CONCLUSION.
It is now time to sum up, as may best be done, the results of this
attempt to survey the Literature of Europe during one, if not of its
most accomplished, most enlightened, or most generally admired
periods, yet assuredly one of the most momentous, the most
interesting, the fullest of problem and of promise. Audacious as the
attempt itself may seem to some, inadequate as the performance may be
pronounced by others, it is needless to spend much more argument in
urging its claim to be at least tried on the merits. All varieties of
literary history have drawbacks almost inseparable from their schemes.
The elaborate monograph, which is somewhat in favour just now, is
exposed to the criticism, not quite carping, that it is practically
useless without independent study of its subject, and practically
superfluous with it. The history of separate literatures, whether in
portion or in whole, is always liable to be charged with omissions or
with disproportionate treatment within its subject, with want of
perspective, with "blinking," as regards matters without. And so such
a survey as this is liable to the charge of being superficial, or of
attempting more than it can possibly cover, or of not keeping the due
balance between its various provinces and compartments.
It must be for others to say how such a charge, in the present case,
is helped by _laches_ or incompetence on the part of the surveyor. But
enough has, I hope, been said to clear the scheme itself from the
objection of uselessness or of impracticability. In one sense, no
doubt, far more room than this volume, or a much larger, could
provide, may seem to be required for the discussion and arrangement of
so great and interesting a matter as the Literature of the Twelfth and
Thirteenth Centuries. But to say this, is only saying that no such
account in such a space could be exhaustive: and it so happens that an
exhaustive account is for the purpose not required--would indeed go
pretty far towards the defeat of that purpose. What is wanted is to
secure that the reader, whether he pursues his studies in more detail
with regard to any of these literatures or not, shall at any rate have
in his head a fair general notion of what they were simultaneously or
in succession, of the relation in which they stood to each other, of
the division of literary labour between them.
If, on the other hand, it be said, "You propose to give, according to
your scheme, a volume apiece to the fourteenth and even the fifteenth
centuries, the work of which was far less original and interesting
than the work of these two! Why do you couple these?" the answer is
not difficult. In the first place, the work of these two
centuries--which is mainly though not wholly the work of the hundred
years that form their centre period--is curiously inseparable. In only
a few cases do we know precise dates, and in many the _circa_ is of
such a circuitous character that we can hardly tell whether the
twelfth or the thirteenth century deserves the credit. In almost all
the adoption of any intermediate date of severance would leave an
awkward, raw, unreal division. We should leave off while the best of
the _chansons de geste_ were still being produced, in the very middle
of the development of the Arthurian legend, with half the _fabliaux_
yet to come and half the sagas unwritten, with the Minnesingers in
full voice, with the tale of the Rose half told, with the Fox not yet
broken up.
And, in the second place, the singular combination of anonymity and
school-character in the most characteristic mediæval literature makes
it easier, vast as is its mass and in some cases conspicuous as is its
merit, to handle in small space than later work. Only by a wild
indulgence in guessing or a tedious minuteness of attention to
_Lautlehre_ and rhyme-lists is it possible to make a treatment of even
a named person like Chrestien de Troyes on the scale of a notice of
Dante or even Froissart, and this without reference to the comparative
literary importance of the three. The million lines of the _chansons
de geste_ do not demand discussion in anything like direct proportion
to their bulk. One _fabliau_, much more one minnesong or troubadour
lyric, has a far greater resemblance of kind to its fellows than even
one modern novel, even one nineteenth-century minor poem, to another.
As the men write in schools, so they can be handled in them.
Yet I should hope that it must have been already made apparent how
very far the present writer is from undervaluing the period with which
he has essayed to deal. He might perhaps be regarded as overvaluing it
with more apparent reason--not, I think, with any reason that is more
than apparent.
For this was the time, if not of the Birth--the exact times and
seasons of literary births no man knoweth--at any rate of the first
appearance, full-blown or full-fledged, of Romance. Many praiseworthy
folk have made many efforts to show that Romance was after all no such
new thing--that there is Romance in the _Odyssey_, Romance in the
choruses of Æschylus, Romance East and West, North and South, before
the Middle Ages. They are only less unwise than the other good folk
who endeavour to tie Romance down to a Teutonic origin, or a Celtic,
or in the other sense a Romance one, to Chivalry (which was in truth
rather its offspring than its parent), to this, and that, and the
other. "All the best things in literature," it has been said, "are
returns"; and this is perfectly true, just as it is perfectly true in
another sense that all the best things in literature are novelties. In
this particular growth, being as it was a product of the unchanging
human mind, there were notes, doubtless, of Homer and of Æschylus, of
Solomon the son of David and of Jesus the son of Sirach. But the
constituents of the mixture were newly grouped; elements which had in
the past been inconspicuous or dormant assumed prominence and
activity; and the whole was new.
