She bade them eat the horse to pass away the time while she rested, promising that on her awakening they should devour the knight. In the cave, however, Tidrich found the magic sword of Siegfried and two knives; and in spite of the threats of the young dragons, and the promises of the old one, he killed them all; but the old worm fell so as to choke the mouth of the cave, whereupon the friendly lion dug him out, and supplied the place of the slain steed by carrying him to Bern on his back.

So much for romance. History mentions a real Theodoric, son of Theudemir, and king of the Ostrogoths in Italy, from 475 to 527. He had been sent as a hostage to Constantinople, and there educated; and though he could not write his name, and had a stamp perforated with the letters Theod to enable him to sign his edicts, he was exceeding able, wise, and skilful, and Arian as he was, conciliated the love of the Catholics. Verona was his chief city, and is evidently the Bern of the romances. He lived too late for the historical Attila, who had died in 453; and though there is a report of a previous Theodoric, who meddled in a dissension between Attila’s sons, and took part in a great slaughter that lasted fifteen days, it is most likely that the original Theuderik was a mythical personage, after whom these historical princes were called, and who afterwards received the credit of some of their deeds, and was localized in the places of their dominion. It is in favour of this notion that Dietrich of Berne is one of the many titles of the wild huntsman, though the Lusatians corrupt him into Dietrich Bernhard, and the Low Countries into Dirk-mit-den-Beer, or with the beard. Indeed, Dirk, the Dutch form of Theodoric, was a half-mythical king of Holland.

It was a most universal name, Anglo-Saxon and Visigothic, as well as Frank and German; and two saints made it everywhere popular in the middle ages, though the Dutch at present chiefly use it.

The name of Dietmar, the father of Theodoric, is to be found in many forms; in Theudemir, a Frank, who faithfully served Constantius; in an Ostrogothic Theodomir; Spanish, Theodomiro; and the modern Frisian, Thiadmar, Tiedmer, Tyeddemer, Tidmer. It means people’s greatness.

Dietleib, his friend, is rightly Ditlev; and in the North, Thjodleif, the people’s relic, or what is left to them. He, too, survives in constant Friesland, as Teallef, Taedlef, Tiadelef.

The chief favourite of this class is, however, the people’s prince, occurring both among the Frank and early Anglian kings, and belonging to two French hermits and one English archbishop. It took firm root in Provence, and has an aroma of crusades and courts of love surrounding it; and though it is not in Domesday, it and its contractions survive as English surnames; and in a Gloucestershire parish register of the eighteenth century, the feminine form occurs frequently in every variety of spelling; Tibelda, Tiballa, Tibotta, Tybal.

The people’s wolf was canonized as a Frank hermit, who gets called St. Thiou. Our friend Theodolf, the Icelander, as Fouqué calls him, would have been in his own land Thjodolf, and the contraction is there Kjold, or Kjol, as Kjoil, or Kjoille, is for Thjodhild, the same as the Diuthilt of the Germans, and Theudhilda, a nun-sister of Clovis. St. Audard has undergone a still greater change; he was once archbishop of Narbonne, and called Theodhard, or ward, the Tiard of Friesland, and Thjodvar, or Kjovar, in the North.

The remaining forms are,

Section XI.—Uta, Ortwin.

Frau Uote was the mother of Kriemhild, who interpreted her dream and predicted the early death of her bridegroom. Ortwin, of Metz, was truchsess, or carver, and was the nephew of Hagan and Dankwart, sharing, of course, their fate.

They are not very interesting personages, but it is curious that they bear the only names, among all the Nibelungen, which have any genuine Anglo-Saxon likenesses; that is, if Uote is, indeed, from the word in Anglo-Saxon, ead, in the North aud, in Mæso-Gothic audr, in High German od, everywhere meaning wealth. Some ascribe it to the same root as good and as Woden, including them with adel, noble; but its derivatives are more easy to follow than its forefathers.

In the North, odel is the term for property to which an entire family retains an equal right, all-od, or allodial property. But when the warriors made incursions on their neighbours, they obtained, in addition, their share of spoil, originally cattle, feh, or feo, i. e., their fee. So feh-od came to be the word for possessions gained by the individual by personal service to his lord, and thus passed from cattle to land itself, when held of the chief on condition of following him in war; and thus we have the feudal system, with its feoffs and, too often, its feuds.

