Now in the reign of the third Norman king, Henry I., there lived a
certain Welsh priest known as Geoffrey of Monmouth. Geoffrey seems
to have been much about the Court, and perhaps it was the Norman
love of stories that first made him think of writing his _History
of the British Kings_. A wonderful tale he told of all the British
kings from the time that Brut the Trojan settled in the country and
called it, after himself, Britain! For Geoffrey's book was history
only in name. What he tells us is that he was given an ancient
chronicle found in Brittany, and was asked to translate it from
Welsh into the better known language, Latin. It is hardly likely,
however, that Geoffrey himself expected his statement to be taken
quite seriously. Even in his own day, not every one believed in
him, for a certain Yorkshire monk declared that the historian had
"lied saucily and shamelessly"; and some years later, Gerald the
Welshman tells of a man who had intercourse with devils, from whose
sway, however, he could be freed if a Bible were placed upon his
breast, whereas he was completely under their control if Geoffrey's
_History_ were laid upon him, just because the book was so full of
lies.

It is quite certain that Geoffrey did not write history, but he did
make a capital story, partly by collecting legends about British
heroes, partly by inventing stories of his own; so that though he
is not entitled to fame as an historian, he may claim to rank high
as a romantic story-teller who set a fashion destined to last for
some three centuries.

So popular was his book that, not only in England, but, in an even
greater degree, on the Continent, writers were soon at work,