroient pour tels: il présentait aux Français
tous ces faits étranges comme de l’histoire, et la lecture des
légendes fabuleuses avait accoutumé à croire à de plus grandes
merveilles encore; aussi plusieurs de ces fables furent-elles
reproduites dans la Chronique de St. Denis.”

Again, _ib._ p. 290: “Souvent les anciens romanciers, lorsqu’ils
entreprennent un récit de la cour de Charlemagne, prennent un ton
plus élevé: ce ne sont point des fables qu’ils vont conter, c’est
de l’histoire nationale,—c’est la gloire de leurs ancêtres qu’ils
veulent célébrer, et ils ont droit alors à demander qu’on les
écoute avec respect.”

The Chronicle of Turpin was inserted, even so late as the year
1566, in the collection printed by Scardius at Frankfort of
early German historians (Ginguené, Histoire Littéraire d’Italie,
vol. iv. part ii. ch. 3. p. 157).

To the same point—that these romances were listened to as real
stories—see Sir Walter Scott’s Preface to Sir Tristram, p. lxvii.
The authors of the Legends of the Saints are not less explicit in
their assertions that everything which they recount is true and
well-attested (Ampère, c. 14. p. 358).

[1040] The series of articles by M. Fauriel, published in the
Revue des Deux Mondes, vol. xiii. are full of instruction
respecting the origin, tenor, and influence of the Romances of
Chivalry. Though the name of Charlemagne appears, the romancers
are really unable to distinguish him from Charles Martel or
from Charles the Bald (pp. 537-539). They ascribe to him an
expedition to the Holy Land, in which he conquered Jerusalem from
the Saracens, obtained possession of the relics of the passion
of Christ, the crown of thorns, etc. These precious relics he
carried to Rome, from whence they were taken to Spain by a
Saracen emir, named Balan, at the head of an army. The expedition
of Charlemagne against the Saracens in Spain was undertaken for
the purpose of recovering the relics: “Ces divers romans peuvent
être regardés comme la suite, comme le développement, de la
fiction de la conquête de Jérusalem par Charlemagne.”

Respecting the Romance of Rinaldo of Montauban (describing the
struggles of a feudal lord against the emperor) M. Fauriel
observes, “Il n’y a, je crois, aucun fondement historique: c’est
selon toute apparence, la pure expression poétique du fait
général,” etc. (p. 542.)

To inquire which of the personages of the Carlovingian epic were real and which were fictitious,—to examine whether the expedition ascribed to Charlemagne against Jerusalem had ever taken place or not,—to separate truth from exaggeration in the exploits of the Knights of the Round Table,—these were problems which an audience of that day had neither disposition to undertake nor means to resolve. They accepted the narrative as they heard it, without suspicion or reserve; the incidents related, as well as the connecting links between them, were in full harmony with their feelings, and gratifying as well to their sympathies as to their curiosity: nor was anything farther wanting to induce them to believe it, though the historical basis might be ever so slight or even non-existent.[1041]

[1041] Among the “formules consacrées” (observes M. Fauriel)
of the romancers of the Carlovingian epic, are asseverations
of their own veracity, and of the accuracy of what they are
about to relate—specification of witnesses whom they have
consulted—appeals to pretended chronicles: “Que ces citations,
ces indications, soient parfois sérieuses et sincères, cela peut
être; mais c’est une exception et une exception rare. De telles
allégations de la part des romanciers, sont en général un pur et
simple mensonge, mais non toutefois un mensonge gratuit. C’est
un mensonge qui a sa raison et sa convenance: il tient au désir
et au besoin de satisfaire une opinion accoutumée à supposer
et à chercher du vrai dans les fictions du genre de celles où
l’on allègue ces prétendues autorités. La manière dont les
auteurs de ces fictions les qualifient souvent eux-mêmes, est
une conséquence naturelle de leur prétention d’y avoir suivi des
documens vénérables. Ils les qualifient de chansons de _vieille
histoire_, de _haute histoire_, de _bonne geste_, de _grande
baronnie_: et ce n’est pas pour se vanter qu’ils parlent ainsi:
la vanité d’auteur n’est rien chez eux, en comparaison du besoin
qu’ils ont d’être crus, de passer pour de simples traducteurs,
de simples répétiteurs de légendes ou d’histoire consacrée. Ces
protestations de véracité, qui, plus ou moins expresses, sont de
rigueur dans les romans Carlovingiens, y sont aussi fréquemment
accompagnées de protestations accessoires contre les romanciers,
qui, ayant déjà traité un sujet donné, sont accusés d’y avoir
faussé la vérité.” (Fauriel, Orig. de l’Epopée Chevaleresque, in
the Revue des Deux Mondes, vol. xiii. p. 554.)

About the Cycle of the Round Table, see the same series of
articles (Rev. D. M. t. xiv. pp. 170-184). The Chevaliers of the
Saint Graal were a sort of _idéal_ of the Knights Templars: “Une
race de princes héroïques, originaires de l’Asie, fut prédestinée
par le ciel même à la garde du Saint Graal. Perille fut le
premier de cette race, qui s’étant converti au Christianisme,
passa en Europe sous l’Empereur Vespasien,” etc.; then follows
a string of fabulous incidents: the epical agency is similar to
that of Homer—Διὸς δ᾽ ἐτελείετο βουλή.

