The Sun.
London, England, 1834-09-11 00:00:00

THE SUN, LONDON, THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 1834

to be brought, wood, stones, and other materials to be col-
lected ; but in the morning, what was his astonishment to see
that the materials had vanished ! The same prodigy was re-
peated three times. On demanding what this meant, he was
gravely informed that unless he could find a boy unbegotten
by father, sacrifice him on the spot, and sprinkle the founda-
tions of the citadel with the blood, he might build till Dooms-
day, but never would he raise a wall an inch high. Such a
boy, he thought, was not easily to be found, but as he was as-
sured one existed somewhere in his dominions, he despatched
messengers in every direction in search of the prodigy. Hay-
ving passed from province to province, the messengers one
day reached a rural village, where some boys were at play.
One of the boys being the constant winner, another in anger
said to him, " No good will ever happen to thee, thou unbe-
gotten knave !" These words naturally arrested the attention
of the royal messengers, who went to the boy's mother, and
enquired whether he was really unbegotten ; the woman
affirmed that he was—that though she had never known man,
her womb had risen in the usual way, and the boy came at the
usual time. The abbot, however, intimates that the woman
very well knew who was the father, but that she would not
confess it lest she should be put to death. This requires ex-
planation. There was a law, we arc told, among the ancient
Britons, if an unmarried woman were once frail, she should
be thrown from a precipice, and her paramour beheaded--
among the Saxons that she should be buried alive, and her
accomplice hanged over her grave ; or she should else turn
common prostitute, and be compelled to submit to every one's
will ; in other words, to be degraded to the lowest depths of
infamy, and thereby banished from all reputable society. To
such a law, allusion is evidently made by Nennius ; its exist-
ence is positively affirmed by Josceline, the biographer of St.
Kentigern, who intimates that the Saint himself had some
such origin as the boy, and that the case was by no means rare.
Audivimus frequenter sumptis transfigiis puellarum pndictitiam
expugnatam esse, ipsamque defloratam sui minime nosse. To
escape the penalty of her transgression, the woman, if shrewd,
might naturally convert the credulity of the age to her purpose.
The boy was taken to the king, and in a convention of the no-
bles, it was decreed that he should be put to death. why
am I brought hither?" demanded the youth. "To be killed"
was the consoling answer, " that thy blood may sprinkle the
foundation, and that the citadel may be built !" " Who has
suggested this notable contrivance ?" enquired the intended
victim of Vortigern." " My magicians." Not satisfied with
this authority, the boy asked them who had taught them that
his blood was necessary for the construction of the fortress ?
No answer. " I will unfold the mystery," said the boy. Then
turning to the magicians, he asked them what lay under the
ground on which they were standing. They could not tell.
" There is a pool of water beneath," said he ; " dig and see."
A pool was found. " What is in the pool ?" Still the ma-
gicians could not answer. " I know," said the boy, " there
are two vases in the pool." The vases were found. " What
is there between these vases ?" The same silence. " I will
tell you—there is a tent between them." The tent was found.
" What does the tent contain ?" The magicians are silent as
before. " Two serpents : the one white ; the other red."
The serpents were found asleep. " Wait !" cried the youth,
" and see what they will do when they awake." No sooner
were they roused than they furiously assailed each other, and
in their successive struggles, though the white dragon had at
first the advantage, the red expelled it from the tent ; the
victor pursued the other beyond the pool, when tent and all
vanished. Of course the magicians could make nothing of
this mystery, but the boy declared that the two dragons were
the two nations ; that the white one was the Saxon, the red
the British ; that the pool was the world ; that though the
former serpent had the advantage for some time, the native one
was ultimately victorious; so, in the present conflicts, the
Saxons might temporarily triumph, but the Britons would in
the end drive them beyond the sea. The reader has no doubt
already divined that this beardless prophet was Merlin." •
Amidst these, and a multitude of kindred follies,
the torch of learning, 'as we have already seen, still
burnt broadly over the land, though with a lurid,
flickering flame, when the invasion of the Northmen
threatened to extinguish it altogether. That the con-
quest might have infused fresh health into a body,
which was fast degenerating into barbarism, is hardly
to be disputed, but both our author and Dr. Lingard
have tco highly coloured their pictures of Anglo-
Saxon depravity. The tyrannical rule of the Saxon

