II.

The romances of chivalry sprang to life a logical production of the times. Their authors seized on the character of a king and a warrior--their highest conception of greatness, in the persons of Charlemagne and Arthur. Regardless of anachronism, they represented their heroes as the centre of a chivalric court, accoutred in the arms, and practising the customs of later centuries; they created in fact a new Arthur and a new Charlemagne, adapted to the new times. They brought to light the almost forgotten characters of antiquity. They represented Jason and Alexander invested with chivalric attributes and affected by mediæval superstitions. Hercules, according to them, performed his labors, not because of the wrath of Juno or the command of Jove, but, like a true knight-errant, to gain the favor of a Boeotian princess. Virgil the poet was transformed into Virgil the enchanter. The chief heroes were surrounded with restless knights, whose romantic adventures afforded unlimited range to the imagination, and delighted the chivalric mind. The romancers mingled with their endless tales of "arms and amours," the superstitions and myths which occupied the minds of men to the exclusion of all real knowledge and inquiry. The gloomy and terrible fictions which had adorned the songs of Northern scalds, the bright and fanciful imagery contained in the tales of Arabia and the East which the crusaders brought back with them into Europe, the superstitions of Christianity itself, were given only a greater influence in the lives of fictitious heroes than they were supposed to have in those of living men. Perfectly suited to the times, and in fact born of them, the romances took at once a powerful hold on the popular imagination. The characters of Arthur, of Launcelot and of Tristram became the objects of an ardent admiration, and the standards of excellence to which many strove to attain. The most exaggerated ideas of chivalry contained in the romances were adopted in actual life. Knights and ladies took upon themselves adventures and cultivated manners, which vied in extravagance with those of imaginary beings. The personality of King Arthur was so intensely realized, that for centuries it was believed that he would one day return from beyond the grave to resume his glorious rule. On his tomb were supposed to be inscribed the words:

Hic jacet Arthurus rex, quondam rexque futurus.

Henry II visited his legendary grave at Glastonbury, and named his grandson Arthur. Edward I held a Round Table at Kenilworth. Remarkable features of nature--rocks, caves, and mounds were associated in the popular mind with the achievements of Arthur, and many are connected with them by name at the present day.

But the romances relating to Arthur were far more than the reflection of passing thoughts and customs destined to perish with the generations who read them. They embodied the ideals of the English race six centuries ago, and although appearing in a different form, those ideals are still our own. The examples presented in romantic fiction of manly courage, of self-sacrificing devotion, of simplicity of character, and of chivalric consideration for the weakness of the female sex, may excite our admiration and sympathy, as well as that of a fierce and untutored knighthood. These tales were the product of the English mind in its boyhood, and it is to the youth of our day that they are best adapted and most attractive; but the rationalism of the nineteenth century may find in their spirit of simple faith, of unquestioning belief and trust, much that is beautiful in human life which modern thought and science have swept away. It is on account of the enduring character of the ideals, of which the Arthurian legends were the spontaneous expression, that these works, although contained in a rude form, without artistic plan or literary merit to give them permanence, have never wholly passed from the acquaintance of men. The rude force and beauty of mediæval fiction has been deeply felt by many of the greatest minds which have contributed to modern literature. To the perusal of the story of Launcelot and Guenever Dante ascribes the coming of Paolo and Francesca _al doloroso passo_. While the other works of Ariosto have fallen into obscurity, his "Orlando Furioso" has achieved a lasting fame. One of the greatest poems in the German language, the "Oberon" of Wieland, is almost a reproduction of a chivalric romance. The reader of Milton is often reminded of

Uther's son, Begirt with British and Armoric knights.

Spenser transferred romantic fiction into the region of allegory, and gave to English literature the immortal "Faery Queen." In our own day the "Idyls" of Tennyson have made the legends of Arthur a part of our common thought, and the Knights of the Round Table familiar in almost every household. The romances of chivalry fall naturally into three general classes: those relating to Charlemagne and his peers; those relating to classical and mythological heroes; and, finally, the tales connected with King Arthur. The strong similarity which exists in the character and incidents of these three classes makes an acquaintance with one of them sufficient for the purpose of this work. The "Morte d'Arthur" and the romances of which it forms a compendium will therefore be chiefly considered, as being the most interesting in their bearing on English fiction.

In the early part of the twelfth century, Walter Mapes, Archdeacon of Oxford, while travelling in France, became possessed of a book written in the British or Armoric language, which treated of the history of kings of Britain, and was undoubtedly even at that time of considerable antiquity. Little is known concerning this curious work. It related the fabulous martial deeds of British kings, of whose existence there is no previous record, their victories over giants and dragons, and the various supernatural influences to which they were subject. Hence comes the story of King Lear and of Jack the Giant-Killer, and here are first met the characters of King Arthur and the enchanter Merlin. This book having been translated into Latin by Geoffrey of Monmouth, a Benedictine monk, at once attained a great popularity and reputation; and for several centuries was universally accepted as true history. A number of metrical romances soon appeared to gratify the taste which Geoffrey's chronicle had excited, and in the first half of the thirteenth century the same stories began to be written in prose. From this time until the middle of the fifteenth century most of what we now call romantic fiction was produced, although many imitations and translations appeared in England for more than a century afterward. The exact dates of the different romances and the names of their authors cannot be positively established, as the early copies were undated, and the names prefixed to them are believed to be fictitious. During this period were given to the world, among many others, the romances of Merlin the Enchanter, of Launcelot du Lac, of Meliadus, of his son Tristram, of Gyron le Courtoys, of Perceval le Gallois, and, finally, that of the Saint Gréal, in which the whole body of knights-errant are represented, probably by some monkish writer, in the search for the Holy Cup which had held the blood of Christ. At last Sir Thomas Malory, a London knight, well read in chivalric literature, combined these tales in the volume he called the "Morte d'Arthur," an excellent specimen of a chivalric romance, which was printed by Caxton in 1485, and has since appeared in many editions down to the present day.