It was even one of the few, the very few, permutations and
combinations of the elements of literature, which are of such
excellence, volume, durability, and charm, that they rank above all
minor changes and groupings. An _amabilis insania_ of the same general
kind with those above noted has endeavoured again and again to mark
off and define the chief constituents of the fact. The happiest
result, if only a partial one, of such attempts has been the
opposition between Classical precision and proportion and the Romantic
vague; but no one would hold this out as a final or sufficient account
of the matter. It may, indeed, be noted that that peculiar blended
character which has been observed in the genesis of perhaps the
greatest and most characteristic bloom of the whole garden--the
Arthurian Legend--is to be found elsewhere also. The Greeks, if they
owed part of the intensity, had undoubtedly owed nearly all the gaps
and flaws of their production, as well as its extraordinarily
short-lived character, to their lack alike of instructors and of
fellow-pupils--to the defect in Comparison. Roman Literature, always
more or less _in statu pupillari_, had wanted the fellow-pupils, if
not the tutor. But the national divisions of mediæval Europe--saved
from individual isolation by the great bond of the Church, saved from
mutual lack of understanding by the other great bond of the Latin
_quasi_-vernacular, shaken together by wars holy and profane, and
while each exhibiting the fresh characteristics of national infancy,
none of them case-hardened into national insularity--enjoyed a unique
opportunity, an opportunity never likely to be again presented, of
producing a literature common in essential characteristic, but richly
coloured and fancifully shaded in each division by the genius of race
and soil. And this literature was developed in the two centuries which
have been the subject of our survey. It is true that not all the
nations were equally contributors to the positive literary production
of the time. England was apparently paying a heavy penalty for her
unique early accomplishments, was making a large sacrifice for the
better things to come. Between 1100 and 1300 no single book that can
be called great was produced in the English tongue, and hardly any
single writer distinctly deserving the same adjective was an
Englishman. But how mighty were the compensations! The language itself
was undergoing a process of "inarching," of blending, crossing, which
left it the richest, both in positive vocabulary and in capacity for
increasing that vocabulary at need, of any European speech; the
possessor of a double prosody, quantitative and alliterative, which
secured it from the slightest chance of poetic poverty or
hide-boundness; relieved from the cumbrousness of synthetic accidence
to all but the smallest extent, and in case to elaborate a syntax
equally suitable for verse and prose, for exposition and narrative,
for oratory and for argument. Moreover it was, as I have at least
endeavoured to show, probably England which provided the groundwork
and first literary treatment, it was certainly England that provided
the subject, of the largest, the most enduring, the most varied single
division of mediæval work; while the Isle of Britain furnished at
least its quota to the general literature of Europe other than
vernacular.
Other countries, though their languages were not conquering their
conqueror as English was doing with French, also displayed sufficient
individuality in dealing with the models and the materials with which
French activity supplied them. The best poetical work of Icelandic,
like the best work of its cousin Anglo-Saxon, was indeed over before
the period began, and the best prose work was done before it ended,
the rapid and never fully explained exhaustion of Norse energy and
enterprise preventing the literature which had been produced from
having effect on other nations. The children of the _vates_ of Grettir
and Njal contented themselves, like others, with adapting French
romances, and, unlike others, they did not make this adaptation the
groundwork of new and original effort. But meanwhile they had made in
the Sagas, greater and lesser, such a contribution as no literature
has excelled in intensity and character, comparatively small as it is
in bulk and comparatively undistinguished in form.