The feminine of this word probably named Uta. It was popular everywhere. Audur-diupaudga, or Audur the deeply rich, was a female viking, one of the first Icelandic settlers, who called a promontory Kambness, because she dropped her comb upon it; nor has her name passed from her own country, while, in Norman-England, it appears first as Auda and then as Alda, answering to Alda the wife of Orlando the Paladin, and Alda queen of Italy in 926, also to another Alda, a lady of the house of Este, in 1393. These are from the Gothic and Scandinavian aud; but the High German form was also represented by Oda and the Low German by the old Saxon Ead, which was soon translated into Ide, the most common of all the early feminines in the Cambrai register, together with its diminutive Idette. Ida was the name of King Stephen’s granddaughter, the Countess of Boulogne, was always used in Germany, and has of late been revived in England, from its sounding like the title of a poetical mountain of the Troad.

It is not quite clear whether Othilie, the Alsatian virgin of the seventh century, who was said to have been born blind, but to have obtained sight at her baptism, is a form of Odel, noble, or a diminutive of Oda, or whether she is Otthild, answering to our Eadhild, one of the many sisters of Æthelstane: and there is the same doubt with Odilo and Odilon, the masculines.

The masculine form of aud was extremely common. We had it in the person of Ida, king of Bernicia; the North owned many an Audr; the Germans used Odde, Orto, and Otto, and when the gallant Saxon counts won the imperial crown, they took the old Latin Otho for the rendering of their name. France, meantime, had called her Burgundian prince Eudon, but when a relay of Norman Audrs appeared, they were Odons; and in the needlework with which Queen Matilda adorned Bayeux cathedral, her husband’s doughty episcopal half-brother is always labelled ‘Odo Eps.’ But though we had previously had a grim Danish archbishop Odo, and though Domesday shows plenty of Eudos and Odos, neither form took root, and both are entirely continental.

Ortvin the truchsess, had his namesake in the Lombard Audoin father to Alboin, also, in the Frank Audwine, blessed by St. Columbanus, beloved by St. Eligius, and bishop of Rouen, whose loveliest church is that of St. Audoenus, now transformed by French lips into St. Ouen. And, at home, we hail the same ‘rich friend’ in Eadwine, the first Christian king of Northumbria, whose conversion is the most striking portion of Bede’s history. His dominion extended over the Lothians, and he disputes with Aodh and the Ædui the naming of Edinburgh. Beloved as he was, his name of Edwin never entirely died away, and became in modern times diffused by the popularity of Goldsmith’s ballad, and of Beattie’s Minstrel. It is just known upon the Continent. Ortwin, or Audoenius, is very possibly the Don Ordoño of the early Spanish kingdoms; but Germany has chiefly dealt in the independent Odvin. Edwin, in spite of Mr. Taylor’s tragedy of Edwin the Fair, is not the same as Edwy, namely Eadwig, rich war, a name well remembered for the unhappy fate of the owner.

Odoacer, as the Romans called him, who was put to death by Theodoric, was properly Audvakr, treasure watcher; not quite the same as the Germanic Ottokar, or Ortgar, happy spear, which is identical with our familiar Eadgar, or Edgar. This name, after being laid to rest with the Anglo-Saxon monarchy, came to life again with the taste for antiques; and Edgar Ravenswood, in his operatic character, has brought Edgar and Edgardo.

Eadmund, or happy protection, is one of our most English names, belonging to the king of East Anglia, who, as the first victim of the Danes, became the patron saint of Bury St. Edmund’s, and the subject of various legends. The sudden deaths of Sweyn, and afterwards of Eustace de Blois, when engaged in ravaging his shrine, made him be regarded as an efficient protector; and Henry III., when he had the good taste to make his sons Englishmen, christened the second after this national saint, so that Edmunds were always to be found in the House of Plantagenet, and thence among the nobility and the whole nation. The Irish called it Emmon, the Danes adopted it as Jatmund, in addition to their own Oddmund, the French occasionally use it as Edmond, and Italy knows it as Edmondo.

The most really noted of all our own genuine appellations is, however, Eadvard, the rich guardian. It comes to light in our royal line with the son of Alfred, and won the popular love for the sake of the young king whom St. Dunstan and the English called the martyr, in their pity for his untimely fate. And again, little as ‘the Confessor’Confessor’ had been loved in his feeble lifetime, enthusiastic affection attached to him as the last native sovereign; while, on the one hand, it was the policy of the Norman kings to regard him as their natural predecessor, and of the barons to appeal to the laws that had prevailed in his time. All parties thus were ready to elect St. Edward to be the patron saint of England, and, in the ardour of embellishing his foundation of Westminster Abbey, it was natural to give his name to the heir of the crown, afterwards ‘the greatest of the Plantagenets.’ The deaths of his three children bearing Norman or Spanish names confirmed this as the royal name, and the third king so called spread it far and wide. It was carried by his granddaughter to Portugal, and there had its honour so well sustained by her noble son, as there to find another home; and with us it has recurred continually in every rank.