The influence of the supernatural appears in the very beginning of the "Morte d'Arthur," and throughout we trace its controlling effect upon the incidents of the story. It is by the help of Merlin's magic that King Uther Pendragon slays the Duke of Cornwall, and assuming the likeness of his rival, obtains possession of his wife Igraine, "a faire ladye, and a passing wyse," from which union Arthur is born. On the death of Uther, when the chief nobles and knights are summoned to London by the Archbishop of Canterbury to choose a new king, it is Merlin's art which discovers to them a sword imbedded in a great rock in the churchyard of St. Paul's bearing the inscription: "Whoso pulleth this sword out of this stone and anvil, is rightwise king born of all England"; and it is by the same supernatural aid that the stripling Arthur, whose birth is unknown, fulfils the task which all had essayed in vain. By the friendly influence of Merlin, Arthur receives his famous sword Excalibur from the hands of the Lady of the Lake, with the scabbard whose wearer can lose no blood; he defeats with great slaughter the hosts of the eleven kings who dispute his throne; and obtains in marriage the celebrated Guenever, who brings him in dowry the Table Round. But Merlin, who could do so much for others, had the power only to foresee, and not to avert, his own impending fate. Enamoured of a fickle damsel, who soon tires of his love, the great enchanter discloses his secrets to her, and with a sad farewell and final advice to Arthur, he suffers himself to be imprisoned forever in the rock which his own magic had wrought, by the spell which he had intrusted to his treacherous mistress. The friendly arts of Merlin are succeeded by the machinations of the malicious fairy Morgana, and the watchful care of the the Lady of the Lake. To excite the childlike wonder of his readers, the romancer turns knights to stone, or makes them invisible; he introduces enchanted castles, vessels that steer themselves, and the miraculous properties of the Saint Gréal, Arthur and Tristram fight with dragons and giants. The loves of Tristram and Isoud arise from the drinking of an amorous potion. The chastity of knight and damsel is determined by the magic horn, whose liquor the innocent drink, but the guilty spill; and by the enchanted garland, which blooms on the brow of the chaste, but withers on that of the faithless. Inventions such as these were regarded as facts, or at least as possible occurrences, by the readers of romantic fiction. Men believed what they were told, and to doubt, to inquire were intellectual efforts which they knew not how to make, and which all the influences of their life opposed their making. There were no fictions in the romances more improbable than the accounts of foreign parts brought back by travellers. Sir John of Mandeville was not doubted when he wrote that he had met with a race of men who had only one eye, and that in the middle of the forehead, or a people with only one foot and that one large enough to be used as a parasol. The knight who had mastered the art of reading looked upon such stories as curious facts. His religion was a religion of miracles, and, ignorant of natural laws, he was accustomed to refer any unusual occurrence to the influence of supernatural beings, a habit of thought which presented an ever-ready solution to mysteries and problems otherwise inexplicable.

The entire credence accorded to the supernatural features of the romance gave to it a power and an interest which has now, of course, disappeared; but the influence of the supernatural upon the work is so strong, that even the modern reader, wandering with Launcelot and Tristram in a world of wonders, meets a giant without surprise, and feels at home in an enchanted castle.

When Arthur is finally established on his throne, the knights of the Round Table begin their wonderful career of adventure and gallantry. With them the reader roams over a vague and unreal land called Britain or Cornwall, in full armor, the ever ready lance in rest. At almost every turn a knight is met who offers combat, and each detail of the conflict--the rush of the horses, the breaking of lances, the final hand-to-hand with swords--is described with a minuteness which only the military enthusiasm of the Middle Ages could thoroughly appreciate. Sometimes our hero meets a damsel who tells a tale of wrong, and leads the knight to champion her cause; again, he encounters some old companion in arms, breaks a lance upon him by way of friendly salutation, and wanders with him in search of adventures, inquiring of a chance peasant or dwarf, of a wrong to be avenged, or a danger to be incurred. The reader attends tournaments, of which every blow and every fall are chronicled. He becomes familiar with the respective merits and prowess of a hundred different champions. He learns the laws of judicial combat, and the intricate rules of the chivalric code. With imagination aroused and sympathies excited he enters a life of alternate combat and love, almost real in the consistency of its improbability. Three gallant knights, Sir Gawaine, Sir Marhaus, and Sir Uwaine set out together in search of adventures.

At the last they cam in to a grete forest that was named the countreye and foreste of Arroy and the countrey of straunge auentures. In this countrey, said syr Marhaus cam neuer knyghte syn it was crystened, but he fonde straunge auentures, and soo they rode, and cam in to a depe valey ful of stones, and ther by they sawe a fayr streme of water, aboue ther by was the hede of the streme, a fayr fontayne, & thre damoysels syttynge therby. And thenne they rode to them, and eyther salewed other, and the eldest had a garland of gold aboute her hede, and she was thre score wynter of age, or more, and her here[13] was whyte under the garland. The second damoysel was of thirty wynter of age, with a serkelet of gold aboute her hede. The thyrd damoysel was but xv year of age, and a garland of floures aboute her hede. When these knyghtes had soo beholde them, they asked hem the cause why they sat at that fontayne; we be here, sayd the damoysels for thys cause, yf we may see ony erraunt knyghtes to teche hem unto straunge auentures, and ye be thre knyghtes that seken auentures, and we be thre damoysels, and therfore eche one of yow must chose one of us. And whan ye haue done soo, we wylle lede yow vnto thre hyhe wayes, and there eche of yow shall chese a wey and his damoysel wyth hym. And this day twelue monethe ye must mete here ageyn and god sende yow your lyues, and ther to ye must plyzte your trouthe. This is wel said, sayd Syr Marhaus. * * * Thenne euery damoysel took her knyght by the raynes of his brydel, and broughte him to the thre wayes, and there was their othe made to mete at the fontayne that day twelue moneth and they were lyvynge, and soo they kyst and departed, and eueryche knyghte sette his lady behynde him.[14]

Sir Alysandre le Orphelin holds a piece of ground against all comers. A damsel called La Belle Alice proclaims at Arthur's court that whoever overthrows him, shall have herself and all her lands. Many knights undertake the adventure, but all are defeated by Sir Alysandre.

And whanne La Beale Alys sawe hym juste soo wel, she thought hym a passynge goodly knyght on horsbak. And thenne she lepte out of her pauelione, and toke Syr Alisandre by the brydel, and thus she sayd; Fayre knyght, I require the of thy knyghthode, shewe me thy vysage. I dar wel, sayd Sir Alysander shewe my vysage. And then he put of his helme, and she sawe his vysage, she said; O swete Jhesu! the I must loue and neuer other. Thenne shewe me your vysage, said he. Thenne she unwympeled her vysage. And whanne he saw her, he sayde, here haue I fond my loue and my lady. Truly fayre lady, said he, I promise yow to be your knyghte, and none other that bereth the lyf. Now, gentil knyghte, said she, telle me your name. My name is, said he, Alysander le Orphelyn. Now damoysel, telle me your name, said he. My name is, said she, Alys la Beale Pilggrym. And whan we be more at oure hertes ease both ye and I shalle telle other of what blood we be come. Soo there was grete loue betwyxe them. And as they thus talked, ther came a knyghte that hyght Harsouse le Berbuse, and axed parte of sir Alysanders speres. Thenne Sir Alysander encountred with hym, and at the fyrst Sir Alysander smote hym ouer his hors croupe.[15]

Sir Tristram is thus welcomed at Arthur's court:

Thenne Kynge Arthur took Sir Tristram by the hand, and wente to the table round. Thenne came Quene Guenever and many ladyes with her, and alle the ladyes sayden at one voyce, welcome Sir Tristram, welcome, said the damoysels, welcome said knightes, welcome said Arthur, for one of the best knyghts and the gentylst of the world, and the man of moost worship, for all manner of hunting thou berest the pryce, and of all mesures of blowynge thou art the begynninge, and of alle the termes of huntynge and haukinge ye are the begynner, of all Instrumentes of musyke ye are the best, therefor gentyl knyght, said Arthur, ye are welcome to this courte.[16]