"Unlike others," it has been said; for there can be no doubt that the
Charlemagne Cycle from Northern, the troubadour lyric from Southern,
France exercised upon Italy the same effect that was exercised in
Germany by the romances of Arthur and of Antiquity, and by the
_trouvère_ poetry generally. But in these two countries, as also more
doubtfully, but still with fair certainty, in Spain, the French models
found, as they did also in England, literary capacities and tastes not
jaded and outworn, but full of idiosyncrasy, and ready to develop each
in its own way. Here however, by that extraordinary law of
compensation which seems to be the most general law of the universe,
the effects differed as much in quantity and time as in character--a
remarkable efflorescence of literature in Germany being at once
produced, to relapse shortly into a long sterility, a tardier but more
constant growth following in England and Italy, while the effect in
Spain was the most partial and obscure of all. The great names of
Wolfram von Eschenbach and Walther von der Vogelweide hardly meet with
any others in these literatures representing writers who are known
abroad as well as at home. Only philologists out of England (and I
fear not too many besides philologists in it) read _Alisaunder_ and
_Richard Coeur de Lion_, _Arthour and Merlin_, or the _Brut_; the
early Italian poets shine but in the reflected light of Dante; and if
any one knows the Cid, it is usually from Corneille, or Herder, or
Southey, rather than from his own noble _Poem_. But no one who does
study these forgotten if not disdained ones, no one who with a love
for literature bestows even the most casual attention on them, can
fail to see their meaning and their promise, their merit and their
charm.
That languages of such power should have remained without literatures
is of course inconceivable; that any of them even needed the
instruction they received from France cannot be said positively; but
what is certain is that they all received it. In most cases the
acknowledgment is direct, express, not capable of being evaded or
misconstrued: in all it is incapable of being mistaken by those who
have eyes, and who have trained them. To inquire into the cause were
rather idle. The central position of France; the early notoriety and
vogue of the schools of Paris; the curious position of the language,
midway between the extremer Romance and the purely Teutonic tongues,
which made it a sort of natural interpreter between them; perhaps most
of all that inexplicable but undeniable formal talent of the French
for literature, which is as undeniable and as inexplicable as the less
formal genius of the English,--all these things, except the central
position, only push the problem farther back, and are in need of being
explained themselves. But the fact, the solid and certain fact,
remains. And so it is that the greater part of this book has
necessarily been occupied in expounding, first the different forms
which the lessons of France took, and then the different ways in which
other countries learnt those lessons and turned them to account.
It is thus difficult to overestimate the importance of that wonderful
literature which rises dominant among all these, imparting to all,
borrowing from none, or borrowing only subjects, exhibiting finish of
structure when all the rest were merely barbarian novices, exploring
every literary form from history to drama, and from epic to song,
while others were stammering their exercises, mostly learnt from her.
The exact and just proportions of the share due to Southern and
Northern France respectively none can now determine, and scholarship
oscillates between extremes as usual. What is certain (perhaps it is
the only thing that is certain) is that to Provençal belongs the
credit of establishing for the first time a modern prosody of such a
kind as to turn out verse of perfect form. Whether, if Pallas in her
warlike capacity had been kinder to the Provençals, she could or would
have inspired them with more varied kinds of literature than the
exquisite lyric which as a fact is almost their sole title to fame, we
cannot say. As a matter of fact, the kinds other than lyric, and some
of the lyrical kinds themselves--the short tale, the epic, the
romance, the play, the history, the sermon--all find their early home,
if not their actual birthplace, north, not south, of the Limousin
line. It was from Normandy and Poitou, from Anjou and the Orleannais,
from the Isle of France and Champagne, that in language at least the
patterns which were used by all Europe, the specifications, so to
speak, which all Europe adapted and filled up, went forth, sometimes
not to return.
Yet it is not in the actual literature of France itself, except in
those contributions to the Arthurian story which, as it has been
pointed out, were importations, not indigenous growths, and in some
touches of the _Rose_, that the spirit of Romance is most evident--the
spirit which, to those who have come thoroughly to appreciate it,
makes classical grace and finish seem thin and tame, Oriental
exuberance tasteless and vulgar, modern scientific precision
inexpressibly charmless and jejune.
Different sides of this spirit display themselves, of course, in
different productions of the time. There is the spirit of combat, in
which the _Chansons de geste_ show the way, anticipating in time, if
not quite equalling in intensity, the Sagas and the _Nibelungenlied_.
