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training-for such superficial teaching as that of the Oxford Modern History School is not worth speaking of—and they are constantly taken up by men whose minds have not been exercised by that discipline which is the best of all means, sadly as it is abused whenever it is rested in as an end. The result is that far more books are written about mediæval than are written about ancient history, but that the average of merit is incomparably greater among those who devote themselves to ancient learning. Even the really great names of Hallam, Kemble, Palgrave, and Guest cannot, as a body, compare with Arnold, Thirlwall, Grote, Merivale, and Lewis. And, besides the chiefs, the medieval camp is infested by a small fry who have comparatively few parallels on the ancient side. When one or two notorious blunderers on each side are paired off, the mediæval department will still remain cumbered with a class of well-intentioned people, who would be most praiseworthy, if only they were content to read, and did not undertake to write. After some of the books which we have seen lately, Mr. Thrupp's volume, evidently the result of honest study, and containing some really sound sense and some really valuable information, is by no means to be despised. But did a man-unless he could enlist some theological prejudice in his favour-put forth a book of no higher merit about Rome or Athens, it would, in the present state of Greek and Roman scholarship, be at once hissed off the stage.

Mr. Thrupp, as we have said, starts with some very correct general notions. For instance, he begins by insisting on the necessity for distinguishing between the different stages of the long period between the fifth century and the eleventh. He quotes a sarcastic remark from the "Saturday Review" that "most people believe that all the Saxons,' like all the ancients,' lived at once." He sees clearly the absurdity of any such belief; he asserts strenuously that an Englishman of the fifth century and an Englishman of the eleventh century were very different from one another; he vigorously maintains that the six centuries between Hengest and Harold were centuries of very great progress, and witnessed an "immense advance in civilization, morality, and religion." No truer or better starting-point could be found; and Mr. Thrupp never forgets his main object, and evidently endeavours to work out his general principle in detail. But Mr. Thrupp's excellent purpose is con

stantly obscured by inaccuracies in detail, by matter which is totally irrelevant, by omitting to quote authorities or by relying on authorities which are worthless, and by a style poor and feeble beyond expression. Yet, with all this, there is quite good stuff enough in Mr. Thrupp's book to distinguish him from mere blunderers and charlatans. He has undertaken a task beyond his powers; he has mistaken his vocation in becoming a writer, but, as an evidently diligent and conscientious student, he is entitled to our respect.

Mr. Thrupp divides the long period with which he has to deal into three divisions, which he calls severally the "early Saxon," the "Saxon-Danish," and the "Saxon-Norman." The first lasts from the earliest English settlements to the beginning of the Danish invasions in 787, the second from thence to the death of Cnut [Harthacnut ?], and the third from thence to the Conquest. The names, like all such double names, are awkward, and the divisions do not strike us as well made. Surely the introduction of Christianity is a more important landmark than any of the others, and, next to that, the change from the fluctuating ascendency of a Bretwalda to the permanent supremacy of the West-Saxon Kings. Nor do we see in what way the first period is specially "Saxon," "Saxon," as the main interest of the history of that time certainly belongs to the non-Saxon part of England, and among the Bretwaldas and other leading princes the Saxons form only a minority. The "Saxon-Norman" period, as defined by Mr. Thrupp, simply means the reign of Eadward the Confessor; if he meant to take in the whole time during which there was any intercourse between England and Normandy, he should have gone back to the marriage of Ethelred and Ælfgifu-Emma. The marriage of an English King with a stranger was a rare event, and Ethelred's Norman marriage, like Æthelberht's Frankish marriage, was the beginning, though the small beginning, of a chain of great events. In a later passage (p. 105) we find Mr. Thrupp recognizing this marriage as an epoch, and indeed making a good deal too much of it :

"After the time of Emma, the Gem of the Normans, a French education became fashionable, and it was customary to send the sons of Anglo-Saxon nobles to the Court of Normandy to be educated, though the instruction they there received was not of a very intellectual character."

Now for this assertion Mr. Thrupp quotes no authority, and we certainly cannot supply any from memory. But this is just

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the sort of assertion which ought not to be hazarded without authority. It is of course quite possible that Mr. Thrupp may have found some case or other of a young Englishman of the eleventh century being sent out of the realm for education; but we cannot believe that anything of the sort was "fashionable" or "customary." King Eadward himself, and possibly some companions with him, received a Norman education for the best of reasons; but there is not the slightest hint of such a thing in the case of the sons of the three greatest houses in England, those of the Earls Godwine, Leofric, and Siward.

Again, Mr. Thrupp lays down that, for his purpose, that of illustrating manners and customs, a fabulous narrative is often as valuable as a true one. This remark is perfectly sound, if certain needful limitations are heeded, but nothing can lead to greater errors than the careless application of such a rule. Nothing is more certain than that fictitious stories, from Homer to a good novel of our own day, constantly supply the very best information as to manners and customs. But many cautions must be observed; the fiction must be strictly contemporary, and the illustrations supplied by it must be looked for in the details rather than in the main story. A fiction of a later age can be of no value, except incidentally for the age in which it is invented. Again, mere libel and scandal is not legitimate fiction for our purpose, though the details of a libellous story easily may be. Mr. Thrupp (pp. 74-76) quotes two ridiculous stories about William the Conqueror, one of his wooing his Duchess Matilda by knocking her down, the other of his beating her to death with a bridle because she hamstrung a priest's daughter, who was his mistress. We do not believe a word of either; William of Malmesbury, who tells the latter story, thinks it madness to believe it ("Hæc de tanto rege credere dementiæ adscribo"). Mr. Thrupp himself tells us that "it is consolatory to know that this account of her [Matilda's] death is of very dubious authenticity," but he goes on to say,

"For the purpose of appreciating the manners of the age, it is almost immaterial whether the tale be really true, or merely so consistent with probability as to have been readily believed at the time of its supposed occurrence."

Now, first of all, all this talk about William is brought in to illustrate English manners, as to which it can prove nothing

whatever. If William whipped Matilda, it does not follow that Earl Leofric whipped Lady Godiva. But neither do we think that the tale shews that a Norman King was any more likely to beat his Queen to death than an English King. The monstrous tales which have been current about illustrious persons in our own time shew that mere scandal is no sign even of general probability. But details again are valuable, even here. There was a ridiculous story once told that the Princess Charlotte threw a leg of mutton at somebody's head, we think at that of her princely father. Does this illustrate the manners of the nineteenth century? In a certain way it does. A wise historian of the twenty-seventh century will not infer that either princesses or daughters of inferior degree were in the habit of throwing legs of mutton at their fathers' heads. But he will infer, with perfect safety, that a leg of mutton was a common English dish in the nineteenth century. So these absurd fables about William and Matilda illustrate and prove one or two things. The bridle, as the instrument of correction, illustrates the almost centaur-like union between the knight and his horse; it is certainly not the weapon which a modern husband would be described as using. Then the hamstringing is characteristic; it is a form of cruelty of which other instances occur in this century and in the one before it. When later Queens are fabled-often long after their own age-to get rid of their rivals, they do it by the bowl or, at most, by the dagger. Further, when William of Malmesbury quietly mentions "cujusdam presbyteri filia" without a word of surprise or abhorrence, and that in a passage the main drift of which is the praise of King William's chastity, we may infer that the existence of a clergyman's daughter was not looked on as anything very wonderful or scandalous. In this way even these monstrous fictions do illustrate the manners of the time. Mr. Thrupp's general principle is thoroughly sound, but he has not skill enough to work it out. So, again, his constant references to the pseudo-Ingulf are balanced with several disclaimers of belief. Now, if the pseudo-Ingulf were a contemporary romance, it would be good evidence for manners, though not for facts; being a mere forgery of some centuries later, it is no evidence for either. To return to Queen Matilda, Mr. Thrupp tells us that William, "when his fury cooled, attempted to atone for his offence, by giving her a magnificent funeral,

and building a cathedral over her tomb." "Magnificentissimis inferiis extulit.” "Sepulta est regina Cadomis in monasterio Sanctæ Trinitatis." This, we suppose, is what Mr. Thrupp runs together into the above slovenly sentence. He ought to know better than to call the Trinity Church at Caen a "cathedral" or to think that William "built it over" Matilda's tomb.

So the book goes on from the beginning to the end; on every subject which he deals with, Mr. Thrupp shows much reading, clear general views, but an utter confusion of details. Names and titles are constantly confounded; Godwine and Harold are cut down into Earls of Sussex (p. 192, where are to be seen some odd speculations as to the respective merits of Thanes and Earls); St. Boniface, whom so many authors have agreed to translate from Mainz to Metz, is by Mr. Thrupp further removed to Mons (p. 374), which never was a Bishop's, much less an Archbishop's, See at all. A little way on (p. 378), Olaf Tryggvesson becomes Olaf Frygesson; in p. 392, we have the common blunder of Constance for Coutances, because both in Latin are Constantia; finally our forefathers are (p. 263) charged with worshipping "Zernbock" and-Occhus Bocchus. This last at least is utterly beyond us.

Even when Mr. Thrupp gives references, he does not always know what to do with them. Thus he quotes (p. 375) a story in Bede's account of Wilfrid to show that "the Anglo-Saxons" did not know how to catch fish till Wilfrid taught them. Now this story, whether we like to believe it or not, is told of the South-Saxons only, and it is rather hard measure to extend it to "the Anglo-Saxons" in general. As Wilfrid taught the South-Saxons Christianity as well as the art of fishing, it would have been a better hit if Mr. Thrupp had inferred that Augustine and Paulinus had already taught the gentle pastime to the men of Kent and Northumberland.

Again, it appears from Domesday that the city of Norwich, Tempore Regis Edwardi, paid the King yearly, among other tribute, a bear and six bear-dogs. Mr. Thrupp argues quite justly that "bear-baiting, one of the most cruel of sports, was commonly practised." But why should he go on to say that "Edward the Confessor took particular delight in it, and required the city of Norwich to furnish him annually with a bear and six bear-dogs, and in all probability exacted a similar tribute from other cities?" (p. 383). Cannot Mr. Thrupp see that a cus

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