The description of the combat between King Arthur and Accolon is perhaps the most interesting of the kind which the "Morte d'Arthur" contains. Accolon of Gaul had by the aid of Morgan le Fay obtained possession of Arthur's enchanted sword and scabbard.[17]

And thenne they dressyd hem on bothe partyes of the felde, & lete their horses renne so fast that eyther smote other in the myddes of the shelde, with their speres hede, that bothe hors and man wente to the erthe. And thenne they sterte up bothe, and pulled oute their swerdys, * * * And so they went egrely to the battaille, and gaf many grete strokes, but alweyes Arthurs swerd bote[18] not like Accolon's swerd. But for the most party euery stroke that Accolon gaf he wounded sore Arthur, that it was merucylle he stode. And alweyes his blood fylle from him fast. When Arthur behelde the ground so sore bebledde he was desmayed, and thenne he demed treason that his swerd was chaunged, for his swerd boote not styl[19] as it was wont to do, therefore he dredde hym sore to be dede, for euer hym seemed that the swerd in Accolons hand was Excalibur, for at euery stroke that Accolon stroke he drewe blood on Arthur. Now knyghte, said Accolon unto Arthur, kepe the wel from me, but Arthur ansuered not ageyne, and gat hym suche a buffet on the helme that he made hym to stoupe nygh fallynge doune to the earthe. Thenne Sir Accolon with drewe hym a lytel, and cam on with Excalibur on hyghe, and smote Syr Arthur suche a buffet that he felle nyhe to the erthe. Thenne were they wroth bothe, and gaf eche other many sore strokes, but alweyes Syr Arthur lost so muche blood that it was merucille he stode on his feet, but he was so ful of knighthode, that knyghtly he endured the payne. And Syr Accolon lost not a dele of blood, therefore he waxed passynge lyghte, and Syr Arthur was passynge feble, and wende veryly to have dyed, but for al that he made countenaunce as though he myghte endure, and helde Accolon as shorte as he myght. But Accolon was bolde by cause of Excalibur that he waxed passynge hardy. * * * And therewith he cam fyersly upon Arthur, and syre Arthur was wrothe for the blood that he had lost, and smote Accolon on hyhe upon the helme soo myztely that he made hym nyhe to falle to the erthe. And therewith Arthurs swerd brast at the crosse and felle in the grasse amonge the blood, and the pommel and the sure handels he helde in his handes. When syr Arthur sawe that, he was in grete fere to dye, but alweyes he helde vp his shelde and lost no ground nor bated no chere. Thenne syre Accolon beganne with wordes of treason, and sayd knyghte thow arte overcome, and mayste not endure, and also thow arte wepenles, and thow hast loste moche of thy blood, and I am ful lothe to slee the, therfor yelde the to me as recreaunt. Nay, saide syre Arthur I maye not so, for I haue promysed to doo the bataille to the vttermost by the feythe of my body whyle me lasteth the lyf, and therfor I had leuer to dye with honour than to lyve with shame. And yf it were possyble for me to dye an C tymes, I had leuer to dye so ofte, than yelde me to the, for though I lacke wepen, I shalle lacke no worship. And yf thou slee me wepenles that shalle be thy shame. Wel, sayd Accolon, as for the shame I wyl not spare. Now kepe the from me, for thow arte but a dede ma. And therwith Accolon gaf hym suche a stroke that he felle nyghe to the erthe, and wolde haue had Arthur to haue cryed hym mercy. But syre Arthur pressed unto Accolon with his sheld and gaf hym with the pomel in his hand suche a buffet that he wente thre strydes abak. * * * And at the next stroke Syr Accolon stroke hym suche a stroke that by the damoysels enchauntement the swerd Excalibur felle oute of Accolons hande to the erthe. And therwith alle syre Arthur lyghtely lepte to hit, and gate hit in his hand, and forwith al he knewe that it was his suerd Excalibur, & sayd thow hast ben from me al to long, & moche dommage hast thow done me. * * * And therwith syr Arthur russhed on hym with hys myghte, and pulled hym to the erthe, and thenne russhed of his helme, and gaf hym suche a buffet on the hede that the blood cam oute at his eres, his nose & his mouthe. Now wyll I slee the said Arthur. Slee me ye may wel, said Accolon, and it please yow, for ye ar the best knyghte that euer I fonde, and I see wel that god is with yow.

The knights of the Round Table had much more difficulty in dealing with one another than in overcoming the most redoubtable giants. Sir Launcelot arrived at a giant's castle,[20] and "he looked aboute, and sawe moche peple in dores and wyndowes that sayd fayre knyghte thow art unhappy. Anone with al cam there vpon hym two grete gyaunts wel armed al sauf the hedes, with two horryble clubbes in theyr handes. Syre Launcelot put his sheld afore hym and put the stroke aweye of the one gyaunt, and with his swerd he clafe his hede a sondre. Whan his felaw sawe that, he ran awey as he were wood, for fere of the horryble strokes, & laucelot after hym with al his myzt & smote hym on the sholder, and clafe hym to the nauel. Thenne Syre Launcelot went in to the halle, and there came afore hym thre score ladyes and damoysels, and all kneled unto hym, and thanked God and hym of their delyveraunce." The horrors of battle as recounted by the romancers lose much of their painfulness by the enjoyment which the combatants take in them, and by the facility with which the most terrible wounds are healed. The mediæval passion for conflict and violence could hardly be more strikingly illustrated than by the words of the mother of Tristram, who had just given birth to her son in the midst of a forest, and being far from human aid, sees that her end is near. "Now lete me see my lytel child for whome I haue had alle this sorowe. And whan she sawe hym she said thus, A my lytel sone, thou hast murthered thy moder, and therfore I suppose, thou that art a murtherer soo yong, thou arte ful lykely to be a manly man in thyn age."[21]

From the recital of combats we turn to tales of love. The most interesting of these relate to Launcelot and Guenever, and to Tristram and Isould. They differ in many respects, and yet share the noteworthy feature that both the women are already married, and their lovers are connected by ties of relationship or of great intimacy with the husbands whom they wrong. Arthur, however, is made to preserve, throughout the story of his deception, the same dignity and the same respect which he had always possessed, and in the loyalty of his character never admits a doubt of his wife's virtue; while King Mark, the husband of Isould, loses the sympathy of the reader by his treachery and cowardice, and is always conscious of Isould's infidelity. Guenever and Launcelot feel the deeper and the nobler passion, as theirs is inspired solely by each other's merit, while that of Isould and Tristram is inflamed by an amorous potion. The immorality of these love stories was not in the Middle Ages the same immorality which it would be considered at present. The conditions of life were all opposed to self restraint. The standard of morals was set by the church, and according to her interpretation of Christianity, continence was so subsidiary to orthodoxy, that what would now be considered a crime, was in the Middle Ages an irregularity which need not weigh on the conscience. Evidence of this is amply supplied by the social history of the time, and the fact is fully illustrated by the romances. The authors of these compositions, from their tendency to idealization, held up to their readers a higher view of virtue in every respect than was practised in actual life, and in their writings, conjugal infidelity is of constant occurrence. The fictitious personages who indulge in licence are but dimly conscious of wrong-doing, and almost the only evidence of a realization of their fault is in the Quest of the Saint Gréal, when Launcelot and other noble knights acknowledge that the attainment of the sacred prize is not for them as being "sinful men," and the quest is achieved by the spotless Sir Galahad, who, impersonating the purifying influence of Christianity, forms the most striking character conceived by the fertile imagination of the Middle Ages. The virtue of constancy was far more admired than that of chastity, and it is said of Guenever, whose sin had brought such calamity upon the Round Table, that "as she was a true lover, so she had a good end."