-- ----
Lords was in no respect harsher than that of the Nor

mans ; their laws were infinitely more mild and equi-
table, nor is the historian at all warranted in styling
those an " abominable people," to whom we owe the

invaluable institution of the trial by jury. The chief,
if not the only advantage of the victors was in their
higher military skill, and in the greater refinement of
their luxury. If their invasion cleared up for a time
and purified the social atmosphere, it should also be
recollected, on the other hand, that it was the North-
men who brought upon us the curse of feudalism, and
that it is the throes and struggles of the country to cast
off the incumbent relics of this system, which are
threatening England daily, nay hourly, with a moral
earthquake. We must not be deceived into the vain

notion of assimilating the Norman conquest with the

descent of the Romans, who always began by subju.

gating, and ended with civilization. This truly great
and enlightened people might not unaptly be compared
in their progress to the settler on some wild land, who
first clears away the obstructions of the forest with his
axe, and then proceeds to the more genial task of cul-
tivation.

If we retrace our steps a little over the bygone
years, and look at the state of science,
we
find it developing itself much more slowly than
either arts or literature. We put no great faith in
our author's metaphysical reasoning on this tardiness,
which may be sufficiently accounted for, as regards the
arts, by their more immediate necessity, and as regards
literature, by its being essential to the purposes of
Churchmen, who for a long time were the only class
of people in the country that had the will or the oppor-
tunity to study any thing.' The science of numbers
made little progress, nor could it well be otherwise
when the Arabian figures were not introduced into
England till late in the tenth century, and every ope-
ration was to be carried on by the help of the Roman
letters, I. V. X. L. C. D. M. To shorten the labours
of this clumsy machinery, recourse was had to a sort
of manual and digital arithmetic, but of what avail
could it be in the working of complicated problems ?
It is wonderful how they contrived, as they actually
did, to apply so cumbrous a system to position, or the
rule of false, for that they did so is plain from the
examples given by Bcde, ad anzendos juvenes, to
quicken the wits of his young pupils.
On the ancient systems of the universe, our author,
with much shame, professes himself to be little

acquainted with his subject. We plead guilty of the
same ignorance, but take no shame for the matter, for
of what earthly use are the reveries of an unscientific
race upon a difficult topic, of which they could know
nothing ? It is quite enough for the memory to re-
tain acknowledged truths, without tasking it to the
unprofitable labour of keeping a catalogue of ab-
surdities. This, then, brings us to the time when the
Conqueror, being firmly seated on his throne, began,
both from resentment of the past, and policy as re-
spected the future, to expel the Saxon clergy from the
higher offices of the Church, as he had already dis-
estated the temporal barons, the thanes, and even the
more considerable of the freeholders. So sweeping
was this measure, that St. Wulstan was the only
Englishman who at William's death held the episcopal
dignity. The historian attempts to justify this ex-
tensive spoliation by the " rights of conquest." We
should like to know on what principle of reason or reli-
gion those " rights" are founded, and must ask what
plea could be advanced to excuse the atrocities of
conquest, which would not in an equal degree apply
to individual violence ? Setting aside this fatal objec-
tion to rapine in all its forms, whether kingly or only
private, it must he allowed that the conqueror showed
much wisdom in the exercise of his power, and seldom
conferred a benefice on an improper person. The con-
duct of his Norman clergy appears to have been frank,
and even bold, towards the monarch, as it was often
beneficial towards the people. It speaks volumes in
their favour that they were infinitely preferred for land-
lords to the lay-proprietors, and an instance is given
us of the excessive joy of the tenantry at returning
under their former vassalage, when the Primate re-
gained five-and-twenty manors from Odo, a bastard
brother of William's, who had seized them from the
church of Canterbury. For a length of time the
leading ecclesiastics are found in opposition, with more
or less success, to the crimes and the vices of subse-
quent monarchs, till at length, corrupted by wealth

