"For Ascapard was made a tun,
And when he should therein be done,
He lept out upon the brench (brink)
And said, 'Churl! wilt thou me drench?
The devil of hell mote fetche thee!
I am too much (big) christened to be!'"
We will finish this sketch of the romancing tendencies of our early literature by a description of a dragon from "Sir Degoré:"
"There was a dragon great and grymme,
Full of fyre, and also venymme,
Wyth a wyde throte, and tuskes grete,
Uppon that knygte fast gan he bete,
And as a lyon then was hys feete,
Hys tayle was long, and full unmeete;
Between hys head and hys tayle
Was xxii fote withouten fayle;
His body was lyke a wyne tonne,
He shone ful bryght agaynst the sunne;
Hys eyen were bryght as any glasse,
Hys scales were hard as any brasse:
And thereto he was necked lyke a horse,
He bore hys hed up wyth grete force;
The breth of hys mouth that did not blow
As yt had been a fyre on lowe.
He was to loke on, as I you telle
As yt had been a fiende of helle."
These romances were often called "Gestes," from the great "Gesta" or exploits they recorded.
The author of "Cursor Mundi," a book of religious legends, says,
"Men lykyn jestis for to here
And romans rede in divers manere
Of Alexandre the conquerour,
Of Julius Cæsar the Emperour, &c."
It may be doubted whether such tales as the above were ever regarded as true, but it was not until thought became more active that the falsity of them was fully appreciated, and "jests" gradually acquired their present signification. The word romance has also come to be used not only for a pleasant poetical narrative, but especially for something utterly devoid of truth. "Story" is used in the same sense, but not "novel," for in our present works of fiction there is seldom so much improbability as to be offensive in our day, though it may be so to our successors.
In the above extracts it may have been observed that there is a prominence and importance given to the lower animals which we should not find in writings of the present day. As civilization fell back into barbarism, fables re-appeared, and some indifferent literature of this kind was produced in the fourth century by Aphthonius in Greek, and afterwards by Flavius Avianus in Latin. In the Saxon ode on the victory of Athelstan, a very particular account is given of the beasts of prey present at the carnage.
Theodosius, the blind Emperor, is said to have been restored to sight by a serpent, whom he had benefited, coming in while he was asleep, and placing a precious stone upon his eyes. In one of the early romances of Marie, a baron is transformed into a bisclaveret,[39] or wolf, for three days every week, much to his wife's discomfort; in another a falcon changes into a knight, who is finally caught in a bird-trap; in another a lady falls into a trance, and is supposed to be dead, until her rival, seeing a weasel restore another one by placing a vermilion flower in its mouth, she places it in the lady's mouth and thus awakens her. The same element is largely present in the other romances.
Alexander Neckam, who lived in the latter part of the twelfth century, shows how fond our forefathers were of animals, and how they kept them in their houses. The castles were often full of them, some roving about, others necessarily in confinement. Monkeys were in high favour. Some of them were taught to fight as in a tournament, which we are told caused great laughter. In mediæval times there was a love of all kinds of hybrid animals, and there was a certain amount of belief that all sorts of monsters came from the East or North. Giraldus Cambrensis tells us that there were in Ireland such mixtures as half ox and half man, half dog and half monkey.
All these stories remind us of the fabular period in old Greek history, and bespeak a time, when both taste and knowledge were in their infancy; but when, at the same time, the rays of the ideal were breaking upon the mind, and "men appeared as trees walking."
Allied to a love of fabling was that of allegory, which, as soon as literary activity began to appear in the early church, produced an abundant harvest. This tendency exhibited itself in the first progress of thought in England. Philippe de Than, one of the most ancient Anglo-Norman poets, wrote a work describing the character of each bird and beast, upon which he grounded moral reflections. Robert Grosseteste, Bishop of Lincoln, who died in 1253, was celebrated for a copious dissertation on mystical divinity, and a poem is extant ascribed to him, called the "Castle of Love" by Leland, in which the creation and redemption are represented as an allegory—our Lord being supposed to enter a magnificent castle, the body of the Virgin. The "Gesta Romanorum" strongly exhibits the want of discrimination at this time, for although the dramatis personæ are generally Roman Emperors, the deepest Christian mysteries are supposed to be shadowed forth by their actions. Some of the stories are evidently invented to enforce religious teaching. We read of an angel accompanying a hermit on his wanderings, the angel robs or murders all who receive him, but explains afterwards that it is for their good. He gives a golden goblet to a rich man who refuses to entertain them, to comfort him in this world, as he will go to hell in the next.
Vincent of Beauvais, a learned Dominican of France, who flourished in the thirteenth century, observes that it was a practice of preachers to rouse their congregation by relating a fable of Æsop. In the British Museum there is a collection of two hundred and fifteen stories, romantic, allegorical, and legendary, evidently compiled for the use of monastic preachers. Mystic similitudes were at this time greatly affected in all branches of learning. In the "Romaunt of the Rose," the difficulties of a lover are represented under the form of a man seeking a rose in an inaccessible garden. This flower, alchemists considered to be emblematic of the Philosopher's Stone, while theologians referred it to the white rose of Jericho—a state of grace into which the wicked could not enter.
CHAPTER II.
Anglo-Saxon Humour—Rhyme—Satires against the Church—The Brunellus—Walter Mapes—Goliardi—Piers the Ploughman—Letters of Obscure Men—Erasmus—The Praise of Folly—Skelton—The Ship of Fools—Doctour Doubble Ale—The Sak full of Nuez—Church Ornamentation—Representations of the Devil.
The rude character of the Anglo-Saxon humour may be gathered from our having derived from it the word fun. This term which we often apply to romping and boisterous games, refers principally to the sense of feeling, and always implies some low kind of amusement connected with the senses. We also discover among the Anglo-Saxons an unamiable tendency to give nicknames to people from their personal peculiarities. But if we look for anything better, we can find only a translation of the Latin riddles of Symposius by Aldhelm, Bishop of Shirburn. This prelate, who was a relation of Ina, King of the West Saxons, was in attainments far superior to his age. He was celebrated as a harper, poet, and theologian, and wrote several works, especially one in praise of Virginity. His translations from Symposius were probably intended for the post-prandial delectation of the monks.
Aristophanes seems to have made the first approach to rhyming, for he introduced some repetitions of the same word at the end of lines. He probably thought the device had an absurd effect and used it as a kind of humour. Aulus Gellius blames Isocrates, who lived about 400 B.C., for introducing jingles into his orations, and as he also refers to Lucilius' condemnation of them, he would probably have objected to them in poetry.
Classic