Launcelot and Tristram vie with one another in the deeds of chivalry which they accomplish in honor of their ladies, and the intimacy which exists between the two knights and their mistresses adds much to the interest of the story. A fine touch in the loves of Tristram and Isould is the introduction of Sir Palomides, a valiant knight, almost the equal of Tristram in prowess, who loves Isould as passionately as his successful rival, but finds no favor to reward a long career of devotion. The passions of jealousy and hatred on the one hand, and knightly courtesy and honor on the other, which alternately sway the two warriors, and struggle for the mastery in their relations with each other, form a touching picture, and show that the romancers could occasionally rise above the description of conflicts to a study of the heart and character of men.

That our lovers felt a deep and absorbing passion, there can be no doubt. Sir Dynas, the Seneschal, tells the Queen la Belle Isould that Sir Tristram is near: "Thenne for very pure joye la Beale Isould swouned, & whan she myghte speke, she said, gentyl knyghte Seneschall help that I myghte speke with him, outher my herte will braste." They meet, and then "to telle the joyes that were between la Beale Isoud and sire Tristram, there is no tongue can telle it, nor herte thinke it, nor pen wryte it." When Tristram thought Isoud unfaithful, he "made grete sorowe in so much that he fell downe of his hors in a swoune, and in suche sorowe he was in thre dayes and thre nyghtes." When he left her, Isoud was found "seke in here bedde, makynge the grettest dole that ever ony erthly woman made." "Sire Alysander beheld his lady Alys on horsbak as he stood in her pauelione. And thenne was he soo enamoured upon her that he wyst not whether he were on horsbak or on foote." Sir Gareth falls in love at first sight: "and euer the more syr Gareth behelde that lady, the more he loued her, and soo he burned in loue that he was past himself in his reason, and forth toward nyghte they wente unto supper, and sire Gareth myghte not ete for his loue was soo hot that he wyst not wher he was."

The Roman war introduced into the "Morte d'Arthur" is a curious illustration of the vagueness of the historical groundwork of the romances of chivalry. The memory of Roman power was still too great to permit a warrior to achieve greatness without having matched his strength against that of Rome, and thus we have the singular spectacle of King Arthur with his adventurous knights, clad in mail, passing easily through "Almayne" into Italy, conquering giants by the way, and reducing the Emperor Lucius to dependence.

The story of the Saint Gréal originally formed a distinct romance, but it was the dull production of some ascetic monk, who thought that the knights of the Round Table were too much occupied with secular pursuits, and who found no greater encomium to pass upon Sir Galahad, than to call him a "maid." But the idea of the Christian knighthood setting out to seek the Holy Cup was "marvellous and adventurous," and so well suited to please the mediæval mind that we find this quest introduced into several of the romances of chivalry, and it appears, though in an incomplete form, in the "Morte d'Arthur." The adventures met with by the knighthood are much the same as when they were pursuing a less lofty object. Sir Galahad occupies the intervals between his serious occupations with rolling his father Sir Launcelot and other noble knights into the dust in the usual unsaintly fashion. The supernatural element is stronger perhaps in the story of the Saint Gréal than in any other romance, and the monkish inspiration of the work is everywhere manifest. When Sir Galahad rescues the inmates of the Castle of Maidens by overthrowing their oppressors, the romancer points out that the Castle of Maidens "betokeneth the good souls that were in prison before the incarnation of Jesu Christ." It is here also that we learn that "Sir Launcelot is come but of the eighth degree from our Lord Jesu Christ, and Sir Galahad is of the ninth degree from our Lord Jesu Christ; therefore I dare say that they may be the greatest gentlemen of the world."

When we have read of the "byrth, lyf and actes of Kyng Arthur, of his noble knyghtes of the rounde table, theyr mervayllous enquests and aduentures, th' achyeuyng of the sangréal," we come to the "dolorous deth and departyng out of this world of them." It is indeed a "pytous hystory." Long drawn out as the romance is, serious tax though it sometimes be on the reader's patience, the author succeeds in making us so familiar with all his heroes, in inspiring us with so deep and

## active a sympathy with them, that it is with a real sadness that we

read of the dissensions brought about by the loves of Launcelot and Guenever, the deserted Round Table, the separation of life-long companions, and the fraternal war between Sir Launcelot, Sir Gawaine, and King Arthur. Their love for each other was so strong that it is not wholly quenched even in the sanguinary struggles which follow, and it bursts forth in full vigor when death comes upon them in the midst of their fury. Sir Gawaine is the first to go, using his last strength to write to Sir Launcelot begging his forgiveness: "I byseche the, Sir Launcelot, to retorne ageyne vnto this realme, and see my tombe, & praye some prayer more or lesse for my soule."

Whan syr Arthur wyst that syre Gawayne was layd so lowe he went vnto hym, and there the kyng made sorowe oute of mesure, and took sire Gawayne in his armes, and thryes[22] he there swouned. And thenne whan he awaked, he sayd, allas Sir Gawayne my sisters sone, here now thou lyggest[23], the man in the world that I loued moost, and now is my joye gone, for now my neuewe syre Gawayne I will discouer me vnto your persone, in syr Launcelot & you I had moost my joye and myn affyaunce, & now haue I lost my joye of you bothe, wherefor all myn erthely joye is gone from me.[24]

We turn from the death of Sir Gawaine only to witness the mortal blow dealt to King Arthur; to see his famous sword Excalibur, which he had borne so nobly and so long, returned to the Lady of the Lake; and the almost lifeless body of the great king carried away over the water by the fairy queens, disappearing at last beneath the horizon. Guenever would seen to have deserved a harder fate than simply to retire to a nunnery of which she is made the abbess. Sir Launcelot dies a holy man and a monk, saying masses for the souls of his old companions in arms. With his death the old glory of the Round Table passes away forever.