M. Paulin Paris, in his Prefaces to the Romans des Douze Pairs
de France, has controverted many of the positions of M. Fauriel,
and with success, so far as regards the Provençal origin of
the Chansons de Geste, asserted by the latter. In regard to
the Romances of the Round Table, he agrees substantially with
M. Fauriel; but he tries to assign a greater historical value
to the poems of the Carlovingian epic,—very unsuccessfully, in
my opinion. But his own analysis of the old poem of Garin de
Loherain bears out the very opinion which he is confuting: “Nous
sommes au règne de Charles Martel, et nous reconnaissons sous
d’autres noms les détails exacts de la fameuse défaite d’Attila
dans les champs Catalauniques. Saint Loup et Saint Nicaise,
glorieux prélats du quatrième siècle, reviennent figurer autour
du père de Pépin le Bref: enfin pour compléter la confusion,
Charles Martel meurt sur le champ de bataille, à la place du roi
des Visigoths, Theodoric.... _Toutes les parties de la narration
sont vraies_: seulement _toutes s’y trouvent déplacées_. En
général, les peuples n’entendent rien à la chronologie: les
evènemens restent: les individus, les lieux et les époques, ne
laissent aucune trace: c’est pour ainsi dire, une décoration
scénique que l’on applique indifféremment à des récits souvent
contraires.” (Preface to the Roman de Garin le Loherain, pp.
xvi.-xx.: Paris, 1833.) Compare also his Lettre à M. Monmerqué,
prefixed to the Roman de Berthe aux Grans Piés, Paris, 1836.

To say that _all_ the parts of the narrative are true, is
contrary to M. Paris’s own showing: _some_ parts may be true,
separately taken, but these fragments of truth are melted down
with a large mass of fiction, and cannot be discriminated unless
we possess some independent test. The poet who picks out one
incident from the fourth century, another from the fifth, and
a few more from the eighth, and then blends them all into a
continuous tale along with many additions of his own, shows that
he takes the items of fact because they suit the purposes of his
narrative, not because they happen to be attested by historical
evidence. His hearers are not critical: they desire to have their
imaginations and feelings affected, and they are content to
accept without question whatever accomplishes this end.

The romances of chivalry represented, to those who heard them, real deeds of the foretime—“glories of the foregone men,” to use the Hesiodic expression[1042]—at the same time that they embodied and filled up the details of an heroic ideal, such as that age could conceive and admire—a fervent piety, combined with strength, bravery, and the love of adventurous aggression, directed sometimes against infidels, sometimes against enchanters or monsters, sometimes in defence of the fair sex. Such characteristics wore naturally popular, in a century of feudal struggles and universal insecurity, when the grand subjects of common respect and interest were the Church and the Crusades, and when the latter especially were embraced with an enthusiasm truly astonishing.

[1042] Hesiod, Theogon. 100—κλέα προτέρων ἀνθρώπων. Puttenham
talks of the remnant of bards existing in his time (1589): “Blind
Harpers, or such like Taverne Minstrels, whose matters are for
the most part _stories of old time_, as the Tale of Sir Topaze,
the Reportes of Bevis of Southampton, Adam Bell, Clymme of the
Clough, and such other old Romances or _Historical Rhymes_.”
(Arte of English Poesie, book ii. cap. 9.)

The long German poem of the Niebelungen Lied, as well as the Volsunga Saga and a portion of the songs of the Edda, relate to a common fund of mythical, superhuman personages, and of fabulous adventure, identified with the earliest antiquity of the Teutonic and Scandinavian race, and representing their primitive sentiment towards ancestors of divine origin. Sigurd, Brynhilde, Gudrun, and Atle, are mythical characters celebrated as well by the Scandinavian Scalds as by the German epic poets, but with many varieties and separate additions to distinguish the one from the other. The German epic, later and more elaborated, includes various persons not known to the songs in the Edda, in particular the prominent name of Dieterich of Bern—presenting, moreover, the principal characters and circumstances as Christian, while in the Edda there is no trace of anything but heathenism. There is, indeed, in this the old and heathen version, a remarkable analogy with many points of Grecian mythical narrative. As in the case of the short life of Achilles, and of the miserable Labdakids of Thêbes—so in the family of the Volsungs, though sprung from and protected by the gods—a curse of destiny hangs upon them and brings on their ruin, in spite of preëminent personal qualities.[1043] The more thoroughly this old Teutonic story has been traced and compared, in its various transformations and accompaniments, the less can any well-established connection be made out for it with authentic historical names or events. We must acquiesce in its personages as distinct in original conception from common humanity, and as belonging to the subjective mythical world of the race by whom they were sung.

[1043] Respecting the Volsunga Saga and the Niebelungen Lied,
the work of Lange—Untersuchungen über die Geschichte und das
Verhältniss der Nordischen und Deutschen Heldensage—is a valuable
translation from the Danish Saga-Bibliothek of P. E. Müller.

