Lays of Ancient Rome | Page 8

and would
insert large extracts from it in his rude chronicle. That chronicle, as we
know, was the oldest to which Livy had access. Livy would at a glance
distinguish the bold strokes of the forgotten poet from the dull and
feeble narrative by which they were surrounded, would retouch them
with a delicate and powerful pencil, and would make them immortal.
That this might happen at Rome can scarcely be doubted; for
something very like this has happened in several countries, and, among
others, in our own. Perhaps the theory of Perizonius cannot be better
illustrated than by showing that what he supposes to have taken place
in ancient times has, beyond all doubt, taken place in modern times.
``History,'' says Hume with the utmost gravity, ``has preserved some

instances of Edgar's amours, from which, as from a specimen, we may
form a conjecture of the rest.'' He then tells very agreeably the stories of
Elfleda and Elfrida, two stories which have a most suspicious air of
romance, ad which, indeed, greatly resemble, in their character, some
of the legends of early Rome. He cites, as his authority for these two
tales, the chronicle of William of Malmesbury, who lived in the time of
King Stephen. The great majority of readers suppose that the device by
which Elfleda was substituted for her young mistress, the artifice by
which Athelwold obtained the hand of Elfrida, the detection of that
artifice, the hunting party, and the vengeance of the amorous king, are
things about which there is no more doubt than about the execution of
Anne Boleyn, or the slitting of Sir John Coventry's nose. But when we
turn to William of Malmesbury, we find that Hume, in his eagerness to
relate these pleasant fables, has overlooked one very important
circumstance. William does indeed tell both the stories; but he gives us
distinct notice that he does not warrant their truth, and that they rest on
no better authority than that of ballads.
Such is the way in which these two well-known tales have been handed
down. They originally appeared in a poetical form. They found their
way from ballads into an old chronicle. The ballads perished; the
chronicle remained. A great historian, some centuries after the ballads
had been altogether forgotten, consulted the chronicle. He was struck
by the lively coloring of these ancient fictions: he transferred them to
his pages; and thus we find inserted, as unquestionable facts, in a
narrative which is likely to last as long as the English tongue, the
inventions of some minstrel whose works were probably never
committed to writing, whose name is buried in oblivion, and whose
dialect has become obsolete. It must, then, be admitted to be possible,
or rather highly probable, that the stories of Romulus and Remus, and
of the Horatii and Curiatti, may have had a similar origin.
Castilian literature will furnish us with another parallel case. Mariana,
the classical historian of Spain, tells the story of the ill-starred marriage
which the King Don Alonso brought about between the heirs of Carrion
and the two daughters of the Cid. The Cid bestowed a princely dower
on the sons-in-law. But the young men were base and proud, cowardly
and cruel. They were tried in danger, and found wanting. They fled
before the Moors, and once, when a lion broke out of his den, they ran

and crouched in an unseemly hiding-place. They knew that they were
despised, and took counsel how they might be avenged. They parted
from their father-in-law with many signs of love, and set forth on a
journey with Doña Elvira and Doña Sol. In a solitary place the
bridegrooms seized their brides, stripped them, scourged them, and
departed, leaving them for dead. But one of the House of Bivar,
suspecting foul play, had followed the travellers in disguise. The ladies
were brought back safe to the house of their father. Complaint was
made to the king. It was adjudged by the Cortes that the dower given
by the Cid should be returned, and that the heirs of Carrion together
with one of their kindred should do battle against three knights of the
party of the Cid. The guilty youths would have declined the combat;
but all their shifts were in vain. They were vanquished in the lists, and
forever disgraced, while their injured wives were sought in marriage by
great princes.
Some Spanish writers have labored to show, by an examination of dates
and circumstances, that this story is untrue. Such confutation was
surely not needed; for the narrative is on the face of it a romance. How
it found its way into Mariana's history is quite clear. He acknowledges
his obligations to the ancient chronicles; and had doubtless before him
the Cronica del famoso Cavallero Cid Ruy