And whan syr Ector herd suche noyse & lyghte in the quyre of joyous Garde, he alyghted and put his hors from hym, and came in to the quyre, & there he sawe men synge the seruyse full lamentably. And alle they knewe syre Ector, but he knewe not them. Thenne went syr Bors to syr Ector, & tolde him how there laye hys broder syr Launcelot dede, and then syr Ector threwe his shelde, hys swerde & helme from hym. And whan he behelde syr Launcelot's vysage, he felle donne in a sowne. And when he awakyd it were harde for any tonge to telle the doleful complayntes that he made for his broder. A, syr Launcelot, he sayd, thou were head of all Crysten knyztes, and now I dare saye, sayd syr Ector, thou syr Launcelot, ther thou lyest, that thou were neuer matched of none erthely knyghtes handes. And thou were the curtoyste knyghte that ever bare shelde. And thou were the truest frend to thy louer that euer bestradde hors, & thou were the truest louer of a synfull man that euer loued woman. And thou were the kyndest man that euer stroke wyth swerde. And thou were the goodelyest persone that euer came among prees of knyghtes. And thou were the mekest man & the gentylest that euer ete in halle amonge ladyes. And thou were the sternest knyghte to thy mortall foo that euer put spere in the reyst. Thenne there was wepyng & dolour oute of mesure.[25]

The literary form of the "Morte d'Arthur" admits of description rather than of criticism. A noble and forcible simplicity of expression pervades the old Norman French in which the romances of chivalry were first written, which is well reflected in the English of Sir Thomas Malory. Of plot there is none. The same vagueness pervades the course of the narrative, which is characteristic of the historical groundwork, the geography, and the time of action. Most of the incidents depend on chance. Life in the Middle Ages was a very serious affair, and in the romances there was almost no attempt at wit or humor. In the "Morte d'Arthur," perhaps the only passage which might have raised a laugh among the early readers of the romance, is that in which King Arthur's fool Dagonet is clad in Sir Mordred's armor, and in that disguise is made to chase before him the coward King Mark. The authors of the romances of chivalry never attempted delineation of character. Their heroes are good knights or bad knights, and in either case possess only the

## particular qualities which would place them in one of these categories.

The female characters are still more slightly drawn, and show no distinct attributes except beauty and a capacity to love.

In laying down the "Morte d'Arthur," and bidding farewell to the Middle Ages with their heroes of chivalry, we come to the end of a most picturesque period of English history,--a period marked by lights and shadows, rather than by distinct forms. There was ferocity, and there was courtesy; there was brilliant show and rude coarseness; there were scenes of blood and scenes of noble chivalry. In the next chapter we shall notice the tendencies which were at work to replace this state of society by a better. But to the Middle Ages will always be traced much that is distinctive of English character, and in the history of fiction we may fairly allow to the knights of romance the legendary charm and fascination which hang about their bright helmets in the long vista of departed years.

[Footnote 13: Hair.]

[Footnote 14: "Morte d'Arthur." Southey's reprint from Caxton's ed., 1485, chaps. xix and xx. book 4.]

[Footnote 15: "Morte d'Arthur," book 10, chap. xxxix.]

[Footnote 16: Southey's "Morte d'Arthur," vol. 2, p. 11.]

[Footnote 17: "Morte d'Arthur," book 4, chap. ix.]

[Footnote 18: Hit, cut.]

[Footnote 19: Cut not steel.]

[Footnote 20: "Morte d'Arthur," book 6, ch. x.]

[Footnote 21: "Morte d'Arthur," book 8, ch. i.]

[Footnote 22: Thrice.]

[Footnote 23: Liest.]

[Footnote 24: "Morte d'Arthur," book 22, chap. ii.]

[Footnote 25: "Morte d'Arthur," book 22, chap. xiii.]

## CHAPTER II.

CHAUCER. POPULAR TALES. MORE'S "UTOPIA."

In the history of English intellectual development between the vague ignorance of the Middle Ages and the new growth of learning in the sixteenth century, stands the great figure of Chaucer. The first English writer possessing dramatic power, he is the first also to unite with the art of story-telling, the delineation and study of human character. In his translation of the "Romaunt of the Rose" he belongs to the Middle Ages,--a period of uncontrolled imagination, of unsubstantial creations, of external appearances copied without reflection. In his "Canterbury Tales" he belongs to the present,--when Reason asserts her authority, gives the stamp of individual reality to the characters of fiction, and studies the man himself behind his outward and visible form.

The creations of romantic fiction were unreal beings distinguished by different names, by the different insignia on their shields, and by the degree in which they possessed the special qualities which formed the ideal of mediæval times. The story of their lives was but a series of adventures, strung together without plan, the overflow of an active but ungoverned imagination. The pilgrims to the shrine of Canterbury are men and women, genuine flesh and blood, as thoroughly individual and distinct as the creations of Shakespeare and of Fielding. They dress, they talk, each one after his own manner and according to his position in life, telling a story appropriate to his disposition and suitable to his experience. The knight, with armor battered in "mortal battailles" with the Infidel, describes the adventures of Palamon and Arcite, a tale of chivalry. The lusty young squire, bearing himself well, "in hope to stonden in his lady grace," tells an Eastern tale of love and romance. The prioress, "all conscience and tendre herte," relates the legend of "litel flew of Lincoln," murdered by the Jews for singing his hymn to the Virgin. The clerk of Oxford, who prefers to wealth and luxury his "twenty bookes clad in blak or reede," contributes the story of the patient Griselda.

The "Canterbury Tales" are so familiar that an extended notice of them here would be superfluous, especially as we are dealing with narratives in prose form. But in seeking to trace the origin and progress of the English novel as it is now written, we must record the first appearance of its special characteristics in the works of Chaucer. Here are first to be seen real human beings, endowed with human virtues and subject to human frailties; here fictitious characters are first represented amid the homely scenes of daily life; here they first become living realities whose nature and dispositions every one may understand, and with whose thoughts every one may sympathize. We must notice, also, the significant fact that of the thirty-two pilgrims who jogged along together that April day, four were of a military character, eleven belonged to the clergy, and seventeen were of the common people. A century before Chaucer's time, when the feudal spirit was still all-powerful, there were but two classes of men thought worthy of consideration, the knighthood and the clergy; and in the romances of chivalry knights and priests exclusively composed the _dramatis personæ_. But the slow progress of the masses, in whom lies the chief strength of a nation, becomes visible in Chaucer's time. In the towns the tradesmen were rising to wealth and consideration. In the country the yeomanry--the laborers and farmers--were throwing off their serfdom, and emerging from the chrysalis of obscurity in which they had long been hidden. At Cressy and Poitiers the English archers disputed with the knighthood the honors of victory. While Chaucer was planning the "Canterbury Tales," introducing into his gallery of contemporary portraits more figures of tradesmen than of knights or priests, the Peasant Revolt took place; the common people, long trodden in the dust, rose in defence of their rights as men, and John Ball, the "mad priest of Kent," asked questions of the yeomen about him which showed how surely the Middle Ages were becoming a part of the past. "By what right are they whom we call lords greater folk than we? * * * If we all came of the same father and mother, of Adam and Eve, how can they say or prove that they are better than we, if it be not that they make us gain for them by our toil what they spend in their pride?" * * * "When Adam delved and Eve span, who was then the gentleman?"[26] As in the history of Chaucer's time, so in his "Canterbury Tales" we perceive the decline of feudal and priestly tyranny which had gone hand in hand: the one keeping up a perpetual state of war and violence; the other limiting and enfeebling the human intellect, the activity of which could alone raise mankind out of barbarism.