The contraction Neddy, common to all of these, is one of the titles of a donkey.

The other less celebrated parallel varieties are:—

Eadswith, Eadgifu, and Eadgyth, all once separate names, together with Adelgifu and Ælfgifu, seem to have been all mixed up together by the Normans. Eadgyth was undoubtedly the name of Earl Godwin’s daughter, of whom Ingulf said, ‘Sicut spina rosam, genuit Godwinus Egitham;’ but in the roll of her lands in Domesday, she is Eddeva, Eddid, and Edeva, and for some little time Edeva seems to have been used among the Normans, though the queen of Henry I. was not allowed to retain anything so Saxon. Aline and Edith were used in a few families, but Edith survived the others.

Giav or give is not a very common commencement; but in the Vilkina Saga, King Gjuko is the father of Gunnar and Gudrun, and the whole family are called Giukungr. In German, in the Book of Heroes, he is Gibicho, and there was really a historical Burgundian King Gibica, mentioned as a law-giver; but in the Nibelungen-nôt, Gibich is only a vassal king of Etzel’s. The North had Gjaflaug, liquor giver, no doubt the Hebe of the Norse banquets, Gjavvald, in German, Gevald, and perhaps Gabilo and Gavele, the Gebelius of Latinists. Germany had likewise Gebahard, a firm or perhaps a strong giver, which still survives under the unpromising sound of Gebhard.

Gyda, or Gytha, that most difficult name, sometimes sounds like Gith, the contraction of Eadgyth; but it was evidently northern, having belonged to the proud damsel of Hordaland, who refused to marry Harald Harfagre, unless he was sole king of all Norway. Afterwards it was borne by the semi-Danish ladies of Earl Godwin’s family, and melted into Gjutha, then became confounded with Jutta, which was considered as short for Juditha.

Section XII.—Sintram.

Sindolt was the schenke, or butler, at the court of Wurms, in the NiebelungenliedNiebelungenlied; and in the Vilkina Saga, Sintram is one of the heroes of Thidrek’s following. The derivation of the first syllable is uncertain. Michaelis takes it from the old High German sinths, a journey. Professor Munch refers Sindre to a word meaning sparkling or spark, and mentions a mythological dwarf who was a famous smith, and was yclept Sindre; also a poet in Harald Harfagre’s time, whose appellation was Guthorm Sindre, or the sparkling. Sundre or Sondre is, the same authority tells us, more used in the Thellmarken in Norway than elsewhere; and another possible derivation for it is from ‘sondra,’ to sunder. The forms Sunrir and Sunris are there found; and Germany had a few others, such as Sindwald, or Sindolt, Sindbald, the Sinibaldo of Italy, Sindbert, Sindolf, and the above-mentioned Sindhram, chiefly interesting to us as chosen by Fouqué for the name of his masterpiece, the wonderful allegory spun out of Albert Durer’s more wonderful engraving.

The elf king Elberich here brings in his own fairy kindred. In the Nibelung, he is watching over the fatal treasure when Siegfried comes to claim it, and, dwarf as he is, does such fierce battle over it that Siegfried was ‘in bitter jeopardy;’ but he is at length overcome sworn to Siegfried’s service, and brought by him to Wurms, where he has no more to do but to lament when Haghen makes away with the treasure.

He is called very ancient, and well he may be, for he had appeared in the Book of Heroes long before the time of even Hughdietrich, when King Otnit of Lombardy had set forth to win the daughter of the king of Syria, and Elberich showed himself under a linden tree in the guise of a beautiful child. Otnit was about to pick him up, but received from him a tremendous blow, and after a sharp fight came to terms, and thenceforth he assisted him in his enterprise, gave him magic armour, and assisted him to gain the lady. Much of this story is repeated in the French romance of Huon de Bourdeaux, where Auberon, as he is there called, gives the knight an ivory horn wherewith to summon him to his aid in an emergency, and thus arose the English Oberon, the elf-rik or king, the graceful but petulant fairy whom Drayton marries to the Irish Mab, and Shakespeare to the Greek Titania. He had his human namesakes, too; Alberich was in fashion as a Frank name, as Ælfric was as a Saxon; and the Domesday Book shows that while we had plenty of the latter native form, Edward the Confessor had already imported two specimens of ‘Albericus comes,’ and these or their sons contracted into Aubrey, which was known to fame as almost hereditary among the De Veres, earls of Oxford. France, too, had her Aubri; and Alberico was used in Lombardy, where likewise the notable and terrible monarch Alboin, whose name as Alboino is still common among the peasantry, bore the name that Anglo-Saxons called Ælfwine, or elf-friend, perhaps likewise an allusion to the aid and friendship of ‘Oberon the faëry,’ whose first protégé was a Lombard. Alwine is the feminine used in Germany, and perhaps may be our Albinia.

The elf of England and Germany, the alfr of the North, was a being dear to the imagination of the people. His name means the white, the same word already mentioned as forming the Latin albus, and designating the Elbe and the Alps, as well as appearing in the Elphin of Cymric legend. The elves, or white spirits, were supposed to be beautiful shadowy gifted beings, often strangely influencing the life of mortals, so that in old Germany the Alfr were the genii of man’s life, like the Disir of the North; and Elberich probably originally attended Otnit in this capacity. Christianity did not destroy the faith in the elf-world, but the existence of these beings was accounted for by supposing them children of Eve, whom she had hidden from the face of her Maker, and He had therefore condemned to be hidden from the face of man. They were thought to mourn for their exclusion from Redemption, and to seek baptism for their infants; but in process of time their higher attributes dropped off from them, and they were mixed up with the malicious black dwarfs. They took to stealing young maidens, as the Scottish Burd Ellen, and to exchanging infants in the cradle; and Scotland created an Elfinland, which was a striking element of worldly vanity. In England, the traditions of the Keltic spirits, pucks and pixies, were mixed up with them, and our Elizabethan poets treated them as the males of the French fairies; and what comes to us so recommended, surely we must accept.

These elves, in their more dignified days, played a considerable part in our native nomenclature; nay, the most honoured of all our English sovereigns wrote himself upon his jewel Ælfred, i.e., Elf in council, wise as a supernatural being. Some have tried to read the word Alfried, all peace; but there is no doubt that the Elf is the right prefix. The English loved to continue his name, but it was Latinized as Aluredus, and thus Alured is the form in which it is borne by many persons recorded in Domesday, and is still kept up and regarded as a separate name, though Alfred has been within the last century resumed in England; it is much used about the good king’s birth-place at Wantage in Berkshire, and has of late been adopted in France and Germany.

Ælfhæg was as high as an elf; whether given to a very small infant, or supposed to refer to a being of unearthly stature, does not appear. It was the very inappropriate name of the archbishop who, under Ethelred the Unready, was pelted to death at a Danish banquet because he would not oppress his flock to obtain a ransom. The offence given by Lanfranc in refusing to regard him as a true martyr may be judged by the large numbers called after him in Domesday. In Sussex they are set down as Ælfech; in Hants as Ælfec; in Nottingham as Ælfag; and thanks to the Latinism of Alphegius, our calendar calls him Alphege.

Ælfgifu, or the elf gift, was the unfortunate Elgiva of history, a not unsuitable name for one whose beauty was like a fatal fairy gift, bringing ruin on her and on her husband; but it was also used to translate into Saxon that of the Norman Emma, which was regarded as too foreign for the Saxons. Knut’s first wife, Ælfwine (elf darling), the daughter of Ælfhelm, Earl of Southampton, is recorded by Dugdale as Ailive; and Aileve, Ælveva, or Alveva, is very common in Domesday. Aileve indeed continued in use for many years.

In fact, it was England that made by far the most use of elf names. The North was perhaps the next in the use of them, having an immense number of instances of Alfr in the Landnama-bok, but there the elf at the end of a word has such an unfortunate tendency to transform himself into a wolf, that it is impossible to tell which was the original, the same person being sometimes written Thoralf, and sometimes Thorulf. There are few instances preserved from the other Teutonic branches, except as we have seen the two Lombardic names, that seem direct from Elberich.

English names in Æthel often contract into El, and when followed by an f, appear to be elves; but they must be pursued to their original form before being so rendered.

Alvaro and Elvira are the Spanish forms of these elf names.

A bishop of Lichfield, whose name was Ælfwine, was always called Ælla, and thus there is reason to suppose that elves named both the Ælle of Deira, whose name caused Gregory the Great to say that Alleluja should be sung in those regions, and also the later Ælla, who put Ragnar Lodbrog to death. Otherwise these would be referred to the word in Gothic, aljan, meaning battle, found in the Old German Ellanheri and Ellanperaht.

Some of our commencing els are no doubt from the fairy source; but there are others very difficult to account for, beginning in Anglo-Saxon with ealh, which is either a hall, or without the final h, the adjective all, by which in fact they are generally translated. The most noted of them is Ealhwine, the tutor of Charlemagne’s sons, generally called Alcuin, though his name has remained at home as Aylwin. Some Aylwins, are, however, certainly from Ægilwine, or awful friend; Ealhfrith, Ealhmund, and Ealhred, are also found, and one of these must have formed the modern Eldred. Among ladies are Ealhfled, and Ealhswyth, or Alswitha. On the whole it seems to us that the hall is the more probable derivation; the h so carefully used in the Saxon Chronicle is unlike a contraction.^[138]

Section I.—The Paladins.

Another remarkable cycle of romantic fable connected itself with a prince, not lost in the dim light of heroic legend, but described by a contemporary chronicler, and revealed in the full light of history. However, in reality, the records of Eginhard were, no doubt, as unread and unknown as if they had never existed, and with the notion that a magnificent prince had reigned over half Europe, there was ample scope for tradition to connect with him and his followers all the floating adventures that Teutonic, Keltic, or Latin invention had framed; and, by-and-by, literature recorded them, using them as her own world of beauty and of wonder, until nothing but the names were left in common with their originals.

France, Germany, Lombardy, and Spain, all looked back to the same emperor, and hung their traditions around him, with a far more national sentiment than it was possible for them to possess for the British Arthur. In the Charles who bore the surname of the Great, all the legends centred. He was at once emperor, and, like his grandfather, champion of Europe against the Saracens, with whom in popular fancy, both his own Saxons and his grandson’s Northmen were fused together; he was besieged, like his grandson, in Paris, and lost all his best followers in the pass of Roncesvalles, by the treachery of the Navarrese.

These were the materials that fancy had to work upon. The existing feudal system supplied the machinery, and not with utter incorrectness, since it had actually then existed in its infancy, and the chiefs of the Frank court were veritably obliged to pay martial service to their head for the lands that they had received from him on the conquest of the country. Pfalz, the same word which we now call palace, the central court, furnished the title for the feudatories employed at the court; Pfalzen, a word that continued in use in its proper region, Germany, naming the Pfalzgraf of the Rhine, whence we have learnt to speak of the Count Palatine and the Palatinate.

Pfalzen, then, on French tongues, became Paladins, and Paladins were supposed to have been not so much political as military, so that we regard the term as meaning a champion of high prowess. There was an idea likewise of a council of these Paladins as the twelve peers of France in the golden age of her constitution; and the Docipairs, as the Douzepairs were sometimes run together, stood on a level in romantic imaginations with the Seven Champions of Christendom, or the Knights of the Round Table.

Spanish ballads, German lays, and Provençal songs, had been working up the stories of the Paladins, when somewhere about the year 1100, there came forth a French translation of the supposed chronicle of Turpin, who had really been archbishop of Rheims in the reign of Charlemagne. The chronicle was confirmed in 1122 by the infallible authority of the Pope, and was translated again and again, amplified and referred to by every one who wrote or sung of the Paladins, for the events they celebrated, whether it contained them or not.

The influence of the Karlingen upon our subject has been great. First, some of the genuine historical characters left hereditary Christian names; next, several were adopted in romantic and chivalrous families, and in the poetical ages of literary Italy, they became absolutely frequent.

Paladins, however, connect themselves with hardly any genuine female names of the same period. The Ossianic Fenians have their wives and beloved maidens, the knights of the Round Table are united with ladies of Cymric title, like their own, and evidently as traditionary as themselves; the dames of the Nibelungenlied are intimately connected with the whole structure of the legend; but the knights of Charlemagne have brought with them few genuine ladye loves. Orlando once had a wife, the Alda, or Belinda, of the old traditions; but even the Clarice of Renaud in the Quatre Fils Aymon, betrays a late French, or rather Romanesque, influence; and far more do the Doña Clara, Belerma, and Sebilla of the Spanish ballads, show how late they must have arisen; whilst Angelica, Marfisa, Bradamante, Fiordespina, and Fiordiligi, and the like, are absolute Italian inventions.

The Frankish ladies seem, in fact, to have been held in little estimation. Chivalry had not blossomed into respect for womanhood, and they had probably been left behind by their lords in the march of civilization. The female names from time to time cast up in the surging tide of affairs seldom appear except for disgrace or misfortune, so that we come to the conclusion that womanhood in the Frank empire was seldom happy or honourable except in the cloister. Thus, no traditional names of woman came down with the Paladins; and when love became an essential part of the machinery of the Italian poets, they had to invent, and entitle, the heroines for themselves.

Section II.—Charles.

Most heroes gain by becoming the subjects of romance, but this has been by no means the case with the great Karl of the Franks, for though ‘il Rè Carlo’ be three rolled into one, he has lost the heroism of him of the hammer, and the large-minded statesmanship of the first emperor, obtaining instead the dulness and weak credulity of him who was called the Bald.

The three Charleses are matter of history, and the Carlo Magno of romance and ballad is little more than a lay figure, always persuaded to believe traitorous stories of his best friends, and meeting with undignified adventures, as in the case of the enchanted ring that bound his affections to lady, bishop, and lake. We therefore pass on at once to this name, which a foolish old story thus accounts for. As an infant he was put out to nurse, and when brought home, much grown, his mother exclaimed, ‘What great carle is this?’ whence he continued to be so called, instead of by his baptismal name of David. This tale may have been suggested by the fact, that the veritable Charles the Great, when laying aside his state he became a scholar in his palace hall, under the teaching of the English Alcuin, assumed the appropriate title of David.

Karl was in fact, as we have shown in the chapter on ancestral names, the regular family name of the line, used in regular alternation from its first appearance with the grandfather of the hammering Charles, who perhaps took his soubriquet from Thor, and gradually acquiring more and more ignominious epithets till it sunk into obscurity in Lorraine, whence it only emerged again when the Karlings intermarried with Philippe Auguste, and brought the old imperial name into the French royal family, where five more kings bore it. They sent it to Naples with Charles of Anjou; and his son, Charles Robert, or Caroberto, being elected to Hungary, had so many namesakes that Camden was led to suppose that all Hungarian kings were called Carl. It went to Germany when the son of the blind king of Bohemia received it from his father’s connection with the French court, and afterwards reigned as the 4th Karl of Germany, taking up his reckoning from the old Karlingen. Again, the second ducal house of Burgundy was an off-shoot from the line of Valois, and it was from Charles the Bold that the name was transmitted to his great grandson of Ghent, soon known to Europe as Carlos I. of Spain, Karl V. of Germany, Carolus Quintus of the Holy Roman Empire. He was the real name spreader from whom this became national in Spain, Denmark, and even in Britain, for his renown impressed James I. with the idea that this must be a fortunate name; when, in the hope of averting the unhappy doom that had pursued five James Stuarts in succession, he called his sons Henry and Charles. The destiny of the Stuart was not averted, but the fate of the ‘royal martyr’ made Charles the most popular of all appellations among the loyalists, and afterwards with the Jacobites, in both England and Scotland, so that rare as it formerly was, it now disputes the ground with John, George, and William, as the most common of English names.

Another namesake of Charlemagne must not be forgotten, namely, the son of St. Olaf, of Norway, whom his followers, intending an agreeable surprise to the father, baptized after the great emperor by the name of Magnus, whence the very frequent Magnus, of Scandinavia, and Manus of Ireland.

The two feminines are of late invention. The first I have been able to find was Carlota or Charlotte, of Savoy, who married Louis XI., and thus introduced this form to French royalty. Charlotte d'Albret had the misfortune to be given in marriage to Cesare Borgia, and had one daughter, who married into the house of La Tremouille, whence the brave Lady Derby carried it into England, and our registers of the seventeenth century first acknowledge Charlet. The Huguenotism of the house of La Tremouille connected it with that of Bouillon, where the heiress Carola, or Charlotte, was married in 1588. The house of Orange probably thence derived it, and it became known in Germany, whence it was brought to us in full popularity by the good queen of George III. A sentimental fame was also bestowed on it, as the name of Göthe’s heroine in Werther.

Carolina, the other form, seems to have been at first Italian, and thence to have spread to Southern Germany, and all over that country, whence we received it with the wife of George II., by whom it was much spread among the nobility, and is now very common among the peasantry.

Ceorl was the name of an early king of Mercia, and of a thane of Alfred’s, who defeated the Danes, and Carloman was almost as common as Carl in the old Karling family.^[139]