P. E. Müller maintains, indeed, the historical basis of the tales
respecting the Volsungs (see pp. 102-107)—upon arguments very
unsatisfactory; though the genuine Scandinavian origin of the
tale is perfectly made out. The chapter added by Lange himself,
at the close (see p. 432, etc.), contains juster views as to the
character of the primitive mythology, though he too advances
some positions respecting a something “reinsymbolisches” in the
background, which I find it difficult to follow (see p. 477,
etc.).—There are very ancient epical ballads still sung by the
people in the Faro Islands, many of them relating to Sigurd and
his adventures (p. 412).

Jacob Grimm, in his Deutsche Mythologie, maintains the purely
mythical character, as opposed to the historical, of Siegfried
and Dieterich (Art. _Helden_, pp. 344-346).

So, too, in the great Persian epic of Ferdousi, the principal
characters are religious and mythical. M. Mohl observes,—“Les
caractères des personnages principaux de l’ancienne histoire de
Perse se retrouvent dans le livre des Rois (de Ferdousi) tels
que les indiquent les parties des livres de Zoroaster que nous
possédons encore. Kaioumors, Djemschid, Feridoun, Gushtasp,
Isfendiar, etc. jouent dans le poème épique le même rôle que dans
les Livres sacrés: à cela près, que dans les derniers ils nous
apparaissent à travers une atmosphere mythologique qui grandit
tous leurs traits: mais cette difference est précisément celle
qu’on devait s’attendre à trouver entre la tradition religieuse
et la tradition épique.” (Mohl, Livre des Rois par Ferdousi,
Preface, p. 1.)

The Persian historians subsequent to Ferdousi have all taken
his poem as the basis of their histories, and have even copied
him faithfully and literally (Mohl, p. 53). Many of his heroes
became the subjects of long epical biographies, written and
recited without any art or grace, often by writers whose names
are unknown (_ib._ pp. 54-70). Mr. Morier tells us that “the
Shah Nameh is still believed by the present Persians to contain
their ancient history” (Adventures of Hadgi Baba, c. 32). As
the Christian romancers transformed Apollo into the patron of
Mussulmans, so Ferdousi makes Alexander the Great a Christian:
“La critique historique (observes M. Mohl) était du temps de
Ferdousi chose presqu’inconnue.” (_ib._ p. xlviii.) About the
absence not only of all historiography, but also of all idea of
it, or taste for it among the early Indians, Persians, Arabians,
etc., see the learned book of Nork, _Die Götter Syriens_,
Preface, p. viii. _seqq._ (Stuttgart, 1842.)

Such were the compositions which not only interested the emotions, but also satisfied the undistinguishing historical curiosity, of the ordinary public in the middle ages. The exploits of many of these romantic heroes resemble in several points those of the Grecian: the adventures of Perseus, Achilles, Odysseus, Atalanta, Bellerophôn, Jasôn, and the Trojan war, or Argonautic expedition generally, would have fitted in perfectly to the Carlovingian or other epics of the period.[1044] That of the middle ages, like the Grecian, was eminently expansive in its nature: new stories were successively attached to the names and companions of Charlemagne and Arthur, just as the legend of Troy was enlarged by Arktinus, Leschês, and Stesichorus,—that of Thêbes, by fresh miseries entailed on the fated head of Œdipus,—and that of the Kalydônian boar, by the addition of Atalanta. Altogether, the state of mind of the hearers seems in both cases to have been much the same,—eager for emotion and sympathy, and receiving any narrative attuned to their feelings, not merely with hearty welcome, but also with unsuspecting belief.

[1044] Several of the heroes of the ancient world were indeed
themselves popular subjects with the romancers of the middle
ages, Thêseus, Jasôn, etc.; Alexander the Great, more so than any
of them.

Dr. Warton observes, respecting the Argonautic expedition,
“Few stories of antiquity have more the cast of one of the old
romances than this of Jasôn. An expedition of a new kind is
made into a strange and distant country, attended with infinite
dangers and difficulties. The king’s daughter of the new country
is an enchantress; she falls in love with the young prince, who
is the chief adventurer. The prize which he seeks is guarded by
brazen-footed bulls, who breathe fire, and by a hideous dragon,
who never sleeps. The princess lends him the assistance of her
charms and incantations to conquer these obstacles; she gives him
possession of the prize, leaves her father’s court, and follows
him into his native country.” (Warton, Observations on Spenser,
vol. i. p. 178.)

To the same purpose M. Ginguené: “Le premier modèle des Fées
n’est-il pas dans Circé, dans Calypso, dans Médée? Celui des
géans, dans Polyphème, dans Cacus, et dans les géans, ou les
Titans, cette race ennemie de Jupiter? Les serpens et les
dragons des romans ne sont-ils pas des successeurs du dragon
des Hesperides et de celui de la Toison d’or? Les Magiciens! la
Thessalie en étoit pleine. Les armes enchantées impénétrables!
elles sont de la même trempe, et l’on peut les croire forgées
au même fourneau que celles d’Achille et d’Enée.” (Ginguené,
Histoire Littéraire d’Italie, vol. iv. part ii. ch. 3, p. 151.)