and the continued enjoyment of irresponsible power,
which are always fatal to the best natures, they seem
themselves to have stood in need of the castigation
they had so freely administered to others. Our au-
thor endeavours, vainly we think, to deny this charge
in the case of a great offender, and labours with much
sophistry to free the character of Thomas a Becket
from the deep stains that time has left upon it ; his
ingratitude to the King he calls patriotism, and he
obstinately refuses to believe that ambition could have
had any share in actuating the conduct of a man who
voluntarily laid down the Chancellor's mace to take
up the episcopal crosier. When, however, he gravely
asks, would any one renounce, for the sake of mere
posthumous fame, the solid advantages of the present
hour, we must ask, in our turn, if he really is so simple
as he affects to be ?—is it possible be does not know that
such is the condition of all aspirants after glory ?—not
that we would for a moment deny or defend the weakness,
which flings away present enjoyment for the hope of that
after-fame, which in no principle of belief can be worth
the having ; if, as the wise and the good have ever
been willing to receive, there is a life beyond the grave,
of what avail will be the blazon of earthly fame to an
immortal spirit ? And if, for the moment, we adopt
the dark and cheerless creed of annihilation, the moul-
dering body will have no ear for the voices that are
paying homage at the shrine of their entombment. But
we may spare ourselves all such nice considerations ;
the fact is, that the chief dignity of the Church pro-
mised more substantial power and more immediate fame
to its possessor than the highest lay-office of the State.
As Chancellor, he was no more than the first of the
King's servants ; as the primate of all England, he
could in a great measure controul the Monarch, while
he himself owned but a distant and scarcely-felt obe-
dience to the supremacy of the Pope. It is mere folly
then to talk of Becket's having descended to the level
of other bishops, or to fancy that he meant by the
change to pass his life in "comparative obscurity," and
this no one knows better than our author ; how, in-
deed, eould he be ignorant of such a fact, after having
dwelt for so many pages on the preponderating in-
fluence of the 'Church ? The first actions of Becket
showed no particular desire for the retirement of the
cloister. Through right and wrong—and so much the
candor of our author compels him to allow—the new-
made primate set himself in vexatious opposition to his
benefactor, ungratefully wielding the crosier with all his
might against the head of the very man from whom
he had received it, and almost before it was
warm within his grasp. Neither does his continued
wavering between absolute rejection and hypocritical
acceptance of the "customs" say much in favour of
his heart or his understanding. It is very easy, in
reply to these plain facts, to call the high-minded
Henry a tyrant, for slander drops as readily from the
pen as from the mouth ; but more substantial proofs
must be offered than are found in these pages, before
any reasonable mind will receive the accusation. If
we look at the monarch, his private life, his long en-
durance of the shrewish Eleanor, and his reputed for-
giveness of his rebellious children, we shall be forced
to allow that he exhibits no signs of that harder metal,
of which tyrants usually are composed. That Becket,
having once resolved upon his part, eventually played
it with fitting dignity, is true enough ; nor can we re-
fuse our admiration of the quiet grandeur of his death-
scene ; but all this is no more than the gilding of a bad
cause, which remains as foul and corrupt in its princi-
ples as ever. It may be the historian has come to the
conclusion fairly,—surely not " unwillingly,"—that
the murder of' Becket seas deliberately planned, and
that the guilt must rest on Henry Plantagenet ; but
his conclusion is final only as regards himself ; others
may require more satisfactory proofs, and a very differ-
ent train of reasoning. Taking self-interest, as he
does, to be the main-spring of the monarch's actions,
it seems absurd to imagine that a politic prince, like
Henry, could have been so blind to the probable con-
sequences as to have hazarded such a measure, how-
ever he might desire the removal of the obnoxious
prelate. In the passion of the moment he is likely
enough to have uttered the words attributed to him,
and which undoubtedly led to the fatal catastrophe,
and why, with so natural a solution of all difficul-
ties at hand, should we have recourse to a supposi-
tion involving all manlier of absurdities ? Unless we
imagine him to have been struck with judicial blindness
on the sudden, nothing can be more improbable than
that the wise and prudent Henry should have coldly and
deliberately ventured upon a crime, which could by
no possibility bring good to himself, and might, ac-
cording to all reasonable expectation, cost him his
sceptre, if not his life.

the succeeding reigns, as the authority of the
Popes became more consolidated at home, they en-
creased their exactions upon England, and, from
having hitherto contented themselves with chiefly rob-
bing the laity, they now pressed their demands upon
the church. The result of this impolitic extortion was,
that they lost the best support of their usurped power
in alienating the ecclesiastics, who, to save their own
property from spoilation, made common cause with
the rest of the nation, while the Kings alternately fa-
voured the side of the Pope or of the people, as best
suited, or might seem to suit, their own immediate in-
terest. It may almost be supposed, though it has
escaped the notice of historians, that in these quarrels
were sown the Cadmus teeth, which afterwards
ripened into an iron harvest, to the total overthrow of
the Papal authority in England.
The learning of the middle ages was unable to put
an end to the working of miracles ; or rather, it should
be said, that learning combined in an unholy and un-
natural alliance with craft and profligacy to cheat the
simple vulgar, and raise up phantoms in the night
of ignorance. A single specimen will suffice to show
the nature of these wonders.
" As he was one day walking along, he was joined by a youth-
ful companion, who at length told him that an evil spirit was
near. " Friend," said Bartholomew, " I should like to see this
demon I" The Norwegian told him to stand on his (the Nor-
wegian's) feet, so as not to touch the ground, and that he
would not only see the spirit, but would ever afterwards have
the power to see it. Whether he was afraid of making the
experiment, or, as his biographer intimates, was unwilling to
commit sin by this magical right, he left at once the sorcerer's
company, the demon, the fair maid, and Norway itself. Ar-
riving in Northumberland, he attached himself as presbyter
to one of the churches. His former vision now rushed on his
memory, and he resolved to forsake the world. Having as-
sumed the habit in the monastery of Durham, the first time he
entered the church he proceeded, like the rest, to adore the
huge crucifix ; as he bent before it, the crucifix, with equal
courtesy, returned the salutation--a fact, says the biographer,
vouched by the prior Germanus, and many others. The mo•
tion of the crucifix is likely enough to be true ; for there was
scarcely any knavery of which the monks of Durham were in-
capable. In another vision, St. Cuthbert appeared to him,
led him to the island of Fame, showed him the oratory and
hermitage, and told him that was the place reserved for him.
The next morning, full of this heavenly manifestation, he
communicated it to Lawrence the prior, who praised, indeed,
his zeal, but advised him to remain where he was. He per-
sisted, and at length obtained permission to commence the
eremetical life. On arriving at Fame, however, he found it
occupied by another hermit, who received him somewhat
gruffly, and endeavoured, by the most contumelious treat-
ment, to expel him from that desert rock. But it was his
good fortune to expel his predecessor. Here he commenced a
rigorous course of life, which grew more rigorous the longer
it continued. For some years he indulged himself with fish,
which he caught on the coast ; but that he subsequently aban-
doned as a luxury, and confined himself to bread, roots, and
water. At length he relinquished even water. In recording
this fact, his biographer cannot withhold his admiration :
" Oh ! man truly admirable 1 If we could find thine equal in
other things, certainly in this we could not." He now lite-
rally fulfilled the idea which ought to be entertained of hermits,
" Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise."
In such reverence was he held, that the mariners would at any
time embark, if he assured them the passage would be pros-
perous! Such sanctity and such fame, the devil might well