The passion for war and for a military life which had kept Europe in a state of constant disturbance during the Middle Ages, which had brought about the Hundred Years' struggle between England and France, and which had found its worst issue in the Wars of the Roses in the fifteenth century, had, in the sixteenth century largely spent its force. The pomp and luxury of chivalry had lessened the activity of military feelings. The expense entailed by chivalric pageantry had diminished the power of the nobles over their dependents. Many feudal barons were obliged to sell liberty and privileges to part of their bondsmen to obtain the wherewithal to maintain the remainder. The gradual growth of the towns and of trade produced a class which, having all to lose and nothing to gain by war, threw its influence against disorder. The advance in the study and practice of law diminished habits of violence by furnishing legal redress. But the most powerful agent in destroying the old warlike taste was the invention of gunpowder. In the Middle Ages the whole male population had been soldiers in spirit and in fact. But the application of gunpowder to the art of war made it necessary that men should be especially trained for the military profession. A limited number were therefore separated from the main body of the people, who occupied themselves exclusively with military affairs, while the remainder were left to pursue the hitherto neglected arts of peace. The love of war and the indifference to human suffering so long nourished by feudalism could only be thoroughly extinguished by centuries of gradual progress. The heads of queens and ministers of state falling from the block attest the strength of these feelings in Henry the Eighth's time. They were, however, fast losing ground before the new growth of learning. Their decline is illustrated by the fiction of the sixteenth century, as their full power was depicted in the early romances of chivalry.

In the sixteenth century, chivalry as an institution, and even as an influential ideal had entirely passed away. The specimens of romantic fiction which were read during the reigns of Henry the Eighth and of Elizabeth could no longer appeal to an entirely warlike and superstitious class. They were modified to meet new tastes, and in the process became superior in literary merit, but inferior in force and interest. This is especially true of the romances translated from the Spanish. Amadis of Gaul and Palmerin of England show merits of narrative sequence and elegance of expression which did not belong to the earlier romances, of which the "Morte d'Arthur" formed a compendium. But the chivalry of Amadis and Palmerin was polished, refined and exaggerated till it became entirely fanciful and lost the old fire and spirit. In the so-called tales of chivalry produced or adapted by English writers during this century there is no trace of the poetry and interest of chivalric sentiments. In "Tom-a-Lincoln," the Red Rose Knight, the noble King Arthur is represented as an old dotard, surrounded by knights who bear no resemblance in person or in the nature of their adventures to their prototypes of romantic fiction.[27]

The ideal character of the yeomanry succeeded to the ideal character of the knighthood; Robin Hood and his merry companions took the place in the popular mind which belonged to King Arthur and his knights of the Table Round. The yeomen of England were imbued with a spirit of courage and liberty unknown to the same class on the continent of Europe, and their love of freedom and restless activity of disposition found a reflection in the person of their hero. Supposed to have lived in the thirteenth century, his name and achievements have been sung in countless rhymes and ballads, and have remained dear to the common people down to the present day. The patron of archery, the embodiment of the qualities most loved by the people--courage, generosity, faithfulness, hardihood,--the places he frequented, the well he drank from, have always retained his name, and his bow, with one of his arrows, was preserved with veneration as late as the present century.[28] The ideal of the yeomanry was similar to that of chivalry in the love of blows fairly given and cheerfully taken, in the love of fighting for fighting's sake. It was similar in the courtesy which was always a characteristic of Robin Hood; in the religious devotion which caused the outlaw to hear three masses every morning before setting out on his depredations; in the gallantry which restrained him from molesting any party which contained a woman.[29] But the tales relating to Robin Hood differ from those of the Round Table in their entire freedom from affectation and from supernatural machinery. They breathe, too, an open-air spirit of liberty and enjoyment which was pleasing and comprehensible to the dullest intellect, and which made them, in the broadest sense, popular. The good-humored combativeness of the yeoman sympathized with every beating which Robin Hood received, and with every beating which he gave. In Robin's enmity to the clergy, in his injunction to his followers,

"Thyse byshopppes and thyse archebyshoppes, Ye shall them bete and bynde,"

the people applauded resistance to the extortion of the church. In Robin's defiance of the law and its officers, they applauded resistance to the tyranny of the higher classes. Waylaying sheriffs and priests, or shooting the king's deer in Sherwood Forest, the famous outlaw and his merry men, clad all in green, were the popular heroes. On Robin Hood's day the whole population turned gaily out to celebrate his festival, never weary of singing or hearing the ballads which commemorated his exploits. Robin was a robber, but in times of disorder highway robbery has always been an honorable occupation, and the outlaws of Sherwood Forest were reputed to give to the poor what they took from the rich. Diligent enquiries have been made to ascertain whether the personage known as Robin Hood had a real existence, but without positive results. The story of his life is purely legendary, and the theories in regard to him have never advanced beyond hypothesis. It is exceedingly probable that such a man lived in the twelfth or thirteenth century, and that the exploits of other less prominent popular heroes were connected with his name and absorbed in his reputation. The noble descent which has often been ascribed to him is in all likelihood the result of the mediæval idea, that the great virtues existed only in persons of gentle birth. This very prevalent opinion is often apparent in the romances of chivalry, where knights of exceptional valor, who had supposed themselves to be basely descended, almost invariably turn out to be the long-lost offspring of a famous and noble person. Like the tales of chivalry, the narratives of Robin Hood's adventures were sung and recited in metrical form long before they found their way into prose. The following extract forms a part of the first chapter of the story called the "Merry Exploits of Robin Hood," which had a considerable circulation in the sixteenth century.

"Robin Hood's Delights; or, a gallant combate fought between Robin Hood, Little John, and William Scarlock, and three of the keepers of the King's deer, in the forest of Sherwood, in Nottinghamshire."

"On a midsummer's day, in the morning, Robin Hood, being accompanied with Little John and William Scarlock, did walk forth betimes, and wished that in the way they might meet with some adventures that might be worthy of their valour; they had not walked long by the forrest side, but behold three of the keepers of the king's game appeared, with their forrest-bills in their hands, and well appointed with faucheons and bucklers to defend themselves. Loe here (saith Robin Hood) according to our wish we have met with our mates, and before we part from them we will try what mettle they are made off. What, Robin Hood, said one of the keepers; I the same, reply'd Robin. Then have at you, said the keepers; here are three of us and three of you, we will single out ourselves one to one; and bold Robin, I for my part am resolved to have a bout with thee. Content, with all my heart, said Robin Hood, and Fortune shall determine who shall have the best, the outlaws or the keepers; with that they did lay down their coats, which were all of Lincoln Green, and fell to it for the space of two hours with their brown bills, in which hot exercise Robin Hood, Little John and Scarlock had the better, and giving the rangers leave to breathe, demanded of them how they liked them; Why! good stout blades i'faith, saith the keeper that fought with Robin, we commend you. * * * I see that you are stout men, said Robin Hood, we will fight no more in this place, but come and go with me to Nottingham, (I have silver and gold enough about me) and there we will fight it out at the King's Head tavern with good sack and claret; and after we are weary we will lay down our arms, and become sworn brothers to one another, for I love those men that will stand to it, and scorn to turn their backs for the proudest Tarmagant of them all. With all our hearts, jolly Robin, said the keepers to him; so putting up their swords and on their doublets, they went to Nottingham, where for three days space they followed the pipes of sack, and butts of claret without intermission, and drank themselves good friends."

