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would have recourse to the chronicles.



It may be worth while to select a particular story, and to trace

its probable progress through these stages. The description of



the migration of the Fabian house to Cremera is one of the finest

of the many fine passages which lie thick in the earlier books of



Livy. The Consul, clad in his military garb, stands in the

vestibule of his house, marshalling his clan, three hundred and



six fighting men, all of the same proud patrician blood, all

worthy to be attended by the fasces, and to command the legions.



A sad and anxious retinue of friends accompanies the adventurers

through the streets; but the voice of lamentation is drowned by



the shouts of admiring thousands. As the procession passes the

Capitol, prayers and vows are poured forth, but in vain. The



devoted band, leaving Janus on the right, marches to its doom,

through the Gate of Evil Luck. After achieving high deeds of



valor against overwhelming numbers, all perish save one child,

the stock from which the great Fabian race was destined again to



spring, for the safety and glory of the commonwealth. That this

fine romance, the details of which are so full of poetical truth,



and so utterly destitute of all show of historical truth, came

originally from some lay which had often been sung with great



applause at banquets is in the highest degree probable. Nor is it

difficult to imagine a mode in which the transmission might have



taken place. The celebrated Quintus Fabius Maximus, who died

about twenty years before the First Punic War, and more than



forty years before Ennius was born, is said to have been interred

with extraordinary pomp. In the eulogy pronounced over his body



all the great exploits of his ancestors were doubtless recounted

and exaggerated. If there were then extant songs which gave a



vivid and touchingdescription of an event, the saddest and the

most glorious in the long history of the Fabian house, nothing



could be more natural than that the panegyrist should borrow from

such songs their finest touches, in order to adorn his speech. A



few generations later the songs would perhaps be forgotten, or

remembered only by shepherds and vinedressers. But the speech



would certainly be preserved in the archives of the Fabian

nobles. Fabius Pictor would be well acquainted with a document so



interesting to his personal feelings, 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 feeblenarrative 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 utmostgravity, ``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,




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