envy. Many were the freaks of the tempter, who appeared
before him in every shape—monkey or lion, bull or mouse ;
sometimes leaping on him, sometimes seizing bim by the throat,
at other times, while before the altar, pulling him backwards
on the floor. The saint procured a rod, and often struck at
the demon, but the stroke fell on the yielding air."
But we now come to a more important period, when
the efforts of Robert Grossetete, Bishop of Lincoln,
to stay the spreading corruption of the Church, opened
a way, in conjunction with popular discontent and
the satire of the poets, to the subsequent reform of
Wycliffe. In attacking the temporal power of the
Pope, the reformer made no enemy of his own Mo-
narch, or of the nobles, all of whom were by this time
weary of Roman supremacy and Roman exaction ; and
consequently his first measures, though accompanied
by some clamours from the rude multitude, yet incur-
red no serious censure or interruption. The case was
materially altered for the worse, when he ventured to
insinuate that after the consecration of the bread and
wine, the elements still retained their nature, and that
consequently there was no such thing as transubstan-
tiation. This denial revolted the feelings of the time,
and neither his former patron, the Duke of Lancaster,
nor the Parliament, which had hitherto supported him,
would lend their countenance to this novel heresy. For
a time he escaped by a confession 'so subtly worded
that it might pass either for a recantation or a vindica-
tion of his doctrines ; but the blow at length fell upon
him, though the seeds lie had sown were_not, in due
season, without their fruit, and a fruit that none had
contemplated. So intimately were religion and the
social order blended, that it was impossible to assail
the one without mischief to the other, and the subse-
quent rebellion of' Wat Tyler may, in great measure,
be ascribed to the doctrines of the first reformer.
We decline speaking of the Latin literature of the
middle ages, as being much too voluminous for notice.
Yet we should hardly be justified in passing over the
historians in total silence. Our author truly observes,
that, " there is no other country in Europe, France
and Italy excepted, which possesses so many, and, on
the whole, so useful recorders of events ; from Ingulf
of Croydon, to Harding and Ross, there is a list of
names of which any people might be proud." This
praise is not exaggerated ; yet it is not to be expected
that, much as they rose above the level of the times,
they altogether freed themselves from its prejudices and
superstitions ; on the contrary, we find legends abun-
dantly mixed up with reality, but it is seldom difficult
to discriminate the false from the true, and this fault,
from which Livy and Herodotus were not exempt, is well
atoned for by their graphic descriptions, so superior to
the barren and meagre records of foreign chronicles.
We are much pleased, too, to fii►d in our historian a
strenuous defender of Geoffrey of Monmouth, who has
been most unfairly treated by men, utterly incapable of
appreciating his merits. The discussion respecting
the fabulous part of Geoffrey's work, however alluring
it may be, we shall for certain reasons leave untouched ;
it affords a large field for inquiry, but there may occur
a fitter place for it than the narrow limits of a review ;
in the mean time we earnestly recommend our readers
to give this subject their attention, and they may per-
haps, find in chivalric fiction a charm at least equal to
the most brilliant pictures of modern romance.
The Arch-deacon was a poet, as well as an histo-
rian, and has written a life of Merlin in hexameter
verse, which in its way is a curiosity. But a yet more
valuable .author is Giraldus Cambrensis. The work,
by which he is principally known to modern readers is
the Itinerarium Cambrim, recording the progress of
Archbishop Baldwin, through Wales, for the purpose
of preaching up the Crusade. He, too, deals pro-
fusely in legends, some of which are not a little cha-
racteristic of his times. Thus he relates
How a man, " in these our days," had shot a fair doe
with horns of twelve years' growth, and had immediately lost
the use of his eyes. This event, however, is scarcely so won-
derful as one which happened just before the death of Henry
11. : the fish of a certain pool fought so furiously with each
other, both in the water and out of it, that the following morn-
ing scarcely one remained alive. Crossing the river Wye,the
crusaders proceeded towards Brecknock. At Lhanvaes he
tells its of a boy who, venturing to take a pigeon's nest in the
church of that place, incurred the miraculous vengeance of
the patron Saint, by adhering so firmly to the stone, that it
required three days' solemn supplication at the altar before he
was released. And this anecdote leads him to relate another.
A poor woman, very devout in appearance, constantly visited
the shrine of a saint, but her object was neither more nor less
than to plunder it. By a curious kind of theft, she licked up
from the altar the small bits of gold and silver which had
been offered there; but she was not long suffered to do this
with impunity : one day her tongue and lips adhered so to the
altar, that she could not move, and was of course instantly
detected : but in a few hours the saint was appeased. In ano-
ther place we have an account of the patriarch's horn, which,
if any one blew, woe be to him ; but safely might the wider
end be placed to the ear ; and when it was, delightful was the
music heard within just like the gentle tones of the harp."
If this legend exhibits the superstition of the age,
the following is no less illustrative of its barbarism :
" A famous robber, confined in one of the dungeons of Haver-
ford castle, was sometimes visited by three boys---one the son
of Lord Clare, the other two being the son and grandson of
the Lord of the castle--for whom he made arrows. One day
he fastened the door of his dungeon—the youths being with
him—and seizing a battle-axe, protested to the terrified do
mestics outside that be would instantly murder all the three,
unless his life and liberty were guaranteed. His object was
gained. The Lord of another castle had long maintained a
man whose eyes he had put out. The latter, however, per-
fectly remembered the difficult staircases and passages of the
fortress, and could easily pass from one part to another. One
day he seized the only son and heir of the Baron, and, fasten-
ing all the doors behind him, ascended to the top of a high
tower. The father and the domestics hastened to the foot of
the tower, and any ransom was offered for the youth's life.
The man sturdily refused, and declared, that unless the father
inflicted on himself the punishment which had been laid on
him, viz. the mutilation of the lower members, the boy should
instantly be precipitated from the summit. Seeing that other
terms could not be procured, the Baron pretended to comply
with the condition, and both he and his domestics raised a
loud cry, as if the mutilation had really taken place. " Where
is your pain ?" demanded the man. "In my loins," was the
reply. " You are deceiving me 1" cried the miii, who pre-
pared to put his threat into execution. A second time the
Baron permitted himself to be struck with a heavy blow; and,
on being asked where he felt the greatest pain, replied,--" In
the heart 1" The blind man again cried out that it was false,
and again was preparing to consummate his threat; when the
unhappy father, to save his beloved son, really suffered the
mutilation. To the third demand,—" Where now is your
chief pain ?" he replied,—." In my teeth !"—" That is true 1"
said the man : " experience only could enable you to speak
thus 1 I shall now die with the greater satisfaction, as thou
canst neither beget another son, nor receive comfort from
this 1" In an instant he sprang with the youth from the battle
ments of the tower."

