Alexander Neckam, from whose Treatise the following curious things are
derived, was a learned man of the twelfth century: his work, which is
written in Latin, has been translated by Mr. Thomas Wright, and
published under the direction of the Master of the Polls. Of Neckam's
birth we learn the date from a chronicle formerly existing among the
MSS. of the Earl of Arundel, which inform us that "in the month of
September, 1157, there was born to the King at Windsor a son named
Richard; and the same night was born Alexander Neckam at St. Alban's,
whose mother gave suck to Richard with her right breast, and to
Alexander with her left breast." Thus was Alexander the foster-brother
of the future Coeur de Lion, who was celebrated for his own love of
literature and learning; and the position which the circumstance here
related by the chronicler gave to Neckam in regard to such a Prince goes
far to explain the honourable position he gained in after-life.
Neckam was born and passed his boyhood at St. Alban's: he received his
earlier education in the Abbey School there; and such a rapid advance
did he make in learning, that whilst still very young, the direction of
the school at Dunstable, a dependency of the Abbey of St. Alban's, was
entrusted to him. But he soon, of his own accord, sought a larger field
for his mental activities, and proceeded to the then celebrated
University of Paris, where he was a distinguished professor as early as
the year 1180, when he can have been no more than twenty-three years of
age.
He did not long adhere to the scholastic learning of the University, but
in 1186 returned to England, and resumed his old post at Dunstable. He
subsequently became one of the Augustinian monks of Cirencester, and in
1213 was elected Abbot of Cirencester. He died at Kempsey, near
Worcester, in 1217, and was buried in Worcester Cathedral.
Neckam, in these early times, displayed a taste for experimental
science. The Treatise from which we quote is a sort of manual of
natural science, as it was then taught; and it derives a still greater
value for us from the love of its author for illustrating his theme by
the introduction of contemporary anecdotes and stories relating to the
objects treated of; as well as the mention of popular facts and articles
of belief which had come under his observation or knowledge, many of
which offer singular illustrations of the condition and manners of the
age.
From Neckam we learn how great was the love for animals in the Middle
Ages; how ready people, apparently of all classes, were to observe and
note the peculiarities of animated nature, and especially how fond they
were of tamed and domestic animals. We see that the mediæval castles and
great mansions were like so many menageries of rare beasts of all kinds.
It is in the stories told by Neckam, also, that we become more than ever
acquainted with the attachment of our mediæval forefathers to the chase,
and to all the animals connected with it. Beginning with the King of
Birds, the Eagle, however, he offers no new facts; though he makes it
the subject of numerous moralisings. With the lesser birds of prey he
becomes communicative of his anecdotes. He recounts how a Hawk one day,
by craft and accident and not by mere strength, killed an Eagle. "This
occurred in Great Britain, the King of which country, with his
courtiers, were witnesses of the occurrence. The courtiers applauded the
ferocity of the smaller and weaker bird, which, too, had only killed its
adversary in self-defence; but the King interfered, reproved his
followers for expressing sentiments which justified the employment of
force by vassals against their Sovereigns, and ordered the Hawk to be
hanged immediately as guilty of treason."
Another anecdote places the reputation of the Hawk in a less obnoxious
light. It was one of the characteristics of that bird, as Neckam tells
us, in the cold of winter, to seize in its claws a Partridge, wild
Chick, or some other bird, and hold it under its belly all night, in
order to profit by its warmth; and when the warmth of day returned, the
Hawk, however hungry it might be, spared the bird, in consideration of
the service thus derived from it, and displayed the noble nature of the
bird of prey, the fit representative of the Feudal Baron, by setting it
at liberty. Neckam tells another story of a Falcon which revenged itself
on an Eagle; and another of a Weasel which caught a Sparrowhawk and
dragged it under the water. We may pass over his account of the
Phoenix, which is taken from the ancients; but that which he tells us
of the Parrot shows how great a favourite it was as a cage-bird even in
our islands during the Middle Ages. He speaks especially of its
mischievous cunning and of its skill in imitating the human voice,
adding that, for exciting people's mirth, it was preferable even to the
jongleurs. It must, however, be acknowledged that Neckam's wonderful
anecdotes become at times rather legendary.
Passing by the Peacock, the Vulture, the Pheasant, and Partridge, the
often-described Barnacle, supposed to be generated from the gluey
substances produced on fir-timber when immersed in the waves of the sea,
finds its place here. The qualities of the Swan, which celebrated its
own death in sweet song; the Ostrich, said to be devoid of affection for
its own offspring; the Nightingale, which was so capricious in its
choice of habitation that Neckam tells us there was a well-known river
in Wales on one side of which the song of this nightingale was often
heard, but nobody ever heard it on the other; the Swallow, singular for
the form of its nest and for the locality which it selected for building
it; the Nuthatch; the Ibis of Egypt; the Dove; and several birds less
known, as described by Neckam, are chiefly worthy of notice on account
of the singular moralisings and symbolical interpretations which are
given to them. The Sparrow, according to Neckam (long anticipating
Sterne), is a libidinous bird, light, restless, "injurious to the fruits
of man's labour," too 'cute for the birdcatcher, and subject to
epilepsy. The Raven is, by its colour and by its habits, emblematical of
the clergy; it is easily domesticated. A Crow foretells rain by its
clamorousness.
Neckam has also something to say about the Lark and the Magpie, and
something more about the Parrot, "the jongleur of the birds;" but he
says of the Cuckoo that it does nothing but repeat the words "_affer,
affer_," _i.e._ "give, give,"--and on that account it was the type of
avarice, and "sang the old song of those who have not yet divested
themselves of the old man." Surely, however, Neckam's ear was at fault
in this description, or the Cuckoos of Cirencester sang a very different
song, with a different moral too, from the cuckoos on the banks of Avon
in the dayspring of Shakspeare. But it is a novel fact to learn that the
saliva of the Cuckoo produced Grasshoppers; yet this was, no doubt, a
popular explanation of the well-known cuckoo-spit of our fields. The
Pelican of those days killed her own young, after which, in
self-remorse, she tore her own body to shed her blood upon them, by
means of which they revived. The Cock was symbolical of the Christian
preacher or doctor of the Church; and Neckam gives a rather curious
physical explanation of the question why it announces the hour of the
day by its crowing, and why it has a comb. The Wren was remarkable for
its fertility, and for another rather singular quality. When killed and
put on the spit before the fire to roast, it wanted no turning, but
turned itself with the utmost regularity. Though the smallest of birds,
it claimed to be their king, and hence the Latin name of _Regulus_. Did
it not, when the birds assembled to choose a king, conceal itself
beneath the Eagle's wing, when it was agreed that the throne should be
given to the bird which mounted highest towards heaven; and when the
Eagle, having soared the highest, made its claim to the prize, did it
not start from its hiding-place, jump on the Eagle's back, and claim to
be highest of all, and therefore the winner?[62]