The story of "George-a-Green," the brave Pindar of Wakefield is very similar to that of Robin Hood. George was as fond as his more noted friend of giving and taking hard knocks, and it is his skilful and judicious use of the quarter-staff in fulfilling the duties of his office, which gives rise to the incidents of the story. A curious relic of chivalry appears in the passage where Robin Hood the outlaw, and George a-Green the pound-keeper, meet to decide with their quarter-staves the relative merit of their sweethearts.[30]

Of the stories relating to the yeomanry the most important was the "Pleasant Historic of Thomas of Reading; or, The Sixe Worthie Yeomen of the West," by Thomas Deloney, a famous ballad-maker of the 16th century. It is the narrative of the life and fortunes of a worthy clothier of Henry the First's time, telling how he rose to wealth and prosperity, and was finally murdered by an innkeeper. There is interwoven a relation of the unhappy loves of the "faire Margaret," daughter of the exiled Earl of Shrewsbury, and of Duke Robert, the King's brother, which ends in the Duke losing his eyes, and the fair Margaret being immured in a convent. The story illustrates some curious old customs, and is written in an unaffected and easy style, which makes it still very readable. A passage describing the churching feast of the wife of one of the "Sixe worthie yeomen," makes a natural and humorous picture of contemporary manners.

Sutton's wife of Salisbury, which had lately bin deliuered of a sonne, against her going to church, prepared great cheare; at what time Simon's wife of Southhampton came thither, and so did diuers others of the clothiers' wiues, onely to make merry at this churching feast: and whilest these dames sate at the table, Crab, Weasell and Wren waited on the board, and as the old Prouerbe speaketh, Many women, many words, so tell it out at that time; for there was such prattling that it passed: some talkt of their husbands' frowardnes, some shewed their maids' sluttishnes, othersome deciphered the costlines of their garments, some told many tales of their neighbours: and to be briefe there was none of them but would have talke for a whole day.

But when Crab, Weazell and Wren saw this, they concluded betwixt themselves, that as oft as any of the women had a good bit of meate on their trenchers, they offering a cleane one should catch that commodity, and so they did; but the women being busie in talke, marked it not, till at the last one found leisure to misse her meate * * * The women seeing their men so merry, said it was a sign there was good ale in the house.[31]

As the decline of disorder and of martial tastes had given men the opportunity to lead other than military lives, so the decline of the theological spirit enabled them to attain that diffusion of knowledge without which there could be no civilization. The Roman clergy, during many centuries, partly from conscientious motives, and partly to maintain their own power, had suppressed intellectual and material advancement, and had kept men in a state of gross ignorance and superstition. In England the church gradually lost her old influence by her internal rottenness: she was unable to resist the new growth of learning which sprung up in the first half of the sixteenth century; and her power for evil was destroyed by the Reformation. The superstitions, however, which she had nourished, lingered long after her power had passed away, and these have given birth to some curious specimens of fiction. The natural tendency of an ignorant and superstitious people was to ascribe superior mental ability to intercourse with Satan, and to imagine that any unusual learning must be connected with the occult sciences. These ideas are illustrated by the stories relating to Friar Bacon and to Virgil which were printed during the sixteenth century, and which embodied the legends regarding these great men which had passed current for two hundred years. The same ignorant indifference to useful learning which made Roger Bacon, the great philosopher of the thirteenth century, "unheard, forgotten, buried," represented him after his death as a conjurer doing tricks for the amusement of a king. "The Famous Historie of Frier Bacon," is written in a clear and simple style, very similar to that of "Thomas of Reading," and recounts: "How Fryer Bacon made a Brazen Head to speake, by the which hee would have walled England about with Brasse"; "how Fryer Bacon by his arte took a towne, when the king had lyen before it three months, without doing to it any hurt"; with much more of the same sort. This story would be without interest, were it not for the introduction of the Friar's servant, one Miles, whose futile attempts at seconding his master's efforts, and sometimes at imitating them, occasion some very amusing scenes. Friar Bungay, the famous conjurer of Edward the Fourth's time, appears as Bacon's assistant.

Virgil was treated in the same way. The age which turned Hercules into a knight-errant, very consistently represented the poet and philosopher as a magician. All through the Middle Ages the name of Virgil had been connected with necromancy. "The authors," says Naudeus,[32] "who have made mention of the magic of Virgil are so many that they cannot be examined one after another, without loss of much time." On the title page of the "Lyfe of Virgilius," we learn that: "This boke treateth of the lyfe of Virgilius, and of his deth, and many mervayles that he dyd in hys lyfe tyme by whychcrafte and nygramancye thorowgh the helpe of the devyls of Hell." Some of the "mervayles" being: "Howe Virgilius made a lampe that at all tymes brenned"; "howe Virgilius put out all the fyer of Rome"; "howe Virgilius made in Rome a metall serpente." In this story of Virgil occurs a curious instance of the appearance of the same incident in very different works of fiction. The poet being enamoured of a certain Roman lady, persuaded her to lower a basket from her window, in which he should enter and be drawn up to her chamber. The lady assented, but when the basket had ascended half way, she left her lover to hang there, exposed the next morning to the ridicule of the populace, for which treachery Virgil takes terrible revenge. This story of the basket became very popular; it was introduced into a well known French fabliau[33]; and Bulwer worked it, with slight changes, into his novel of "Pelham," where Monsieur Margot experiences the same sad reflections concerning the deceitfulness of woman, which had long before passed through the mind of Virgil.

The devil himself, or more properly, one of the many devils who abounded in the sixteenth century, is the hero of the "Historie of Frier Rush."

The imagination of the peasantry had peopled the woods and dells with gay and harmless spirits, fairies and imps. These were sometimes mischievous, but might always be propitiated, and excited in the rural mind curiosity and amusement rather than fear. But the clergy, who shared in the popular superstitions, and gave as ready a belief as the peasantry to the existence of these supernatural beings, were unable from the nature of their creed to admit the possibility that these spirits were harmless. To the monks all supernatural creatures were either angels or devils, and under their influence the imps and fairies whom the peasants believed to be dancing and playing pranks about them were turned into demons bent on the destruction of human souls.[34] Friar Rush was probably at one time a good natured imp like Robin Good Fellow, but under the influence, of Christian superstition he became the typical emissary from Satan, who played tricks among men calculated to set them by the ears, and who sought by various devices, always amusing, to fit them for residence in his master's dominions.

In the history before us, which is probably only one of many which circulated concerning the mischievous friar, he obtains admission into a convent for the purpose of debauching its inmates. Having received employment as under-cook, he soon finds means to throw his master into a cauldron of boiling water, and pretending that the cook's death resulted from an accident, he obtains the chief position in the kitchen himself. He then provides the convent with such delicious food that the monks give themselves up entirely to material enjoyment, and finally reach a condition of degeneracy from which recovery is almost impossible. Rush, however, is exposed in time to prevent absolute ruin, and sets out to make up for this failure by good service elsewhere. The story is described on the title-page as "being full of pleasant mirth and delight for young people."

