, I fear, is too
complete, not to have already suggested itself to you.

LECTURE VII--PAULUS DIACONUS

And now I come to the final settlement of Italy and the Lombard race; and
to do that well, I must introduce you to-day to an old chronicler--a very
valuable, and as far as we know, faithful writer--Paul Warnefrid, alias
Paul the Deacon.

I shall not trouble you with much commentary on him; but let him, as much
as possible, tell his own story. He may not be always quite accurate,
but you will get no one more accurate. In the long run, you will know
nothing about the matter, save what he tells you; so be content with what
you can get. Let him shew you what sort of an account of his nation, and
the world in general, a Lombard gentleman and clergyman could give, at
the end of the 8th century.

You recollect the Lombards, of whom Tacitus says, 'Longobardos paucitas
nobilitat.' Paulus Warnefrid was one of their descendants, and his
history carries out the exact truth of Tacitus' words. He too speaks of
them as a very small tribe. He could not foresee how much the
'nobilitat' meant. He knew his folk as a brave semi-feudal race, who had
conquered the greater part of Italy, and tilled and ruled it well; who
were now conquered by Charlemagne, and annexed to the great Frank Empire,
but without losing anything of their distinctive national character. He
did not foresee that they would become the architects, the merchants, the
goldsmiths, the bankers, the scientific agriculturists of all Europe. We
know it. Whenever in London or any other great city, you see a 'Lombard
Street,' an old street of goldsmiths and bankers--or the three golden
balls of Lombardy over a pawnbroker's shop--or in the country a field of
rye-grass, or a patch of lucerne--recollect this wise and noble people,
and thank the Lombards for what they have done for mankind.

Paulus is a garrulous historian, but a valuable one, just because he is
garrulous. Though he turned monk and deacon in middle life, he has not
sunk the man in the monk, and become a cosmopolite, like most Roman
ecclesiastics, who have no love or hate for human beings save as they are
friends or enemies of the pope, or their own abbey. He has retained
enough of the Lombard gentleman to be proud of his family, his country,
and the old legends of his race, which he tells, half-ashamed, but with
evident enjoyment.

He was born at beautiful Friuli, with the jagged snow-line o