There is sometimes faintly mingled with this (as in the _gabz_ of the
_Voyage à Constantinoble_, and the exploits of Rainoart with the
_tinel_) the spirit, half rough, half sly, of jesting, which by-and-by
takes shape in the _fabliaux_. There is the immense and restless
spirit of curiosity, which explores and refashions, to its own guise
and fancy, the relics of the old world, the treasures of the East, the
lessons of Scripture itself. Side by side with these there is that
singular form of the religious spirit which has been so constantly
misunderstood, and which, except in a very few persons, seems so rare
nowadays--the faith which is implicit without being imbecile,
childlike without being childish, devout with a fearless familiarity,
the spirit to which the _Dies Iræ_ and the sermons of St Francis were
equally natural expressions, and which, if it could sometimes
exasperate itself into the practices of the Inquisition, found a far
commoner and more genuine expression in the kindly humanities of the
_Ancren Riwle_. There is no lack of knowledge and none of inquiry;
though in embarking on the enormous ocean of ignorance, it is inquiry
not cabined and cribbed by our limits. In particular, there is an
almost unparalleled, a certainly unsurpassed, activity in metaphysical
speculation, a fence-play of thought astonishing in its accuracy and
style. As Poetry slowly disintegrates and exfoliates itself into
Prose, literary gifts for which verse was unsuited develop themselves
in the vernaculars; and the chronicle--itself so lately an
epic--becomes a history, or at least a memoir; the orator, sacred or
profane, quits the school rhetoric and its familiar Latin vehicle for
more direct means of persuasion; the jurist gives these vernaculars
precision by adopting them.
But with and through and above all these various spirits there is most
of all that abstract spirit of poetry, which, though not possessed by
the Middle Ages or by Romance alone, seems somehow to be a more
inseparable and pervading familiar of Romance and of the Middle Ages
than of any other time and any other kind of literature. The sense of
mystery, which had rarely troubled the keen intellect of the Greek and
the sturdy common-sense of the Roman, which was even a little degraded
and impoverished (except in the Jewish prophets and in a few other
places) by the busy activity of Oriental imagination, which we
ourselves have banished, or think we have banished, to a few "poets'
scrolls," was always present to the mediæval mind. In its broadest and
coarsest jests, in its most laborious and (as we are pleased to call
them) dullest expansions of stories, in its most wire-drawn and most
lifeless allegory, in its most irritating admixture of science and
fable, there is always hard by, always ready to break in, the sense of
the great and wonderful things of Life, and Love, and Death, of the
half-known God and the unknown Hereafter. It is this which gives to
Romance, and to mediæval work generally, that "high seriousness," the
want of which was so strangely cast at it in reproach by a critic who,
I cannot but think, was less intimately acquainted with its literature
than with that either of classical or of modern times. Constantly in
mediæval poetry, very commonly in mediæval prose, the great things
appear greatly. There is in English verse romance perhaps no less
felicitous sample of the kind as it stands, none which has received
greater vituperation for dulness and commonplace, than _Sir Amadas_.
Yet who could much better the two simple lines, when the hero is
holding revel after his ghastly meeting with the unburied corse in the
roadside chapel?--
"But the dead corse that lay on bier
Full mickle his thought was on."
In Homer's Greek or Dante's Italian such a couplet (which, be it
observed, is as good in rhythm and vowel contrast as in simple
presentation of thought) could hardly lack general admiration. In the
English poetry of the Middle Ages it is dismissed as a commonplace.
Yet such things, and far better things, are to be met everywhere in
the literature which, during the period we have had under review, took
definite form and shape. It produced, indeed, none of the greatest
men of letters--no Chaucer nor Dante, no Froissart even, at best for
certainties a Villehardouin and a William of Lorris, a Wolfram and a
Walther, with shadowy creatures of speculation like the authors of the
great romances. But it produced some of the greatest matter, and some
of not the least delightful handlings of matter, in book-history. And
it is everywhere distinguished, first, by the adventurous fecundity of
its experiments in form and kind, secondly, by the presence of that
spirit which has been adumbrated in the last paragraph. In this last,
we must own, the pupil countries far outdid their master or mistress.
France was stronger relatively in the spirit of poetry during the
Middle Ages than she has been since; but she was still weaker than
others. She gave them expression, patterns, form: they found passion
and spirit, with not seldom positive story-subject as well. When we
come upon some _nueva maestria_, as the old Spanish poet called it,
some cunning trick of form, some craftsman-like adjustment of style
and kind to literary purposes, we shall generally find that it was
invented in France. But we know that no Frenchman could have written
the _Dies Iræ_; and though we recognise French as at home in the
Rose-Garden, and not out of place in the fatal meeting of Lancelot and
Guinevere, it sounds but as a foreign language in the towers of
Carbonek or of Montsalvatsch.
INDEX.
Abbat, Peter, 406.
Abelard, 14, 17.