The tales of the yeomanry were very popular during the sixteenth century, and were sold as penny chapbooks for many years. They form an interesting link in the history of English prose fiction, representing as they do the first appearance of a popular demand for prose stories, and the first appearance, except in Chaucer, of other than military or clerical heroes. They possess an element of reality which separates the chivalric ideal of the Middle Ages from the pastoral-chivalric ideal of Elizabeth's time, the latter typified by Sidney's "Arcadia." The tales relating to the conjurers are quite mediæval in character. They are of interest only so far as they serve to illustrate the effect of popular superstition upon the literature of the time.

The New Learning, growing up in the place of war and theology, meant the dawn of material prosperity, of the rule of law, and of a new intelligence diffused through the opinions and industries of men. Of this there is no better exposition than Sir Thomas More's "Utopia." More was a devout Catholic. He wore a hair shirt next his skin; he flogged himself; he gave his life for a theological principle. But he was also a Christian in a wider sense. He appreciated the importance to men of peace and happiness, as well as of orthodoxy. He sought to promote, what the clergy sought to destroy, the benefits of intellectual and material advancement. More was a lawyer, seeing clearly into the temper of his time, and discerning the new tendencies which were forming the opinions and influencing the actions of his countrymen. It was as a lawyer, too, that he was able to do this. As a soldier, or as the inmate of that Carthusian cell his youth had longed for, he would have shared the prevailing blindness. For many centuries all intellectual activity had been occupied with theological disputes,--how barren it is needless to say; all physical activity had been occupied in destroying or in protecting life. "There were indeed," says Buckle,[35] "many priests and many warriors, many sermons and many battles. But, on the other hand, there was neither trade, nor commerce, nor manufactures; there was no science, no literature; the useful arts were entirely unknown; and even the highest ranks of society were unacquainted, not only with the most ordinary comforts, but with the commonest decencies of civilized life." But the New Learning dealt with secular subjects, and aimed at material welfare. At Antwerp, says More:

"Vpon a certayne daye, when I hadde herde the diuine seruice in our Ladies Churche, which is the fayrest, the most gorgeous and curious churche of buyldyng in all the Citie, and also the most frequented of people, and the seruice beynge doone, was readye to go home to my lodgynge, I chaunced to espye this foresayde Peter talkynge with a certayne Straunger, a man well stricken in age, with a blacke sonneburned face, a longe bearde, and a cloke cast homly about his shoulders, whome, by his fauoure and apparell furthwith I iudged to bee a mariner."[36]

This was the fictitious personage whose travels had led him to the distant island of Utopia, and who described to Sir Thomas the nature of its government. Europe for fifteen centuries had been under the control of the clergy, and what had been the result? Where was the progress? How much had the barbarism of one century differed from that of the last? But in Utopia there was no priesthood. Men had a simple faith. They "were persuaded that it is not in a man's power to believe what he list," and when they met in public worship it was to hold such services that all might freely join in them. Religion in Utopia was left to the individual conscience. War was considered an unmitigated evil, and never undertaken except in the extremest necessity. The people of Utopia, therefore, not being exclusively occupied, on the one hand, with discussing their religion and enforcing it on others, or, on the other hand, with violating all its teachings, were able to think of other things. How to make the best laws for the government of the commonwealth; how to deal with crime, with labor; how to promote the highest condition of general well-being, as regarded the public health, public education, the comfort and cleanliness of dwellings;--these were the questions which the Utopians considered most important, and these were solved by the exercise of human reason. These were questions, too, with which the English people found themselves confronted in the beginning of the sixteenth century, and before that century had passed away, the results even of a very imperfect solution regarding them were apparent in every department and in every class of life.

The great mind, the noble character of Sir Thomas More stand out the best production of his time. The strong religious bias of the man made it inevitable that he should remain considerably under the influence of the old theological teachings, but in the intelligent man of the world, in the large-hearted philanthropist, in the honest patriot, appear the new and beneficent tendencies which were at work. Like all men who have been in advance of their time, More was looked upon as a dreamer. A dreamer he might naturally seem, who, in the beginning of the sixteenth century, looked for peace, for religious toleration, for justice to the lower classes. But these dreams were destined to be realized long after More's headless body had crumbled to dust, by that learning which he himself so seduously cultivated, and by the decay, too, of some of those ideas for which he died a martyr's death. The growth of the universities, the establishment of grammar schools, the impetus given to all useful occupations during the reign of Henry VIII, were gradually aiding the advance of that new era in the history of England which developed so brilliantly under Elizabeth. In her reign the old warlike spirit had decayed, theology had lost its obstructive power, and human reason began to bear its legitimate fruits--prosperity and civilization.

[Footnote 26: Green's "Short History of the English People," p. 203.]

[Footnote 27: "Tom-a-Lincoln" has been reprinted in W.J. Thorn's valuable collection of "Early English Prose Romances," where may also be found a story similar in nature, called "Helyas, Knight of the Swanne." I do not consider these productions worthy of more extended notice here, as they possess no interest in themselves, and serve only to illustrate the degeneracy of the fictions relating to the knighthood during the 16th century. The compilation called "The Seven Champions of Christendom", by Richard Johnson, the author of "Tom-a-Lincoln", said to contain "all the lyes of Christendom in one lye," obtained considerable popularity and circulation during this period. Dunlop mentions ("Hist. of Fiction," chap. xiv) the "Ornatus and Artesia", and "Parismus, Prince of Bohemia," by Emmanuel Ford, and the "Pheander, or Maiden Knight," by Henry Roberts, belonging in the same class of composition. An English version of the old tale of Robert the Devil belongs to this period, and may be found in W.J. Thom's collection.]

[Footnote 28: Ritson's "Robin Hood."]

[Footnote 29: Hunter's "Robin Hood", p. 13.]

[Footnote 30: "George-a-Green," chap. x, Thom's "Early Eng. Prose Romances."]

[Footnote 31: "Thomas of Reading," chap. 12.]

[Footnote 32: Thom's preface to "Vigilius," "Early Eng. Prose Romances."]

[Footnote 33: "Lai d'Hippocrate," Le Grand. Thom's Prelude to "Virgilius."]

[Footnote 34: Wright's "Essays on the Middle Ages," _Essay x_.]

[Footnote 35: Buckle's "Hist. of Civilization," vol. I, p. 147. Appleton's ed.]

[Footnote 36: "_A fruteful and plesaunt worke of the beste state of a publyque weale, and of the newe yle called UTOPIA: written in Latin by SYR THOMAS MORE KNYGHT, and translated into Englysshe by RAPHE ROBYNSON Citisein and Goldsmythe of London at the procurement and earnest request of George Tadlowe Citisein and Haberdassher of the same Citie. Imprinted at London by Abraham Wele, dwelling in Paul's Churcheyarde at the Sygne of the Lambe, Anno, 1551." Arber's reprint._]

## CHAPTER III.

THE AGE OF ELIZABETH: LYLY, GREENE, LODGE, SIDNEY.