Amongst other curious things we find that the
modern custom of bundling —a custom more honoured
in the breach than the observance—is of very ancient,
though it can not be called of very honourable origin :
" There is," says Giraldus, " an ancient custom of
men taking young girls on trial, engaging, if they do
not marry their mistresses, to allow a certain pecuniary
compensation for the loss of chastity to the parents."
The paucity of books must have been great indeed
at this time, when we find that the library of
the Bishop of Winchester consisted only of seven-
teen volumes. So valuable were they that a single
folio was often entailed with as much solemnity
as the most valuable estate ; or bequeathed with
the condition, " that the receiver should pray for
the soul of the donor, and that, on the death
of the former, it should either revert to the family of
the original owner, or pass to some other person."
The price of books, as from this statement may be
easily supposed, was enormous, and were often pledged
to learned bodies, to be forfeited, if not redeemed
within a certain period. Yet it -appears that the
monks laboured hard to multiply their copies. In every
monastery that had the means, there was an apart-
men, called the scriptorium, wherein books were tran-
scribed or composed, and in the maintenance of these,
the monks evinced a liberality, which we shall in vain
look for in the ecclesiastical establishments of modern
times. Which of our colleges employes any part of
its rich endowments in the propagation of useful

knowledge ? or which of them has given an hour to
literary labour, unless with the sordid idea of profit ?
But the monks did both ; while they liberally sup-
ported their hired transcribers, they themselves laboured
in the same vocation, without the slightest possibility
of remuneration.

A few pages of this highly-interesting volume alone
remain to be considered ; but, few as they are, they
are so full of matter that to do them anything like
adequate justice, would require as many columns as we
have been able to devote to the whole work. We
must, therefore, take our leave of our historian with
lingering regret, and an earnest hope that this delight-
ful theme, begun with so much ability, may be resumed
at no distant period.