Adam de la Halle, 316-321.
Adam of St Victor, 8, 10.
Alberic of Besançon, 157.
Albertus Magnus, 18.
Alcamo, Ciullo d', 387.
Alexander Hales, 18.
_Alexander_, romances of, chap. iv. _passim_.
Alfonso X., 409, 410.
_Aliscans_, 75 _sq._
"Alison," 210, 211.
Amalricans, the, 20 note.
Amaury de Bène, 18.
Ancona, Professor d', 387.
_Ancren Riwle_, the, 198-201.
Anna Comnena, 378.
Anselm, 14, 17.
_Apollonius_, the Spanish, 407.
Aquinas, Thomas, 18.
"Arch-poet," the, 5.
Arnold, Matthew, 55, 278.
Ascham, 128.
_Aucassin et Nicolette_, 330-332.
Audefroy le Bastard, 275.
Aue, Hartmann von, 246-251.
Bacon, Roger, 18.
Bartsch, Herr K., 270.
_Bastart de Bouillon, le_, 57.
_Baudouin de Sebourc_, 32 _sq._
Beauvais, Vincent of, 18.
Bede, 90.
Bédier, M., 276.
Benoît de Sainte-More, 177 _sq._
_Beowulf_, 30, 36, 188.
Berceo, G., 407.
Bernard of Morlaix, 8, 11-13.
Bernard, St, 8, 322.
Bodel, Jean, 26 note, 148.
Bonaventura, 18.
Borron, Robert de, 138.
Brunetière, M. F., 55, 83.
_Brut._ See Geoffrey of Monmouth, Layamon, and Wace.
Budge, Mr Wallis, 152.
Callisthenes, the Pseudo-, 152 _sq._
Caradoc of Lancarvan, 91.
_Carmina Burana_, 4.
Celano, Thomas of, 9.
Champeaux, William of, 17.
Chrestien de Troyes, 101 _sq._, 195.
_Cid, Poema del_, 23, 376, 393, 398 _sq._
Ciullo d'Alcamo, 387.
Colonna, or delle Colonne, or de Columnis, Guido, 181 _sq._
Condorcet, 15.
_Conquête de Constantinoble_, 323.
_Contrasto_, 387, 389.
Conybeare, 25.
Cornu, Professor, 402.
_Couronnement Loys, le_, 60 _sq._
Courthope, Mr, 140.
_Cronica, General_, 410.
_Curialium, De Nugis_, 141.
Dares Phrygius, 171 _sq._ and chap. iv. _passim_.
David of Dinant, 18.
Dictys Cretensis, 169 _sq._ and chap. iv. _passim_.
_Dies Iræ_, the, 9, 10.
Dunlop, 28, 132.
_Egil's Saga_, 350, 360.
_Epistolæ Obscurorum Virorum_, 16.
_Epopées Françaises, les_, 25 _sq._
Erigena, John Scotus, 17.
Eschenbach, Wolfram von, 126, 251-256.
"Eternal Gospel," the, 18.
Exeter, Joseph of, 3.
_Eyrbyggja Saga_, 350.
Flora, Joachim of, 18.
Froude, Mr J.A., 55.
Gautier, M. Léon, 25.
_Genesis and Exodus_, 202.
Geoffrey, Gaimar, 98.
Geoffrey of Monmouth, 94 _sq._ and chap. iii. _passim_.
Geoffroy de Villehardouin, 323 _sq._
_Gérard de Roussillon_, 44.
Giélée, Jacquemart, 291.
Gildas, 91.
Gloucester, Robert of, 204 _sq._
_Golias_ and Goliardic Poems, 4 _sq._
Gottfried von Strasburg, 242-246.
_Gran Conquesta de Ultramar_, 410.
_Grandes Chroniques_ of St Denis, 327.
_Grettis Saga_, 351-360.
Guest, Dr, 218 _sq._
_Guillaume d'Orange_, 59 _sq._
Hallam, 28.
Hamilton, Sir W., 15.
Hartmann von Aue, 246-251.
_Havelok the Dane_, 207, 208.
Hauréau, _De la Philosophie Scolastique_, 14 note, 19.
_Heimskringla_, 344, 361.
Heinrich von Veldeke, 242.
Henryson, 150, 272.
_Historia de Proeliis_, 153.
_Horn (King)_, 208, 209.
Hunt, Leigh, 279.
_Hysminias and Hysmine_, 140, 377 _sq._
_Iter ad Paradisum_, 154.
Jacopone da Todi, 8.
Jeanroy, M. A., 270.
Joachim of Flora, 18.
John of Salisbury, 17.
John Scotus Erigena, 17.
Joinville, Jean de, 328, 329.
Joly, M., 151.
Joseph of Exeter, 3.
_Jus de la Feuillie_, 318-321.
Kölbing, Dr, 166 note.
König Rother, 237.
_Kormak's Saga_, 347, 360.
Kudrun, 233-236.
Lambert li Tors, 157 _sq._
Lamprecht, 156.
Lang, Mr, 331.
Lanson, M., 83.
_Laxdæla Saga_, 349.
Layamon, 98, 99, 192-196.
Lombard, Peter, 17.
Lorris, William of, 300 _sq._
Loth, M., 143.
_Mabinogion, the_, 105.
Madden, Sir Frederic, 97.
Malory, Sir T., 104 and chap. iii. _passim_.
Manasses, 379.
Map or Mapes, Walter, 4 _sq._, 58, 100 _sq._
Marcabrun, 368
Marie de France, 285, 286, 311.
Martin, Herr, 290.
Méon, 276.
Meung, Jean de, 300 _sq._
Meyer, M. Paul, 151 _sq._
Michelant, M., 159.
Mill, J.S., 15.
Minnesingers, the minor, 261-264.
_Missa de Potatoribus_, 4.
Nennius, 91, 92.
_Nibelungenlied_, 227 _sq._
Nicetas, 379.
_Njal's Saga_, 348.
_Nut-Browne Maid, the_, 271.
Nutt, Mr, 135.
Occam, William of, 17, 18.
Orange, William of, 59 _sq._
Orm and the _Ormulum_, 196-198.
_Owl and the Nightingale, the_, 203.
Paris, M. Gaston, 25, 102 note, 212 note.
Paris, M. Paulin, 25, 97, 270.
Pater, Mr, 331.
Peacock, 142, 279.
Peter Lombard, 17.
Peter the Spaniard, 18.
Prantl, _Geschichte der Logik_, 14 note, 19.
_Proverbs_, early English, 203.
Quintus Curtius, 155.
Raymond Lully, 18.
Raynaud, M. G., 270.
Renan, M., 201.
_Reynard the Fox_, 286 _sq._
Rhys, Professor, 136 _sq._
Robert of Gloucester, 204 _sq._
_Robin et Marion_, 317, 318.
_Roland, Chanson de_, 29 _sq._
Romance of the Rose, the, 299 _sq._
_Romancero Français_, 27.
_Romanzen und Pastourellen_, 270.
Roscellin, 17.
Ruteboeuf, 312, 313.
Sagas, 339 _sq._
_Santa Maria Egipciaca_, 407, 408.
Scotus Erigena, 17.
Scotus, John Duns, 18.
_Siete Partidas_, 409.
_Specimens of Lyric Poetry_, 209 _sq._
Strasburg, Gottfried von, 243-246.
St Victor, Adam of, 8.
Sully, Maurice de, 323.
Swinburne, Mr, 331, 367, 370.
Theodorus Prodromus, 379.
Thomas of Celano, 9.
Thomas of Kent, 158.
Thoms, Mr, 282.
Ticknor, Mr, 393 _sq._
Todi, Jacopone da, 8.
Tressan, Comte de, 28.
_Tristram, Sir_, 116.
Troubadours, the, 362 _sq._
Troy, the Tale of, 167 _sq._
Troyes, Chrestien de, 101 _sq._
Turpin, Archbishop, 29.
Tyre, William of, 327.
Tyrwhitt, 25.
Valerius, Julius, 152 _sq._
Veldeke, H. von, 242.
Vigfusson, Dr, 267.
Villehardouin, G. de, 323 _sq._
Vincent of Beauvais, 18.
Vogelweide, Walther von der, 256-261.
_Volsunga Saga_, 228, 229.
Wace, 98.
Walter, Archdeacon of Oxford. See Geoffrey of Monmouth.
Walter of Châtillon, 155.
Walther von der Vogelweide, 256-261.
Ward, Mr, 164.
Warton's _History of Poetry_, 139.
Weber, 163.
William IX., of Poitiers, 364.
William of Tyre, 327.
Wolfram von Eschenbach, 126, 251-256.
Wright, Thomas, 209.
* * * * *
PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS.